Page 113 of The Crowned Queen

Jaxon’s elbow slammed into her chin.

She hit the ground hard, the taste of blood and earth flooding her mouth. Her ears rang, the world lurching nauseatingly as she scrambled to right herself. She had to get up before he⁠—

Jaxon’s boot caught her in the side. Araya gasped, curling around the pain. He’d rebroken her ribs, she was sure of it⁠—

“You fucking bitch.” His second kick flipped her onto her back, the sky spinning above her. “Did you think you could take the shadows from me? How about you feel what it’s like to be attacked by them⁠—”

They lashed across her body, cutting through fabric and flesh alike. Araya screamed, but darkness filled her mouth, covering her nose and sliding into her lungs⁠—

We’re sorry, they keened. We’re sorry, we’re sorry, we cannot⁠—

And then they were gone. Araya gasped for air, staring up at Jaxon looming over her. His knuckles had gone white around the staff, any compassion he’d once held for her gone for good now.

“I gave you every opportunity to make the right choice—” his fingers tangled in her hair, tearing a gasp from her lips. “But somehow you just keep choosing wrong.”

Araya cried out, her scalp screaming as he dragged her to her knees by the hair. Involuntary tears ran from the corners of her eyes, her neck straining to bend at the angle he wanted. But Jaxon just stared down at her, his lip curled.

“Here is what is going to happen,” he said, his voice as calm and patient as if he were speaking to a child. “You’re going to hand over every secret in this cursed place to me. Every door, every drop of power—it’s mine now. And then you’re going to come home.”

His thumb dug into the hinge of her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“You’re going to fuel my power,” he continued, staring into her eyes. “And when I want to fuck you, you’re going to submit. Without all the weeping and wailing. If you can do that—well, I might just let you see your children sometimes.”

Araya started to cry in earnest. She’d had one chance—one chance to strike him down. Instead of running, she’d tried to save them both. But she’d failed. And now they would both pay the price for it. She looked past Jaxon, to where Loren had pushed himself up to one elbow. His arms shook with the effort, his green eyes fixed on her face with a desperate fear that cracked something open in her chest.

“Yes,” Jaxon said, following her gaze. “I think I’ll keep him alive after all. Then, every time you think about fighting me, you’ll remember that his continued survival—whatever it’s worth—is entirely dependent on your willing cooperation.”

Araya closed her eyes, hot tears sliding down her cheeks. The magic here pressed down on her—so much power, for the queen willing to pay the price to wield it. She didn’t want to die. But the life Jaxon was offering…she couldn’t live like that. Not anymore. Not knowing what she knew now. Not when it wouldn’t be just her. It would be Caela. It would be Brynn and Naeva—every fae female forced into the breeding program. Her people stripped of their magic and ground down to nothing beneath the heel of human greed and ambition.

“I’ll do it,” she said aloud, the magic pulsing against her skin falling still as if in shock—or recognition.

“Good girl.” Jaxon’s hand released her hair, letting her crumple to the ground. “See, Starling? I knew we could arrive at a satisfactory arrangement.”

He thought she was talking to him—he couldn’t feel the power that crushed her to the ground at his feet. Couldn’t hear the whispers just out of earshot, an ancient voice speaking her name. Something solid pressed into her hand under the moss. Cool and hard, the unmistakable shape of a sword hilt, the pommel digging into the heel of her hand.

Jaxon stared down at her, a smile curving his lips as he watched her cry, tracing the path of each tear with cruel satisfaction.

He wasn’t looking at her hands.

He didn’t see her fingers close around the hilt. Didn’t even look away from her face until she moved—the sword tearing free of the ground in a shower of dark soil and tiny white flowers. He jerked back, his eyes widening—but Araya drove it up with everything her broken body had left. Straight into the soft, unprotected gap beneath his chest plate.

Jaxon made a sound she’d never heard from him before, raw and animal. He looked down, his hand dropping to the hilt of the sword protruding from his stomach like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. The staff slipped from his other hand, dropping soundlessly to the ground between them.

“You just killed yourself,” he said, blood bubbling on his lips.

Araya bared her teeth. Magic tore through her body, burning in her veins like molten metal—all of it converging at the place where he had carved his mark over her heart. “It was worth it,” she hissed.

The shadows slammed into Jaxon before he could answer, throwing him back with enough force to shake the ground beneath her. Araya collapsed to the soft moss like a puppet with its strings cut, letting the pain wash over her. Somewhere far away, she could hear Loren screaming her name, but she couldn’t move her lips to answer him. Couldn’t do anything but stare up at the sky above her. She should have said goodbye when she had the chance. Told him she loved him one last time. That he would be a good king.

Now it was too late.

Chapter

Forty-Three

The next time Araya opened her eyes she was alone in bed, staring up at glittering gold filigree adorning a familiar ceiling. She blinked up at it, the world coming into focus around her piece by piece. Heavy blankets pressing her into a soft mattress. Carved wooden bed posts. The faint smell of dust and stale air. Someone had healed her, knitting her broken ribs back together with expert precision. But every part of her still ached, like her body knew she should hurt and couldn’t quite figure out what to do instead. Serafina’s work—no Arcanum healer would have dulled her pain after everything she’d done.

They must have won.