Chapter 35
35
R oran was too late.
The rage he’d been suppressing since Aven agreed to the wedding burned inside him, raw and relentless, clawing at his insides like a living thing. His father had laid out their strategy long before the attack on the mortal castle: leave one princess alive, manipulate her into position, and secure peace through marriage.
It had sounded simple enough. Until it wasn’t.
Now, Aven loved Cillian, and Roran had forced himself to watch it all unfold, to stay silent and let the plan proceed as intended—even when every possessive instinct in him screamed to claim what should have been his.
But Cillian was the better choice as groom. The perfect, golden crown prince. Roran had agreed, had buried his darker desires deep where they couldn’t hurt her. He’d learned to love her smile, her defiance, her light—learned to want her happiness more than he wanted to possess her.
But his unease only doubled, tripled in size, until he’d been ready and willing to interrupt that cursed wedding. He hated the thought of Aven dimming her light for someone, especially for a man like Cillian.
Watching her walk down that aisle, seeing the fear in her eyes… The beast inside him had nearly broken free. He would have torn the world apart if she’d given him the slightest sign.
Too late.
He threw himself into their matrimonial chamber, his psyche torn in two between what he wanted and needed to do and what he knew he must do for the sake of his people. The marriage had to go through.
Too late.
He got there just in time to watch the knife slide into her chest.
“What the hell are you doing?” The sound of his voice splintered the spell, and Aven’s body dropped to the floor. “Cillian, stop!”
She hit hard, the dagger still wedged in her heart.
Something inside him shattered. He felt her death like a physical blow, the loss tearing through his soul with enough force to bring him to his knees. His carefully maintained control evaporated like mist.
Through the red haze of fury, he watched Cillian stagger back, staring at his bloodstained hands with wide, glassy eyes.
“I said, what the—” The words died in his throat as power exploded through the room. The magical shockwave slammed into him as Cillian’s head snapped back, his pupils expanding to black before blazing white-hot.
His brother’s jaw wrenched open in a silent scream as ancient power flooded his system, transforming him into something inhuman.
A literal god.
Among immortals.
He should have known. Should have trusted his instincts that first night when he’d wanted to spirit Aven away, to claim her as his own. Instead, he’d listened to Cillian’s honeyed words about peace and destiny. Fool.
Raw magic crackled off his brother’s skin, and Roran ignored it, bending down to scoop Aven into his arms. All his careful restraint, all those times he’d forced himself to step back, to let her choose—none of it had protected her. Her skin had gone pale, drained of blood, a tidal wave of it pouring from the dagger. With a snarl, he yanked the blade free and hurled it away.
She looked peaceful, almost like she was sleeping. Her dark lashes fanned out against pale cheeks as the glow of life diminished with each passing second.
“You have to hold on.” His magic sputtered to life after too long of going unused. He’d chosen instead to go with raw brute strength, like it might somehow separate him from his brother. Now that choice might cost him everything.
Easing his fingers through her hair, he stared at Aven, as though she might somehow still be there, ready to open her eyes and announce her surprise. Without waiting, he threw his magic into her, willing the sparks and the light to weave into a constant stream straight into her damaged heart.
“Take what you need,” he whispered against her skin. He breathed her in, the scent of roses and lightning and something uniquely, perfectly her. Except the essence of her had gone. Slipping away where he couldn’t follow. But he wasn’t ready to let her go. “Please, little princess, take it. Take everything . Only come back to me.”
Aven was dead.
The howl that tore from his throat was primal, filled with all the feelings, all the unspoken words he’d kept caged for so long.
Too late.
He forced more power into her chest, not caring if it destroyed him. He sagged from his knees to the floor and cradled Aven to his chest, her blood coloring him, his brother shifting into this thing on the other side of the room. The wind picked up and battered them. It swirled in a tornado and linked the three of them together, cutting them off from the rest of this damn world.
Please.
Roran mercilessly poured his essence into Aven. A long shot, and one not guaranteed to revive her. It might not be enough. But what choice did he have?
He couldn’t live without her. He couldn’t even think of a world where she didn’t exist. Somewhere along the line, something had happened between them.
