105. Arran

Somewhere around the third course, Veyka eased herself away from my side. It took her a few minutes to extricate herself. Every few steps, terrestrials stopped to bow. To place a fist over their heart—the greeting of one warrior to another. But eventually, she made it to the two-story tall arched doors of the great hall, eased herself over the threshold, and disappeared into the void.

Letting her walk away was torture. But the strength of the bond in my chest told me she had not gone far. As the feasting reached a pinnacle, I slipped out after her, following the pull of the bond into the night.

It led me past the gates of the keep, onto the darkened bridge that connected the island castle to the land of craggy emerald peaks around it. There were no torches burning along the stone parapets on either side. The original builders had not made a place for them, believing the fortress' strength lay in its isolation. Lighting the way would only serve potential enemies. In the thousands of years since, it looked to all appearances that nothing had changed.

Except that everything was different now.

I refused to think of it—to acknowledge it. There had to be another way. I could not have been reunited with my mate, both of us suffering so much, for it to end with… death.

I was willing to sacrifice myself on the altar of duty. But Veyka?

Never.

I would let Annwyn be swallowed by the succubus before I allowed it to happen.

Veyka turned, her hair catching in the moonlight, and all the air was sucked from my body. I could not breathe, for loving her.

Her forearms were braced on the parapet, her hips swaying softly to music that leaked from the castle beyond. The moonlight shone in her hair, on her skin, kissing the lines of her freshly inked Talisman.

Isolde had offered to heal the wounds, leaving behind only the black ink. Veyka had refused her. By tomorrow morning, it would be healed anyway, she said. But I knew her soul; she wanted the reminder, for every second she could, of what it felt like to be alive.

I could help with that.

I slid my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against me. Veyka did not resist, lifting herself from the stones of the parapet and painting her body against mine. One hand drifted up to tug at the club of hair at the back of my head. I knew she would not be satisfied until she'd worked it loose and could grab a fistful of my hair.

What do you want, Princess? my wolf growled softly.

Veyka made a small hum of appreciation as she got my hair loose and buried her fingers in it

"You," she said softly. "To stay here forever with you. Right here—where nothing can touch us. Where we are safe and whole. Our friends. Our family."

She was thinking about it, too. How could she not? It was her life, that the prophecy required.

I held her tighter. "We will come back some day, I promise."

You cannot promise that.

I pressed my lips to the shell of her ear. "I do promise." I paused to inhale the plum and primrose scent of her. "A thousand years, and a thousand more."

She did not answer, did not argue. That worried me more than anything. The silence began to press in on us.

"I am certain if you coached the cooks long enough, they could produce an acceptable chocolate croissant."

Veyka snorted. "We might need a thousand years for them to get it right."

She licked her lips, the sound causing every muscle in my body to tighten. I kept on holding her.

"We have to decide now."

She was right. The time to tarry and argue and debate had run out. The succubus could strike anywhere, at any time. The first shipment of amorite had arrived, half of it sent on to the forge at Cayltay, the rest awaiting further discussion and decision. We had to choose a course of action the best we could, based on scenarios and outcomes. And then we would adjust. Every battle went that way—you planned and adjusted. Planned and adjusted.

But I refused to plan or adjust for the possibility of a world without Veyka in it.

I cleared the emotion from my throat. "Parys and Gwen are waiting in Baylaur. Merlin and Igraine… we would be na?ve to leave them alone too long. Even in Gwen's capable hands."

"Or paws?" Veyka squeaked, already laughing at her own joke.

Ancestors—how could she laugh? I could barely breathe.

That had to be why the words came out half-choked. "We need armies."

She exhaled, so slowly. Drawing it out, forestalling her response. But it came, eventually. "I know."

Wolf Bay—Cayltay, the war camps. Or Baylaur—to rule, to harness the full power of the Knights of the Round Table.

Veyka rotated her neck, stretching out the tense muscles before eventually letting her head rest on my shoulder, exposing the burn of her new tattoo to the cool night air. We stared out at the stars in silence, letting the night close around us. It was cold, but I'd take any excuse to hold Veyka close.

After what might have been a minute or an eternity, she spoke again. "What if we did not have to choose?"

Unease unspooled in my stomach. "What do you mean?"

I could feel her maelstrom of emotions through the bond. She did not try to keep them from me. I did not try to block them. But I was still unprepared.

"I could go to Baylaur."

I pulled away—just so I could grip her shoulders and spin her to look at me.

She winced at the pressure—her Talisman.

I released her immediately.

But Veyka reached for my hand, curling it around hers and lifting it to her lips.

"I'd only be gone for a moment."

"No."

Her breath skittered across my knuckles. "It's farther than I've ever gone before, but I can do it. What is the point of my power if not for this?"

"We agreed." I ground out. "Together."

The night around us was suddenly oppressive, threatening. Like the void, determined to steal my mate away from me.

Veyka pressed closer, still gripping my hand. "You cannot leave the terrestrials now. We've only just brought them to heel. There is an army to assemble. We must be ready."

"Veyka—"

She squeezed my hand hard enough to break bones. "I can do this."

I closed my eyes, because I could not bear to look at her beautiful face. To see the desire to help, to push herself, sacrifice herself, without knowing the cost…

"I know you can." You can do anything. My forehead fell forward against hers. "But I can't."

We stood there, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air. Reminding one another that the other was alive, and whole, and here.

I worked my jaw as another idea—new, untested and unreasoned—formed in my head. "Open a rift."

Her chin stabbed the air. "I will be back. A few minutes, I promise. Just enough time to explain the communication crystals."

I grabbed her arm, afraid she might disappear into the void right then. "No. That is not what I meant." It felt like a risk, taking a hand away from her. Like she might disappear at any moment. But I forced myself to gesture to the bridge before us. "Open a rift."

Veyka's eyes widened. "Rifts don't work that way. They go between the realms."

"You command the voids of darkness. The rift will do what you command."

Her hand slid to mine. Squeezed tightly, once.

Then she stepped free. Letting her was a physical slice into my chest, but I fought it. Watched as she curled her hands into fists at her side.

For a moment, I thought it a lost cause. That she would throw herself into the void, because it had not worked. Panic flooded through me, hot and stifling and—

The air was glowing.

Moon-white, like her hair. A pinprick of light that grew outward in a spiral. Out, and out, and out. Until the spiral was nearly as wide as the bridge. Big enough for the two of us to walk through, and shining bright with her power.

Veyka flicked her wrist, and the white light solidified. An image appeared in its center—no, not an image.

Not just a rift, but a portal.

Those were the familiar stones of the goldstone palace.

They were drenched with noxious black bile.

Vekya's daggers were in her palms. I felt the weight of my battle axe, not even knowing how it had gotten into my hand.

No one had noticed us yet—no one appeared. But the screams were agonizing. They ripped through the portal Veyka had created, filling the air around us, echoing off the lake.

Veyka lurched forward. "Gwen—"

I grabbed her arm—just as a massive, dark lioness bounded into view.

Gwen shifted in a second, her golden eyes wide with disbelief. They scanned us, the castle in the background, everything taken in, in mere moments.

Veyka tried to wrench from my grasp, to get through the portal. To the screams—the screams of our subjects being ripped apart by the succubus.

But it was Gwen who spoke, who threw out her arms to either side to block Veyka's way. "No, Majesty—you cannot."

She had to raise her voice to be heard over the screams.

"Baylaur has fallen."