The title echoed in his ears as Hella brushed into her tent. Likely to lose herself in Aneka’s embrace, let their casual intimacies chase away all this death and destruction.
Jealousy blinded him as he tore away, not wanting to overhear their reunion.
Low laughter and murmured conversations chased him through the camp. He came upon a group of rebels gathered around a bonfire—four males and two females of varying sub-species. And despite everything they’d been through, the battle they’d just barely survived not to mention the loss of their friends and those missiles, they were laughing. Teasing each other. Clinking bottles of beer and wine.
Their camaraderie paralyzed him. How many would fall on the treacherous path ahead?
One rebel, a Beastrunner with two familiar pointed ears poking through his tawny hair—the young male from the hospital in Lodesvale—noticed Tristan watching. His laughter trailed off as his friends turned to see what had caught his attention.
They stood as one, angling their bottles toward Tristan. “To the new Emperor!” the long-eared Beastrunner proclaimed. The others echoed him, and Tristan bowed in acceptance of their toast, nausea roiling his gut.
He stomped away as fast as dignity allowed, then crashed through the tree line on the edge of the camp. He steadied himself against a cool pine, swallowing down breaths.
He was on the precipice of achieving everything he’d ever wanted.
And he was terrified.
What if he failed?
He sank down the trunk, his feathers catching on the rough bark, and looked toward the stars. Was Hella right? Could Cass see these same stars at this very moment through the wards of Tartarus?
Would they send her a message?
“I miss you,” he whispered.
He leaned his head against the tree, picturing her in his mind. Her intelligent blue-gray eyes, her soft smile, the beauty and kindness and bravery that radiated from her every pore. It comforted him.
“They’re calling me Prince and Your Highness and I…I’ve done nothing to earn those titles. The only sacrifice I’ve ever made is you.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m not foolish enough to believe this path would be any easier if you were walking beside me. But I’d feel so much stronger if you were.
“I don’t know how to do this without you.”
He breathed deeply, bringing his awareness to the cool bark against his back, the damp grass below his hands. Grounding himself. Trying to purge his turbulent emotions. He knew it wouldn’t work. He’d borne this type of grief once before, and it had ruined him. And though he was a little older, maybe even a little wiser, the burden of Cassandra’s absence was infinitely heavier.
But blubbering about his lost love wouldn’t get him anywhere. And if Cass could see him right now, she’d tell him to quit worrying about her and pull himself together. Focus on the goal. Focus on theirpeople.
It was that thought which finally gave him the strength to rise and return to the camp. He paused in front of his tent, whispered into his palm and sent a message to Cael.
If he couldn’t have Cassandra at his side, maybe the next best thing was a dragon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Keep up,” Mireille grumbled over her shoulder.
A few paces behind, Cassandra asked the same question she’d asked at least ten times since Mireille had dragged her from the shop. “Where are we going?”
“I told you, you’llsee.”
Was Mireille always this gruff? Or had her piss-poor reunion with a certain broody, muscular male put her in a foul mood? After a half a week in Mireille’s company, Cassandra honestly couldn’t tell.
The two females pushed their way through the cobbled streets, coming upon a crowd in the city square that was the largest Cassandra had yet encountered in the city—a roiling mass of Fae, cramming every side street and spilling out of the two corner taverns.
She kept her head down, ignoring whistles and hollers from passing Brethren. A male with a shaved head and upturned nose shouted that her days in Tartarus were numbered. She wanted to call back that yes, they were, because she was going to defeat the Koenig, win that hammer, then figure out how to get the fuck out of here. But she was worried her voice might tremble and ruin the comeback.
She shook off the taunts as Mireille led her toward Ronin, who was seated on a bench at the edge of the square. In the center, a rough wooden platform sporting ominously dark stains had been erected.
Cassandra flopped down next to Ronin, angling her wings over the back of the bench. Mireille took her other side.
“Hi,” Cassandra said to his neck as he craned his head around.