His hands cupped her face, turning it toward him. “You have to come back for me, Aven. Please.”
His life would be nothing without her in it. Her taunts, her laugh, her smile. She was the sunshine to his endless darkness and no matter what happened?—
Cillian’s roar shattered the air. Power slammed into Roran, tearing Aven from his arms. Their bodies tumbled across the floor as his back hit the wall, and before he could recover, Cillian’s hands locked around his throat.
“Roran.”
His name, spoken by something wearing his brother’s face, as those fingers began to squeeze. An abomination. That’s what Cillian had become—something beyond control, beyond reason.
Roran reached up, and his fingers scraped Cillian’s wrist.
Cillian’s lips peeled back from his teeth, revealing a smile that had nothing recognizable left in it. “What’s done is done.” A booming tone, neither male nor female, ripped from his throat. It shook the world on its axis and turned everything upside down.
He let out a triumphant roar that joined the thunderous pulse of Roran’s heart in his ears.
Black dots danced across his vision, and his next inhalation cut off, no air making it down his ravaged throat until his lungs screamed. His magic exploded outward, raw and violent, ripping Cillian away.
Roran no sooner hit the ground than Cillian was there, lifting him by the roots of his hair with so much power it immediately sent pain through him. A sharp blow landed dead center in his chest, and when he tried to breathe in, he choked.
“Cillian, stop.”
Bands of magic tightened around his chest, his arms, his ankles. Keeping him constrained and slowly constricting.
What did he do?
Every battle tactic he knew went out of his head. This was his brother . They’d weathered too many storms for this to be the way it ended. It had been the two of them against their father, against the rest of Mourningvale and the taunts people threw at him.
Roran sucked in a sharp, much-needed breath and sent his magic outward in as many directions as possible. The scattered rays of light distracted Cillian long enough for Roran to lunge forward, kicking out with both feet. Strands of his hair remained in Cillian’s fingers, agony shooting through Roran’s skull all the way to the base of his spine. But the physical agony was nothing compared to the sight of Aven’s lifeless form.
He wasn’t leaving this room without Aven. There was no way he’d bolt with her body here, trapped inside with a monster. A monster who manipulated them both.
Cillian had always known this would be the end result, and he’d convinced Roran to go through with things anyway.
Damn it all.
He never would have allowed her to be with Cillian, would never have held back, if he hadn’t been sure that she loved him—and that he loved her.
And now she was gone.
“You dare!” Cillian roared as though reading his mind and struck out with a punch of power. The blow backhanded Roran in the core, and he bit through his lip, tasting blood.
A second hit followed as Cillian unleashed himself and his new powers.
The room shook around them like the walls were ill-equipped to handle the presence of this monster, whatever beast had replaced Cillian. Roran knew he had to keep ice in his veins in order to fight it. He had no chance of winning against a god. Not with his powers what they were, bastardized and half the strength of Cillian’s royal blood before the transition, and not with Aven a still target between them.
But he’d rather die fighting than live knowing he’d failed her again.
“Yeah, I damn well dare.” Roran spit out a mouthful of blood. “Because this is wrong and you know it. We can find another way.”
Magic sliced right through his forearm when he lifted it to block his face. The meager shield of power he erected wasn’t enough to keep his skin from splitting. His muscles shrieked in agony as he turned away, opting to go on the defensive rather than the offensive.
He strengthened this shield of air and bore down, ignoring the wound in his arm. How much time did he have before Cillian sliced clean through his magic? A second or two?
The air thinned around them as Cillian drew it away, suffocating him slowly. “It’s already too late,” the booming voice said, shaking the foundations of the palace itself. “You, and those pitiful mortals, will fall to me?—”
The room dropped into silence, Roran’s ears popping from the pressure change. And then—a small gasp behind him. He turned just in time to see Aven’s chest rise with her first breath.
It was not too late.
THE END
One breath. Two brothers. A power beyond imagining. Aven's resurrection is only the beginning of an epic story that continues in Book 2, A Kingdom of Decay . Pre-order now to be first to discover what awaits. If Aven's tale has captured your heart or left you breathless, please take a moment to leave a review and help other readers find this story.