For a moment, my vision blurred, but I knew Gavriel stood over me.

“Yes,” I said, and I took the hand he offered.

“You should not have come,” he said once I was on my feet.

“I had to,” I said. It was the only response I could offer. Gavriel would not understand why I had to come. I had not wished to be queen so I could sit on a throne. I wished to become queen to protect my people, which meant if they went into battle, I would lead.

“You are mortal,” he said, his voice gentle. “You were not made to fight these monsters.”

I did not speak because I had nothing to say. Sluggishly, I moved to retrieve my blades—each one completely covered in slick blood.

With my daggers sheathed and my sword in hand, I looked to Cel Ceredi and stumbled toward the village. Gavriel followed as the carnage unfolded before us.

Many people lay dead, bodies torn open by teeth and claws. Those who had yet to die and were injured lay screaming and writhing on the ground—some with deep gashes, some with missing limbs. The bodies of several aufhockers lay still upon the ground, and while they appeared motionless, I found myself gripping my blade.

A terrible howl erupted from behind me, and I turned in time to see Isac and two other vampires taking down what seemed to be the final aufhocker. It was shaking its head vigorously, trying desperately—and hopelessly—to dislodge the blade impaling his skull.

With a groan, the creature finally crashed to the ground.

The battle was over.

It was over and I had only managed to kill one monster. The second had almost killed me.

Gavriel was right in a way—I was not made for this world—but neither was he. He had been created. As the pain from my wounds coiled through my body, I thought that perhaps I should be too.

Four

Adrian

I heard the voices even before we entered the Starless Forest.

They were the cries of witches who had been murdered here. They were not always so loud, most whispered in the language of magic, not spells but prayers for peace. Today, they wailed—a keen and haunting refrain.

Something was wrong, something beyond the traitors who roamed my country.

I was not unfamiliar with the feeling, the constant gnawing in my gut. It was a restlessness I felt deep, an ache that had not gone away even with Isolde’s return.

I had never thrived on peace. I was a creature forged by violence, honed by hate.

I wanted blood.

I had always thought that finding my lover—the one who had spurred my desire to conquer the world—would ease this rage. It had proven to be a fire that not even she could quell.

She had only made it worse.