Chapter 43

43

KASSANDRA

W e’re led to Treyton’s room, which is apparently a few floors down from my own. According to the guard who led us here, Aleksander’s room is right across the hall. I make a mental note of that and then rap my knuckles against Treyton’s bedroom door.

For a long moment, there’s no answer, and then a lock clicks a tick before the door swings open.

Treyton stands in the threshold, his white shirt unbuttoned to show his perfectly sculpted chest and abs, as well as a trickle of pink hair leading down to the waistband of his pants. All of the candles are out, but the blinds are open, allowing natural light to flicker in and illuminate his tousled pink hair.

And… What is that around his neck? It almost looks like a red necklace?—

“Holy Gaia.” Bailey releases a high-pitched screech from beside me. “Is that… Gaia.”

She begins to fan herself yet again, her entire face redder than a tomato.

“Umm…my name is Treyton, not Gaia.” The Spring Prince looks bemused.

I have to bite down on my mounting smirk. “Treyton, meet Bailey, my lady-in-waiting. She’s your biggest fan.”

One of Treyton’s eyebrows arches. “My…fan?”

Bailey all but pushes her way in front of me, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oh my Gaia. You’re so attractive. I mean, I always knew you would be, but the few glimpses I’ve had of you are nothing compared to this. Not that I obsessively watch you or anything like that. That would be weird. And creepy. And I’m not creepy.”

Bailey reaches for my wrist and grips it tightly. I startle, having not expected the contact. As a general rule, fae don’t touch me, not if they know who I am and what I can do. Perhaps Bailey doesn't know I’m the Death Whisperer, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s touching me.

So trustingly.

So innocently.

For a moment, panic envelops me, and I fear that my gloves won’t work and my power will seep through. Kill her. My heart races erratically, and my skin turns damp with sweat?—

“I’m going to faint. Gaia, help me. I’m going to faint,” Bailey whispers to me, loud enough for Treyton to hear. “Am I dreaming? Pinch me, please.”

Treyton offers the younger fae an indulgent smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, though, which remain shadowed. Dark circles underscore each of them. “It’s nice to meet you, Bailey.”

The sound Bailey releases then? I’ve never heard anything like it before.

“He. Said. My. Name.” She pretends to faint. “I can die a happy fae now.”

“Can you give us a few ticks, Bailey?” I ask the smaller girl with a smile. I then direct my attention to the guard who’s with us. “You too, Mattias?”

Bailey nods, albeit reluctantly, but Mattias looks as if he wants to argue.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods once, but not before throwing Treyton a withering glare. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

“Good to know,” Treyton replies dryly, then he steps aside to let me in.

For a moment, my feet don’t move. I remain standing there in the doorway, staring up at him. I don’t want to have this conversation.

But I need to.

Gaia help me, I need to.

I venture a tentative step forward, and the door closes behind us.

Now I’m trapped.

In a room.

With Treyton.

Prince Treyton, who weaponized an already deadly virus.

Prince Treyton, who sought to kill off an entire group of fae.

Prince Treyton, who’s been trying to redeem himself for years now—but hasn’t quite figured out how to do that.

Prince Treyton, who I can’t decide if I hate or admire.

Prince Treyton, who’s my fated mate.

I find that I can’t focus on him—on his penetrating stare that sees too much—so I instead take a glance around his room.

It’s small, though I’m not surprised. Blaze and his father don’t seem like the type of males who would supply extravagant rooms for their guests, especially guests like the Spring Prince. A single bed dominates the center of the room, flanked by two nightstands. A dresser rests against the wall opposite the bed, and beside it is a door that no doubt leads to a bathroom. The air smells stale and almost moldy, though the wind from the open window does a good job of dampening the stench.

“Did you come here to yell at me again? Tell me you hate me?” Treyton’s voice is inflectionless as he moves to sit on the bed.

He rests his arms between his legs and bends his head forward.

Guilt swamps me, and I move until I’m directly in front of him. I place a single gloved finger underneath his chin and direct his gaze to mine.

Only when I’m sure I have his attention do I sign, “I’ve actually come to apologize.”

Shock splays across his face, chased away quickly by disbelief. And is that… Is that suspicion? “Why in the world would you apologize?”

Dread settles over my shoulders like a reaper’s cloak. “I never should’ve slapped you the way I did. Never. No matter how angry I got, that crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”

A multitude of emotions crosses his face, most of them there and gone too quickly for me to decipher them.

He cocks his head with rigid tension. “You’re apologizing to me…because you slapped me?”

“Yes.”

Treyton stares at me for a tick…before breaking into laughter. Dry, humorless laughter that sounds as if it’s being dragged up his throat by a rusty hook. “Kassandra, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you fucking murdered me after learning the truth. I deserved more than just a slap. I deserved to die?—”

“Don’t say that,” I interrupt, dropping to my knees before him and placing my hands on his knees.

He’s trembling—desperate, full-body tremors that remind me of the one time Madam Herra’s house was hit by an earthquake.

