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“I’d destroy it, but it’s spelled.” He pries my hands away from my face. “The best I can do is hide it somewhere no one will ever find it again.”

“Thank you,” I say, cupping his cheek before turning onto my side. “The story the coven matron wrote about me… It’s not true. I didn’t die from some spell gone wrong.” My voice wavers. “She had me beheaded.”

Riven goes still.

“She never liked it when I spoke back. Or when I questioned her intentions.” My throat tightens. “The way she spoke about other creatures… like they were beneath us. She wanted to rule the Wyldelands. Wanted to align with the mortal kings to get there. I protested. Gathered witches from every corner of Norica to denounce her.” My fingers drift to my neck. “She made me a martyr. Turned me into a warning. Speak up, be silenced.”

“Gwyn.” He pulls me closer, tucks me into him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I think Death was too,” I whisper. “Either that or she believed in my cause. Why else would she send me back stronger, more powerful than any other witch? She twisted my affinity for flora into something corrupt. When the coven matron discovered what I could do, she forced me into servitude.” He rubs small circles on my lower back. “I refused, at first. I could take the beatings. But then—” My voice breaks. “She started punishing the witchlings instead, and I— I couldn’t let her hurt them.”

I sit up, spine stiff despite the tremor in my hands. If I stay curled against him, I’ll never get the rest of the story out. And this next part is the worst of it.

Holding his gaze, I say, “She used me to strengthen the ritual she sold to the mortal kings.”

His breath catches.

“The one that creates hunters,” I finish, voice barely audible.

Riven’s eyes widen.

“I still hear her screams,” I say quietly. “The First Hunter’s. She didn’t even know her own name by the time they were done. Didn’t understand why she was strapped to that stone altar, why they drained her dry, filling barrels and barrels and barrels with her blood for their disgusting ritual.” Tears fall freely now, and I swipe at my cheeks. “All those sacrifices, all that pain. It’s my fault.”

“No.” His tone is fierce, final. “It’s not your fault, Gwyn. You were forced to serve the matron, to abide by her rules to protect innocents. She is at fault, and so are those who enabled her. They are the ones to blame. Not you.” He holds me like I might break. “Rory would say the same.”

“I killed her.”

His brows knit together. “Rory?”

“Well, yes… indirectly,” I admit, sniffling. “But I meant the First Hunter. She begged me to end it. To free her. And I did.” I draw a shaky breath. “I carved her open, stole her heart, and ran. Fled from my coven and into the Wyldelands, and planted her heart beneath the mossy oak out back, making a vow to never kill again.”

“You did what you had to do.” He lifts my chin, so I’m forced to hold his gaze. “You survived. You protected others. That doesn’t make you a monster.”

“But I killed someone.”

“I’ve killed plenty of someones.” His eyes shine with understanding. “We do what we must to survive. Believe me, sweetheart, you are not a monster. Not even close.”

He rises and wraps me in the threadbare sheet, scooping me into his arms. He grabs his dagger from where he must’ve set it on the trunk at the foot of my—now broken—bed. With a clean strike, he slices open another dazzling portal—soft and shimmering around the edges.

He presses a kiss to my temple. “Let’s go home.”

Home.

I wonder if he knows I’m already there, safe in the confines of his arms.

Chapter 34

RIVEN

The sun rises over my kingdom, drenching everything in soft pink and burnt orange.

It should be impossible to look away from such a view, and yet, the witch asleep in my bed eclipses even the dawn.

She looks so small, so fragile, lying there on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek.

How could anyone be cruel to her?

The things her coven matron did—and forced her to do—make my blood boil.