Page 156 of The Reaping Rose

Her eyes widen. “Are these the festivities you were referring to? You’ve finally made a decision.”

“I’m claiming my crown,” I confirm, and for the first time since deciding I would do it, it feels real as I tell Elorie. “Tomorrow night, the territories will send representatives to witness the ceremony.”

“Seems like I returned just in time.”

Standing, I now tower over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I told them it wasn’t happening until you came home.”

“Why?”

One word.

One question.

Filled with so much emotion as she blinks up at me.

“Because I need you.”

Elorie buries herself against my chest, wrapping her arms at my waist while I breathe in the top of her head.

“I missed you so much,” I whisper, not able to form words, so I send them to her through the thread. “Crown or no crown. Life or death. I was aimless without you. You helped me find my path. I’m nothing if not yours. You’re my home, Elorie. My soul, my heart, my being.”

She blinks up at me, and I brush a lock of hair off her face. “I missed you too, Wilder. I missed being here.”

“Why does it seem like that makes you sad?”

“It doesn’t. It’s just… I always thought the Mortal Realm would feel like home. That it was where I belonged, and if I could only go back there, everything would make sense. Growing up on Alyssium, I dreamed of one day going there. But then I did, and I realized something.”

“What did you realize?”

“The ground beneath my feet meant nothing. The only place I belong is wherever you are. Whether that be in Lyrichia. In Vaelier. In the Mortal Realm or in Sarrow. Where you are is my home, Wilder. Crowns and titles and realms don’t matter. Only you.”

My heart jumps to my throat, and I’m at a loss for words, so I lean down and kiss her to unbind this emotion surging in my chest. Elorie sees me beyond who I am or who I was. Beyond my crown or name or title. Beyond the good I’ve done or the blood I’ve spilled.

She sees the depths of my soul.

And she’s all I see when I lay her out on the table and strip off her clothes, unable to wait for our bedroom to feast on her.

Chapter 52

Hazel

Malachi smiles at me from the other end of the great hall, while Alasdair’s highest-ranking warriors fuss over his presence. They laugh and bow, offering him gifts of gold and flesh.

Of course, my brother does not care for any of it. Not anymore.

Not with the flood of magic flowing through his veins.

He searches.

He sees.

He wakes.

I clasp my fingers. Slithers of shadow coil inward, curling into my palm and settling at my fingertips.

Malachi’s eyes hold mine, and the darkness scratches at the inside of my ribs. So cold it stings. I bite my tongue and swallow them down, reeling them in. Arms of something other are desperate to reach out with every pulse of the orb around Malachi’s neck.

His eyes flicker, but the warriors do not notice that he is but an illusion. They do not see that his cape does not drape properly over the arms of his throne as he feeds them exactly what he wants them to see.