Page 148 of The Fallen Fae King

It was going to deteriorate.

What I don’t know is how fast it will decline.

I treasure every time that I can study my Spark’s beautiful face. I memorize it, both awake and sleeping, so that I will have it to hold onto, when she slowly bleeds back, as the whole world will, into the shadows.

I have feared little in my life.

I have fought warriors who are three times as large as me. War has sliced me open. I bear my scars with pride.

I have faced death more times than I can remember. I have thrown myself toward it.

Yet it is a certain type of terror that grips my heart like nothing has before that at some point…soon…I will see my Freya’s green eyes close one night, and when I open my eyes the next morning, I won’t be able to see hers ever again.

I drop the spoon and grab the bowls. Then I grimace almost dropping them. I clutch onto them with whitening knuckles as pain shoots up my wrists.

Gradually, the pain from the iron poisoning is returning. This time, however, I know that I have no more doses from Maximinus to ease it.

I am on my own.

I don’t have much time left.

A new sense of urgency rushes through me.

Every moment with Freya that I have left is precious. At least this exile to the Consort House has given us a type of honeymoon and a taste of domestic life that I have never experienced.

It’s like we’re living on that farm she talked about, not as kings or queens, but simply living together as mates.

At least, if we can ignore that there are guards standing outside the door.

I leap to my feet, twirling to Freya. “A feast fit for a queen.”

“A Queen Consort,” Freya corrects, pulling at her robe.

We discovered new clothes laid out for us when we entered the house. Apparently consorts, like everyone and everything within the Draca Kingdom, are marked by their ordered status.

Freya pulls a face, as she adjusts her ivory robe, which is cinched in at the waist with a braided cord like tarnished dragon scales.

I am wearing a matching, plain outfit.

Our feet are bare, which is a calculated insult.

Stripping us of our footwear is a humiliation but is also a smart way of keeping us trapped within these four walls.

“A Wolf Queen.” I spin again, holding the bowls up like I’m an acrobat. I am buzzing at the rush. I tip my head back. I love the rush of my primal magic. “Just like I am a Raven King. Plus, King and Queen of the House of Sin. We don’t need anyone else to grant us power or status. We already have it.”

“Hey, slow down before you spill our meal all over our home.” Freya grabs at the back of my robe.

I laugh again, as she yanks me back onto the bench beside the table.

But then, it settles deep into my soul.

She called this our home.

Joy, bittersweet, surges through me.

I drop the bowls onto the table and drag my Omega onto my lap.

She lets out a surprised gasp.