Page 125 of Mortdale

Slipping my necklace over his head, I said, “You must come back to me before I go. If you die, I will never forgive you. I will curse your soul and bind it to this earth. And I will torment you. Forever if I must.”

“You promise?”

My trembling lips pulled in a smile against his. “Only if you promise the same.”

His lips pressed on his six-edged star necklace before he slipped it off and threaded it around my neck. “You’re my north. As long as you exist, I will find my way back. Always and forever, my love.”

And then he was gone. Leaving me there limbless and wretched as ever, with only a cursed heart beating in my chest.

Morgana’s cane hit the wooden floor with a sharp tick just as the cavalry rode off the estate to join the battlefield. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Sucking back on all the hiccups, I wiped my tears. “I have to do this one last thing for him. To make sure Piper can love whoever she wants. So both of them can.”

She nodded, letting Christof and Theodora enter the bedroom, both cloaked and holding Piper in their arms.

I tugged on her cheeks and pressed a kiss to her eyes. “Rest as the wave, rest as the sea,” I murmured. “Close your eyes, and count to three.”

I blew across her eyelashes, setting the spell in motion. She sagged against Christof’s arms, and he let me briefly hold her to my chest.

Sitting on the sill, I watched Christof and Theodora disappear with her into the woodlands where her paternal grandmother would be waiting for her to take her as far away as it was safe to be.

“She’ll be here soon,” I told Morgana. “We will need at least thirteen witches. A full coven.”

Chapter 24

Logan

Morngate’s green and yellow flags stretched for miles along our border. Their numbers were terrifying, uncountable and bleeding into the forest behind them. Many more hid in the belly of trees—hundreds and thousands of heartbeats overlapping each other.

Though our numbers were only half that of the human armies, we could easily tear through them with our bare teeth. But there’d be no victory out of this war. Only slaughter. And I refused to lead men into a bloodbath orchestrated purely for the fun of a filthy tyrant who sought entertainment in the suffering of many.

Arthur and Henry walked behind me as we crossed what would be the battlefield. Human soldiers tensed with each step we took into Morngate territory, cautiously watching us with their hands wrapped around their weapons.

“This is a long fucking shot, Logan,” Henry muttered as King Ignatius’s soldiers raised their rifles, pointing them in our direction just as we reached the king’s tent.

If I had any chance at getting back to my wife in time, this had to end here without a single weapon raised at one another.

The old human king sat there alone in his cold iron armour, in front of a chess game and a glass of liquor. His hair and thick beard were already grey, his skin marked by the sun and age. His voice was hoarse, unforgiving, as he said, “You could have sent an emissary.”

I sat across from him on the table. “So could you.”

His sunken green eyes finally raised from the chess game, meeting mine. “I wanted to see who would have succeeded Ulric had I allowed him the chance.”

“My father is Edmund Duncan,” I told him, moving the bishop to take his knight. “Ulric is just the man who killed him. I am just the son of the man he killed. And I am the man who killed him.”

He lightly scoffed, making his move on the board. “As far as I know, Ulric is still alive.”

“Not when I left the palace last night,” I told him, positioning my rook in the direct line of his queen. “You know I’ve been poisoning him for years. I’ve let your spies tell you as much.”

He quietly studied me. “You think you’ve played me?” he mused, running his fingers through his beard as he studied my moves. “You think your ploys against Ulric have subdued my anger and kept me from attacking Mortdale? Maybe I was waiting for the right moment when he was weak and feeble from his own son’s cruelty.”

“Maybe. But it delayed you long enough.” I took the pawn he’d moved. “And I’m not his son. My father was Edmund Duncan.”

His rook took one of my pawns. “Yet here we are.” He studied me for a moment. “So, Mortdale is without a king.”

“Mortdale has a queen.”

His eyes disappeared under his wrinkled frown. “I hear his daughter, Princess Luella, is sick.”