Page 76 of The Crowned Queen

Loren flinched, the shadows’ hissed recriminations echoing in his ears. He must have looked as wrecked as he felt, because some of the anger drained out of Serafina’s expression as she stared at him, her fury softening into something that was almost pity.

“How is she?” he asked.

“I stopped the bleeding,” she said. “But I had to leave her back open. The scarring is going to be…severe. She refused sedation, but⁠—”

“She’s awake?” Loren’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, a cold sweat prickling his skin. She had to be in so much pain.

“She is.” Serafina smiled sadly, her expression shadowed by exhaustion. “And asking for you.”

The words were like a knife to his heart.

“I—” Loren glanced away, not quite able to hold her gaze. “She needs rest, doesn’t she?”

“She needs her mate too.” Serafina frowned. “She needs you.”

“You were ready to fight a war to save her,” Finn said when Loren didn’t answer. “Go to her, Loren. I can handle our defense.”

The shadows hissed, their agreement raking across his mind like claws.

“That’s not—” Loren swallowed hard, closing his eyes. “I’m not worried about our defense. I—” he cleared his throat, suddenly all too aware of everyone’s eyes on him.

Goddess only knew what she’d had to endure. Some of it he could imagine only too well. He had his own nightmares, fueled by twenty-five years of iron and blood and chains and dark, damp stone. But the Arcanum had only ever wanted to break him. Jaxon Shaw had wanted to keep Araya.

“I was too late,” he finished miserably. “I didn’t get to her in time.”

And if she never forgave him for that, he’d deserve it.

“She asked for you,” Serafina repeated, her voice soft. “Your magic will help stabilize her, accelerate her recovery. Don’t abandon her when she needs you the most.”

Loren stared at her, his throat thick with fears he couldn’t give voice to. The shadows pressed against his legs, urging him forward. It was almost too easy to let them. To tell himself that this was for her, not him.

The only light in the cottage came from the fire Serafina had left roaring in the hearth, casting the single room in flickering shadows. Sweat immediately beaded on Loren’s forehead, the hot air damp with steam and perfumed with the pungent scent of the herbs Serafina had used to stop the bleeding.

Araya lay facedown on the heavy wooden table Finn had dragged in front of the fire, her body draped in fresh, clean linen instead of the ruined dress Serafina had cut off her. It stuck to her back in places, the red-tinged cloth rising and falling with every slow, even breath.

Alive. She was alive.

The shadows crept forward, sliding across the floor and wrapping themselves around the legs of the table. Something eased in Loren’s chest as the smallest one parted from the others, brushing her hand before curling itself around her wrist.

At least that was right.

Loren lowered himself onto the stool beside her. The wood creaked under his weight, too loud in the heavy silence. Slowly—half-expecting the shadows to lash out at him—he took her hand in his.

“Ael’sura,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m here.”

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

Glass crunched under Araya’s boots.

She was inside the palace this time, picking her way across the shattered marble. Araya barely spared a glance for the soaring windows or the vines crawling up the broken columns. Her steps quickened, marble giving way to soft dirt beneath her feet. A meandering path carved through the ruins of thorn-choked hedges, pale blossoms tangled among spines as long as her hand. Bones—human and fae alike—gleamed between the vines, long since stripped of flesh and blood.

Araya shuddered, averting her eyes as she passed. None of these people had died a kind death.

But she was almost there. The pull was as undeniable as her own heartbeat now, drawing her forward, forward, forward⁠—

Araya gasped, her eyes flying open. For one panicked moment, she didn’t know where she was. Her heart pounded in her chest, every instinct screaming at her to run⁠—