CHAPTER 18

QUEEN MALINA

Dommik's shadows pull away, revealing the last Orean at his side.

"Go right in," I tell the man reassuringly, though he sways slightly on his feet, looking discomfited from the shadow-leap. "The castle is safe and there's food in the dining room. Everyone else is there."

He bends, again and again, like a piece of paper being folded over, creases marking up his starved and filthy body as he bows. "Thank you, Your Majesty." He bends again for Dommik. "Thank you, sir."

He follows one of the other Oreans already at the threshold, and they disappear inside Highbell's castle walls. I breathe a little easier once he's inside.

They're safe. They're being fed. They're alive .

A miracle only made possible by the most vicious threat. King Rot.

I glance around at the aftermath of his presence. Of what clearing out the castle truly meant.

The castle's courtyard is grisly. My gaze falls to my feet, and I follow the lines spilled across the ground like unspooled threads lying thick within the snow. Fae soldiers are dead behind me, their bodies distended grotesquely, eyes melted, skin sloughed off.

The stench is unimaginable.

From the streets of the shanties, we watched as King Ravinger swooped over the mountain and rained down death. Everyone in Orea has always feared him, feared his magic, though I'd never seen it at work before now.

We were right to fear.

Even from my spot in the city below, I felt the danger that emanated from him as it pinched my stomach and raced my pulse. I could feel his power rippling, even at such a distance away.

Yet what stole my breath completely was the creature tethered to him in the air. Wisps of smoke seemed to stretch between where he flew on the timberwing, to the winged creature that soared beside him. A scaled monster that reaped death.

A dragon .

Terror filled me at seeing the pitch-black form with spikes along its spine and a snarl at its lips. When it opened its maw, black flames were strewn out, though instead of burning anything, they rotted fae through.

I'd never seen anything like it. I never want to see it ever again.

What Ravinger is capable of is utterly fearsome. That power, that creature he had with him, his pointed ears…he's been a fae hiding in plain sight.

Yet…he's helping Orea.

I'm as grateful as I am petrified.

To think, Ravinger could've wrought such devastating havoc all this time, and yet, my late husband dared to scheme against him. Queen Kaila had called Tyndall a fraud, but he was a damn fool.

The angry, spurned woman in me wishes I could wrench Tyndall back from death's grasp just so I could show him this. So I could shove his ruined, gilded castle in his face.

King Midas may always be remembered for his golden touch, but I will always remember him for the way that touch destroyed . He wasn't a gift of wealth. He was a curse of unending greed.

Yet I was no better.

The people of Sixth Kingdom had a greedy king and a coldhearted queen, and because of us, our kingdom is gone.

The mountain itself looks like a septic heart pulsing with black veins. At the base, on the road leading to Seventh Kingdom, rot has created jagged gaps in the ground, cutting off the path.

Sixth Kingdom has been flooded with poison to kill off the infection of the fae.

But Ravinger was right. There are other Oreans who were trapped here. Mostly servants and guards left alive and forced to serve the fae. Our number of survivors has more than doubled.

Our death toll is too many to count.

The sound of scraping pulls my attention, and I look over to see Dommik helping one of Highbell's surviving guards. Together, they drag a bloated body to the other end of the courtyard, tossing it with the rest of the dead fae already piled there.

My assassin looks like he's ready to drop. Exhaustion drifts off him like his shadows, though right now, they're tucked away.

He used his magic to bring everyone up the mountain. He had to make several trips, with multiple survivors each time, and I can tell it's drained him. Even so, instead of resting now, he's helping to rid Highbell from the blight of the dead.

A shadow passes over me, and my head whips up, eyes locking on the descending timberwing. Now, I have to face the one responsible for every rotted corpse.

Even though King Ravinger saved us, emptied Highbell of our enemies and liberated the survivors, I can't help but shudder when he lands. His dragon has dissipated, blown away with the wind, but chills still bubble at my skin at the memory of its presence.

His timberwing's lips part in a sneer as it sniffs the dead bodies, sharp talons scraping at the half-poisoned snow.

Swallowing hard, I force my legs forward, even as an animal instinct warns me to run the other way. The deadly king dismounts, standing before me in all his terror.

I drop my head. "Thank you, King Ravinger."

It's no wonder my voice trembles. Whose wouldn't after witnessing what he's done? What he's capable of? That wasn't mere magic. I've seen magic. I have magic, however new it may be.

This was another tier of power entirely.

He ignores both my indebted gratitude and the shake in my words. Instead, he surprises me by saying, "Show me her cage."

I freeze.

Cold dread gathers in my stomach, and a pulse-pounding silence stretches between us. "Her cage?"

Another snub at my words. Instead of replying, he turns on his heel and strides into the castle, and it's all too clear that he expects me to go with him.

Across the courtyard, I glance over at Dommik, because something has been made abundantly clear. King Ravinger has hate in his eyes when he looks at me, and it stems from a source I didn't expect.

The gilded pet.

"I should kill you for the way you treated Auren. For the way you fucking allowed your husband to treat her. For doing nothing."

And now, he wants me to show him her cage.

I owe a debt to Ravinger for saving my people, and he's come to collect. He's come to make me pay.

Turning, I head inside to lead the rotten king.

Surely, this is what it feels like to be stalked.

King Ravinger's presence behind me stifles and goads, making my entire back prickle with threat. My body is teetering on a precipice of adrenaline, not knowing whether to try to fight or flee. Though my mind knows neither of those options would work if he chooses to kill me.