“I killed a lot of people, Kassie,” he says quietly, self-loathing evident in his voice.

“So have I. So has Blaze. So has Aleksander. All of us have killed. I still carry that guilt, even now.” Tears prick the backs of my eyes. “Did you know that I killed the Night King after he tried to…hurt me?”

His gaze snaps to my face, and the color drains from his cheeks. “What?”

“I thought it was just a dream. A nightmare. But now I know…” I allow my words to taper off, allowing the silence to finish the sentence.

Now I know that it wasn’t just a dream.

Now I know that it actually happened.

A tight band constricts around my chest, hellbent on suffocating me. Draven’s dad—or is it Sylvan’s dad?—wasn’t the first fae I killed, and he won’t be the last. I killed all of those wraiths. Mitchia.

Grief, anger, and sadness fight for the throne inside of me. I have no idea which one will conquer in the end.

“It’s different, Kassie, and you damn well know it.” He licks his bottom lip with a pained sound I feel in the hollow of my bones.

“Explain to me how it’s different.”

“It just is.” He swallows again. “You killed in self-defense. I killed innocent fae. Maybe that wasn’t my intention, but it’s what happened.”

“Should intention count for anything?” I demand. “Because if it does, then that makes me the bigger monster. I wanted to kill Mitchia. I wanted to kill the Night King. I wanted to kill , Treyton. Intention matters.”

A single tear cascades down my cheek and settles on my lower lip.

Turning my attention away from Treyton, I focus out the window instead. Gray, sagging clouds, thick with moisture, hang suspended in the sky. The sun is still visible, but it won’t be for long. The threat of rain is imminent.

“I said some horrible things,” I continue, my hands shaking as I sign. “And I think a part of me meant them. But I shouldn’t have meant them. What you did was horrible—you know that, and I know that—but not unforgivable. You never intended for it to go that far. You changed your mind, and that means something. Your father never should’ve released the virus.” My ribs seem to press against my lungs. Breathing is impossible. “I don’t know what this means for us and this so-called mating bond?—”

Treyton’s breath hitches.

“—but I don’t want to be angry anymore. I’m not saying I forgive you, but I don’t want to hate you either.”

“You… You hated me?” Treyton’s voice is a breath of sound. An exhale of air.

“I don’t know,” I confess. “Maybe? I was angry because all I could think about was all of those fae who died. I lost my voice and hearing because of you, Treyton. It’s a lot for me to wrap my head around.”

“I’ll get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness if that will make any difference. Kassandra…please.” With a gentleness belying the anxiety in his eyes, Treyton grabs my cheeks between his hands and guides my face towards his.

He doesn’t kiss me, but he also doesn’t immediately pull away. The acrimonious tension stretches and pulls, turning taut. My breathing is embarrassingly shallow, and his isn’t much better.

“Please say you forgive me.”

It takes considerable effort to lift my hands in the air to sign. “I can’t. Not yet. But maybe in time.”

His long lashes flutter against his cheekbones. “I understand. But now that I know there’s a chance you can forgive me, I’ll never stop proving myself to you. Never. Only when I’m dead.”

“Don’t say that.” I travel my gaze up the smooth column of his throat and pause when I reach the red line I noted earlier. I reach a hand towards it instinctively.

“Kassie, don’t.” His voice breaks.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” It certainly wasn’t there earlier. Is that why he changed his clothes? Why he wore a long-sleeved shirt with a high collar?

“Kass…”

Whatever Treyton’s about to say is interrupted by pain.

Blinding, agonizing pain that steals the breath straight from my lungs. A lance of fire dances across my vision, and I fall backwards, my spine arching. A scream lodges in the depths of my throat, refusing to release.

It feels as if I’m ruthlessly being turned inside out. As if my skin is where my muscles were and my muscles are where my skin was.

What is happening to me?

“Kassandra!” Treyton falls to his knees beside me, panic twisting his handsome features. “What’s happening? What’s going on?”

My arm…

It’s burning.

Gaia, the pain…

I flick my gaze towards the mark on my arm—a mark that seems to be glowing a bright, luminescent shade of red. Panic jangles my nerves as the pain persists. It takes considerable effort to swallow down the sharp spike of fear.

What the fuck?

Darkness paints across my vision, black and depthless. Only Treyton’s face remains visible, illuminated like he’s haloed in fire. The pink strands of his hair kiss the angles of his face, and his blue eyes are wild and desperate. He opens his mouth, but whatever he says is lost to me, drowned out by a deafening roaring sound.

Am I dying?

Is that what’s happening?

My vision begins to shake—or maybe the castle is shaking.

All I know is I feel as if I’m dying, and bile is attempting to crawl up my esophagus.

Treyton throws his body over mine as a piece of the ceiling falls inches from where he once was. More and more cement and wood rain down on top of us. Thunder cackles in the distance, and a zigzagging strip of light illuminates the sky.

Wait…the sky?

How can I see the sky?

Where is the ceiling?

The world continues to fall down around me as I give in to the persistent tugging of unconsciousness.

Darkness claims me.