The bridge connecting our worlds still glows where it clings to the edge of the canyon, the planks falling one by one as the flames eat at the ropes holding them together. The wagons and mounts remain on the other side, along with all of our empty jugs.

Not only have I damned myself, but also I have damned everyone else as well.

Since we were children, we were taught that no good could possibly come from seeking the affections of a Seelie fae. Yet I chased one anyway.

I hunted her down and asked for things that I had no right to take. Her time. Her affection. Her heart.

There is no telling what the prince will do to her now, and she has no one to protect her.

* * *

I stay by the canyon until there is nothing but ash falling into the void, empty and without hope. A light rain begins to fall, extinguishing the few flickering flames that remain. For the first time in my life, I feel the cold. Its bitterness burrows deep into my bones, into my marrow, and not even the fire Gryffin has built back at our camp can stave its chill.

I have failed the woman I love.

I have failed the people who raised me.

I have failed myself.

Gryffin urges me to take the stone between himself and Maddox. Instead, I drift toward my barrel-top, unable to look at those flickers of orange and red without seeing the bridge being consumed.

“Everett Gathin,” a gravelly voice calls from the clearing’s edge, a voice I know all too well. One that has saved me and damned me.

Our chieftain waits by the trees, the mammoth trunks dwarfing one of the tallest males in our clan. With my shoulders high, I march toward my fate. Instead of anger twisting his features, he remains carefully neutral, almost impassive, as if he spent the last few hours lounging in his carriage instead of watching our hope of survival vanish into ash and smoke.

I come to a stop just out of reach, realizing belatedly that Gryffin and Maddox have joined me, halting a few steps back, blades in hands and scowls on faces. It is strange to see Maddox doing anything but smile.

The chieftain spares them no more than a glance, a flicker of something crossing his features before settling into indifference. “Is what they say true? Are you the son of the Seelie king?”

My father had accused my mother of being unfaithful during one of his many tirades. I had never believed her capable of such deception.

Until I stumbled upon the small trunk tucked beneath the bed.

I still remember the first time I dared to open it. What I found within made no sense.