The only thing I could do is fall to the floor in another bow of supplication. One doesn't run from the apex predator. One doesn't try to fight a god with mere sticks.

You bend the knee and beg for mercy.

My thighs burn as I lead the way up the many flights of stairs, my weakened body protesting the ascent just as much as my burdened mind.

Highbell is in tatters, with stolen furnishings and chipped-away gold. Even though Queen Kaila ordered the white paint to be buffed away and the castle to be put back to order, it still looks derelict. Her efforts were half-finished and no competition for the soiled spots where rotted fae were felled.

The stench in here makes my eyes water.

With my spine stiffened, we make it to the very top floor to Auren's room. The door is already open, with bleary-eyed windows feeding in a haze of light. I step aside, feeling Ravinger's presence like a looming, deathly dark come to swallow me whole.

He steps in. Boots loud against the gilt floor. Passing by me, he stops before the cage bars. His head turns, eyes swiveling, as he takes in every single inch of the space. I look at it too, trying to see it through his eyes.

An elaborate bedroom, every inch gleaming. It would be a normal room, if not for the cage built inside of it. It stretches up from the floor, almost mocking in the beauty of its construction. Filigree bands meld around its base and top, the cage door curling with metal fretwork. The bars are thick, the space between them narrow and curving like a pretty birdcage, each one gathering together at the top like strands of hair caught in a tie.

A gilt greenhouse, trapping the golden flower that bloomed within.

As he takes it all in, Ravinger is so still that I startle when he suddenly steps inside of it. Warily, I watch as he slowly walks around the inside of the cage.

His fingers yank at the nearly sheer drapery hooked at the ceiling, letting it fall. The fabric allowed Auren to draw it down like curtains on a window. I suppose it offered some semblance of privacy against anyone who walked in the room so they couldn't see her through the bars. Though how much privacy could it truly be? Now, it seems like such a paltry offering—more of a tease than anything.

His touch trails over her glossy bed, and he pinches the fabric between his fingers. He studies her bedside table, the wine pitchers, the gilt tray with plates and cups. Then he disappears into the threshold past her bed, his footsteps receding slowly. If he walks the entire length of her barred rooms, he'll go through her closet and washroom, all the way to the library and atrium.

I stand utterly still, bones stiff, muscles tight. My heartbeat flutters anxiously in my chest, but I've no way to calm it. I simply wait. Trembling with every tick of the clock.

When he comes back, he stops and stares at the sole window. She couldn't even have a proper look out, since the glass is iced over. Something I used to cruelly relish.

My stomach twists in a way that feels an awful lot like remorse.

Ravinger stands there for a drawn-out moment. The silence squeezes every part of my spine, like his grip is ready to grind down my bones.

Finally, he turns.

Walks toward me.

Stops.

My heart nearly falls out of my chest in trepidation. I don't dare take a breath or make any sudden movement. His looming presence bears down on me with quiet wrath. I can hear every word he's not saying as if they're striking across my face.

I don't know when something spurred between Auren and him, but it doesn't matter. To stand here with him now, to witness him seeing this barred room, it coats me in terrified shame. He looks at me, full of fuming contempt and utter blame, and the truth is right there in his eyes.

We caged the woman he loves.

My chest aches with a longing sort of grief as it recognizes such a dangerous devotion, the likes of which I have never seen. His feelings for Auren permeate the very air, making me quiver beneath its weight.

Maybe the rumors are true, that he's no Orean—no fae either—but a demon. One who burns with death and will strike me down right here and now, judging me for the part I played.

Still, he stares at me in silence, though he doesn't need to say a thing. I can feel his menace, can feel the words he spoke in the city, over and over again in his hate.

I should kill you.

Water beads at my eyes, and something in me, some final barrier of my cold-hearted justifications, shatters away.

My voice is just as broken. "I'm sorry."

This apology won't be enough to appease him, and we both know it, but I offer it anyway. Shame and acceptance pull down my head, neck bending, heart pounding, death imminent. My only consolation is, with his amount of power, I know my end will be swift, and I know Dommik will take care of the survivors.

Ravinger takes a step closer, and from the corner of my eye, I see the glinting black spikes along his arm. My panic rises up at the sight, because what if instead of using his magic to end me, he runs me through?

I feel his stare against my form with an abrasive drag. Even my ice is too scared to show its face, my power shriveling in his presence. Then he moves, and my eyes slam shut, my body flinching wildly.

But…his magic doesn't invade me. His spikes don't stab into my skin.

Instead, he walks away.

My eyes open at the sound of his footsteps retreating. Shocked, I watch him leave through the bedroom door, and my entire body slumps.

He didn't kill me.

Why didn't he kill me?

For long moments, I can't move. I'm half-expecting him to storm back through the door, deciding to end me after all. Yet he doesn't come back, and I finally snap out of it enough to leave.

My hands are shaking as I go to the door, but before I walk out, I steal a glance at the cage.

She was inside it for years .

No wonder she killed Tyndall—if what Kaila told me is true.

We were both trapped by King Midas, though in very different ways. Both blinded—her, by love, and me, by hate.

I think I see things now because I've finally started to look.

My body stiffens with the residual waves of shame, and I swallow hard. Thinking of her trapped in here. Thinking of how it must've been.

The favored was nothing but a prisoner.

A whisper trembles from my lips, shaking out into the cold and empty room. "I'm sorry," I say.

Though it's far too late for her to hear it.