Damian squeezes his queen’s shoulder. “Be careful, kitten. You’re not back to full strength yet.”
“Go,” she says, tilting her head to the main entrance. “Help them.”
Damian nods and breaks into a run, and I follow behind him. I feel incredibly useless, but I can’t just wait inside to see who wins.
By the time we burst onto the terrace overlooking the Solar Cliffs, four winged figures clash against the sunrise.
From this distance, they look smaller—two white angels, one black, against the devil. The rising sun favors Ethan, flaring whenever our side is about to land a strike.
Near the cliff’s edge, the hawthorn tree sways violently. Its branches whip and creak as though the spell or enchantment keeping the royal gardens quiet and calm is unraveling.
Damian sprints to the patch of smooth rock beside the waterfall, draws his bow, and releases. The arrow buries itself deep in Ethan’s shoulder.
The King of Light lets out a pained grunt and plunges downward with incredible speed. A burst of light detonates against Damian’s chest, blasting him straight over the edge.
Devi veers off course, her black wings flapping furiously in the wind. Then she folds them and dives toward the misty abyss after the falling king.
Which leaves Ethan facing three opponents.
Willow. Ezra. And me, the Flame of Fate or whatever—who can't do shit.
Willow grips the sword in her good hand. The men are clearly in better shape than she is, yet her rage is mesmerizing.
The air brightens.
Brighter.
Brighter.
Until the entire world becomes light.
I throw my arm over my eyes to not go blind.
The sound of a body hitting the ground hard shudders through me, and a scream rips from Willow’s chest.
“You monster! He’s your son!” she shrieks.
“He’s weak,” Ethan hisses.
I blink through my watery eyes and see Ezra lying on his back a few feet to my right, his chest heaving.
Blood follows.
A lot of blood.
I can’t think.
My hands pat frantically over him in search of a blade. Instead, I find a flaring red bruise across his chest and, just beneath it, a stab wound.
Bile rises to my mouth as I clamp both hands over the gash.
Above us, Willow and Ethan are locked in combat, their swords crossing again and again. But it’s clear Ethan is gaining the advantage. Willow’s injured arm drags her down with every strike, her fury not enough to sustain her forever.
After a few fruitless exchanges, she breaks away and flies higher, putting distance between them.
“You won’t win this time!” she shouts. “You won’t, do you hear me?”
Ethan’s wings flap as he opens his arms to her.
