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The forest seemed to explode when they met, a twisting fusion of smooth and sharp, black and brown. Nature cleaved in two.
The noise was unstoppable.
Juliana seized Hawthorn and pressed him to the ground, pulling his cloak over him. A single drop of his blood and it was all over.
Sluaghs still swarmed above, but none made it through the mesh above them. Juliana scanned around, searching for an exit—
A narrow gap of light pierced through the undergrowth, a space beneath the wriggling roots and the ground. She shot up, jamming her sword into the mass, trying to widen it just enough to let someone through.
“Come!” she hissed. “Quickly!”
Hawthorn raced to his feet, sprinting towards her, stopping once he reached the gap.
“What are you waiting for? Go!”
Hawthorn hesitated, mouth open, his face a canvas of unspoken things.
Don’t,she prayed.Don’t say anything that might haunt me. Just go. Get out of here. Be safe.
Something in her expression must have registered, because a second later he squeezed through the gap and vanished.
Juliana turned back to Maytree. The queen was flagging, her knees buckling under the strain. Her powers were not inexhaustible. She was already drained from opening the portal, she’d barely rested—
Ladrien, meanwhile, had been preparing for this day for eighteen years. Everything about his posture and his face sung with power, limitless, unstoppable. His black eyes shone hungrily.
Maytree sank further towards the floor.
No,Juliana thought desperately, knowing it was pointless.Don’t give up, please—
Boughs cracked and shattered. The earth splintered. Wind screamed. Twigs and leaves sliced through the air like arrows.
Maytree’s knees touched the ground.
Stop—
Her shoulders slumped.
No—
Maytree met Juliana’s eyes, and seeing Hawthorn was no longer with her, she dropped fully to the floor, her strength depleted.
Her roots and branches shrivelled away, Ladrien’s thorns surrounding them. They gathered around Maytree, but before they could fully reach her, Juliana sprung from her spot and leapt into the space between them, sword outstretched.
“Have no fear for your queen, little warrior,” Ladrien said, his lips pulled into a tight smirk. “I promised not to harm the fae.”
He clicked his fingers, and thorns sprung at Juliana’s feet, twisting round her legs like pythons, around her arms, her throat, forcing her to drop her sword as blood blossomed at her wrists.
She couldn’t move.
Ladrien moved through the bracken, gliding towards her with the grace of a swan. His cool hands moved to part the hair over her ears. His smile twisted further.
“I said nothing, however, about leaving mortals alone. Quite the opposite, in fact…” His eyes fell to Briarsong, its blade gleaming in the mud. He shook his head. “To grace a filthy mortal with a royal sword… you should be ashamed, Maytree. How the mighty have fallen.”
Maytree stared at the ground, panting hard. “I’m sorry,” she rasped.
“I knew you would be,” said Ladrien. “Too late, I’m afraid.”
“I wasn’t apologising to you.” Her eyes circled to Juliana.
