“What I should have done the moment I realized what a twisted bastard you were.”

The general’s head swivels between Ronan and Nolan. The guards who aren’t nursing their wounds stalk forward, not to Ronan’s defense, but to Nolan’s.

“King Ronan ordered us to kill any Unseelie fae who crossed the bridge,” a guard with a bushy beard announces.

“Lies!” Ronan spits, his backside ramming into the well as he tries to back away from their accusations.

“King Ronan went to the victim’s house on the night of his death,” another chimes in.

Where were all these cowards when I was being faced with charges of murder? How could they let me die for the prince’s crimes?

“Who are you going to believe?” Ronan warbles. “These traitors or your king?”

The crowd presses in on all sides; the blinders they’ve been wearing have fallen away. The Unseelie aren’t the monsters they feared. The true monster has been hiding in Castle Rose all along.

Ronan’s cornflower eyes find mine once more, narrowing into slits. He tears the sword from the general’s grip and lunges for me.

Trips.

And lands on the blade.

A pitiful gurgle falls from his lips, blood gushing out in a macabre pool.

The guards step back to keep the king’s blood from staining their black boots.

King Ronan Reve dies at our feet, a sword protruding from his back and Ivee’s screams tearing through the blood-drenched air.

He deserves this, I remind myself even as tears prick the backs of my eyes. He came to this square today to watch me die. So I swipe the tears from my eyes and turn my back on him the same way he turned his back on me.

Ever watches with a solemn expression on his handsome face. When he opens his arms, I fall into them, and the world in chaos falls quiet as I listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.

The bodies of those lost are covered and left for the mortician to collect while the rest of the fae watch in stunned silence as the Unseelie drag the wolves’ carcasses back toward their makeshift bridge.

With his arms still tight around me, Ever orders the Unseelie to follow the wolves’ tracks to make sure no more haunt our city and to find out how they reached Rosehill in the first place.

The temple doors swing wide on groaning hinges. A bearded man in red robes emerges, walking through the macabre scene as if it doesn’t exist. How many other fae were hiding in their homes, watching their neighbors be slaughtered?

When he reaches us, he comes to a halt. “Are you Everett Gathin?”

Ever nods. “I am.”

“Are the rumors true? Are you King Bandon’s eldest son?”