Page 71 of The Crowned Queen

“In what world would she have agreed to that?” Loren raised his eyebrows. “Araya is her best friend—that’s why she insisted on coming. She’s going to need a healer when we get her out.” Just saying it aloud made Loren’s stomach twist. “You can’t send her back by herself anyway, Finn. If she’s struggling here, imagine what it would be like on the road alone.”

“She wouldn’t be alone.” Finn dragged a hand through his hair, not quite meeting Loren’s eyes. “You saw what Elvanfal looks like now. We can’t do this with only six of us.”

“You want us all to go back,” Loren said slowly. The shadows thickened around his feet, but didn’t offer any comment for once. “Did you forget that they’re torturing her?”

“I’m not saying it isn’t an awful choice,” Finn said. “I just don’t see how the fae we have here will be enough⁠—”

“I was ready to do this alone.” The shadows snapped at Loren’s feet, hissing their agreement. “I didn’t ask any of you to sacrifice yourselves for this. If you think it’s better to go back, then you can go back. But I’m not leaving her here.”

“Loren—” Finn tried again. “Sacrificing yourself won’t save her. You’re the king⁠—”

“And she’s my queen!” The words tore out of him, louder than he intended. The birds all fell silent, his shadows shuddering at his feet. “I never wanted to be king. Not after everything that happened. I’m only here because of her—something everyone seems to conveniently forget when they’re arguing that I should leave her to the Arcanum’s mercy.”

Finn closed his eyes. “Loren⁠—”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the shrill whistle of the perimeter rune. Loren’s head whipped around, every sense suddenly on high alert. Someone at camp could have triggered it accidentally. Or it could be an Arcanum scouting party. Or even the forest itself, lashing out against them.

“Fuck,” Finn hissed, clearly coming to the same conclusion.

They ran.

Branches whipped past Loren’s shoulders, the shadows streaming behind him in a black torrent. A shout echoed through the trees, and Loren pushed himself harder. These people had all followed him here, they didn’t deserve to die because of him⁠—

They burst into the clearing.

For a heartbeat, Loren didn’t understand what he was seeing.

Kai Sterling stood at the edge of the camp, swaying on his feet. Goddess, there was so much blood—but he wasn’t the one bleeding. It was the person he cradled in his arms, her back a ruin of mangled flesh and her dress hanging in shreds from her limp body.

Loren closed the distance between them in three long strides, the shadows’ voices a frenzied chorus in the back of his mind as he took Araya from Kai’s arms.

“Ael’sura,” he whispered. He brushed the matted hair out of her face, his fingers coming away bloody. The metallic tang of it filled his nose, overwhelming everything else. Why was there so much blood⁠—

“Loren?” Her lashes fluttered, but her silver eyes were glassy as she stared up at him, struggling to focus. “You—” her voice caught, her brow pinching. “You’re not...here.”

“I’m here.” He fell to his knees, the shadows gathering tight around them both. “You’re safe⁠—”

“No—” she shook her head, struggling weakly against his grip. “It’s a trick. I can’t—can’t feel—” her voice trailed off, her eyes fluttering closed again.

She couldn’t feel him. Loren closed his eyes, holding her tight to his chest. He would never take another sip of that cursed tea.

“I’m so sorry, ael’sura,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “I’m so sorry⁠—”

“Loren—” Serafina knelt beside him, a gentle hand touching his shoulder. “She’s bleeding badly. I need you to get her into the main house. Lay her on the table. Facedown.”

He could do that.

Loren clambered to his feet, the shadows still churning around his legs. They hissed at him, a hundred voices flinging furious recriminations at him. But he barely heard them. He barely heard Serafina barking orders at the others as he shouldered his way into the main house.

It still smelled faintly of mildew and rot, but the fae-crafted table was sturdy, built and enchanted to last generations. Araya whimpered as he lay her down, carefully turning her so she lay facedown on the surface, exposing her back⁠—

Goddess save him. Her back.

Someone had flayed the flesh from her back in long, vicious strokes. Loren could see the white flash of bone amidst the ruined flesh, blood still seeping sluggishly from the wounds. Her ruined dress hung from her shoulders, shredded to ribbons and stained a dark, terrible red.

They had whipped her.

Because you didn’t get her out, the shadows snarled. You waited, and waited, and waited⁠—