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Back For Ever Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Map of the Willowhaven
  4. Map of Rosehill City
  5. Foreword
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. Epilogue
  62. Map of Rosehill City
  63. Also by Jenny Hickman

The gallows have been erected where only a handful of days ago I stood in a white dress, expecting to marry a prince. My wedding gown has been replaced by a fitted gray muslin so long it sweeps the cobblestones as I trudge toward the raised platform, escorted not by my father but by four armed guards.

This crowd is even larger than the one that came to watch the wedding, which says so much about the true state of this city. For all its sunshine and blooms, there is still too much darkness.

I climb the stairs. One. Two. Three. Standing face-to-face with a man as tall as he is wide wearing a black mask over his face, my heart beats firmly in my chest.

“Kerris Dawn, you have been sentenced to death for the murder of our great king, Bandon Reve, and Master Trevor Dillon. Do you have any last words?”

Only this morning, I had so many things to say. But now, all I can think about is how poorly these small-minded people have treated their neighbors. They deserve to know the truth about their leader, to be given a chance to decide for themselves.

I straighten my spine, throw back my shoulders, and say as loudly as I can, “Ronan Reve isn’t the rightful heir to the throne. Everett Gathin is.”

Ronan’s face turns as red as a robin’s breast, the vein in his forehead thumping as he glowers from his throne. Beside him, his mother smirks, ever the cold, calculating queen.

The masked man drags me by the chains still binding my wrists, forcing me to climb atop a rickety stool as he fits the length of coarse rope around my neck and tightens the noose at my nape.

I’m not scared.

I’m not scared.

I’m not scared.

I take my last breath.

I’m not scared.

I’m not scared.

My eyes fall closed.

A low rumble sounds in the distance. A swarm of tiny birds lift into the cloudless sky on colorful wings, a glorious farewell.

The guards posted at the edge of the crowd take off toward The Divide, to where dust swirls like a cyclone.

Everett Gathin emerges from the muddy cloud, dagger drawn and his long legs eating up the distance.

My heart soars as I gasp, and⁠—

The stool is kicked from beneath me.

55

“Even buried beneath a bed of lies, the truth will always make itself known.”

Author Unknown

I hear him over everything else, the screams and cries, the slap of boots on cobblestones and clang of clashing metal. Ever shouting my name is the only sound in this world that can pry open my lids as consciousness fades. Amidst the black spots that speckle my vision, I see him sprinting toward me. Arms and legs pumping, fear wild in his midnight eyes.

As fast as he is, he won’t be fast enough to save me.