Page 127 of Cursebreaker

I shrug the coat onto my shoulders, the pattern of the stars shimmering in the firelight. I clench my fist around the gilded Key and adjust my grip on the dagger with the other.

“Why did you stay?”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. He sucks his teeth. “You’d best be going now,” he tells me, looking away. “Before I change my mind.”

I don’t budge. “Why, Azeron?”

His nostrils flare. “Don’t call me that.”

“And what should I call you?” I say, taking a step toward him. “Will? Lord Castor?”

His hand shoots out, preternaturally fast, seizing the dagger from my grasp, his gaze locked on mine, a subtle honey glow rimming the green. “I healed him,” he says, his voice deep and dark. “Your precious fiancé no longer bears the mark of my curse.” He sheathes the dagger, taking a deliberate step back. “I sent word to the Order, warning them of Morana’s plan. If you leave now, you should meet them at the border of the Dire.”

My pulse races. “Why?”

Will lifts his shoulder, a shadow passing over his face. “Before I was bound to Morana, I had a different master. He’s the reason I came to Elysia—it was his influence that led Morana to rebel against the True King. Everything I’ve done—every choice I’ve made—I did for his sake.”

“Why? What does he want?”

“Chaos,” he answers. “War. Deception. Betrayal. It doesn’t matter how it comes about, it all feeds his magic—gives him power. Morana only thinks she owns my soul. In truth, he allows her to control me. If I were not here, he would reclaim me to his service.”

Something in my chest twists. Even Will—even Azeron—doesn’t have control over his fate. He’s been controlled, just like he controlled me. Just like Morana controlled Owen.

“And now?” I press, shoving the Key into my pocket, where Liv settles in beside it. “You’re letting me go because of him?”

A wry grin. “Perhaps,” he says, inspecting the stars on my coat. “Or perhaps I’d just like to see what you do next.”

Emrys nudges my elbow. I climb onto the dragon’s back, grabbing hold of his spiked horns.

“So you’re going to let me go?” I say even as Emrys lifts into the air. “Just like that?”

He smirks, his voice fading on the wind as he vanishes in a cyclone of smoke. “As if anything could stop you.”

The setting sun casts a tangerine glow over the Western Sea when I find the Starchaser near the border of the Dire—right where Will said they would be.

It’s Lewis who spots me first. His spyglass clatters to the deck, and even from above, I see his jaw go slack.

Emrys drops low enough that I’m able to jump down into the crow’s nest. I race down the rigging faster than I ever have, but it still feels like too long.

When my feet hit the deck, Lewis is already there. He throws his arms around me as Charlie and Albert burst into tears, piling into the hug. A few feet away, Margaret clings to Gabriel’s arm as if she were about to tip over, and Gabriel presses his fist to his mouth, barricading sobs.

And then I’m surrounded. Mother and Father embrace me, clutching me so tight I think they might never let go. Henry cries on my shoulder; Annie squeezes me, her bottom lip wobbling. Lady Isabelle envelops me in a gentle hug. Killian sniffles, patting me on the back. Bellaflor kisses me on the cheek. Diana sweeps me into the air.

She drops me at the sound of Titus’s voice.

“Where is she?” he bellows, bursting through the doors of the captain’s quarters, his linen shirt unbuttoned, revealing the wound from Will’s dagger—now a pale shade of purple, the broken, oozing skin closing. Not cursed. Healing. “Where is my wife?”

Eliza races after him, still holding a roll of gauze in her hands. “I wasn’t—” She sees me, and it looks as if she might faint. And then a smile transforms her face. “Wait—wife?”

It’s as if time stands still. No one moves, their eyes wide as Titus lifts me into his arms, crushing me in an embrace.

He presses his lips to mine, gentle—almost hesitant. He draws back as he sets me on my feet, his fists clenched around the fabric of my coat, searching my eyes as tears streak his sun-kissed face.

“A promise is a promise,” I tell him, placing my hand on his chest—just over his heart.

He half-laughs, half-cries, his thumb stroking my cheek. He leans in, lips parting, when Lewis clears his throat.

“And when exactly did the two of you get married?”