18. Chapter 18
eighteen
T horne
The moment I see the shadows strangling the life out of Brielle, it’s as if my own breath is being stolen, as if her pain is mine. My chest tightens, fury spreading through my veins like wildfire. Every fiber of my being screams for her release. The world narrows to this one moment, this one person, and the way her body fights against Nyria’s cruel grip.
“Let her go, Nyria,” I snarl, my voice laced with a threat that would make any sane creature tremble.
But not Nyria.
She scoffs, her lip curling in contempt as she tightens her hold on Brielle’s throat, shadows constricting her fragile neck like a vice. “Look at you, Thorne,” she spits, her eyes blazing with twisted amusement. “She makes you weak. This is not a queen… this is your downfall. I’m doing you a favor. Your queen should be strong, someone who makes you stronger, not some fragile, pathetic girl.”
I want to make her eat each and every word till she is the one choking. The sight of Brielle, gasping, her life slipping away; I feel it. The pull. The bond that ties me to her, fraying at the edges with every second Nyria holds her life in the balance.
Without hesitation, the crow on my shoulder caws, its wings spreading wide as it launches into the air. I feel its fury as it dives, beak aimed straight for Nyria’s sneering face. A blur of black feathers and talons, it strikes with the fury I’ve never seen before. My companion for years, always perched on my shoulder, the one whose presence saved me from myself so many times acts with a savage intensity at it attacks Nyria.
She shrieks, staggering back as the crow’s beak slashes across her eye. Blood sprays across her pale skin, her hand flying up to cover the ruined socket. The moment her focus breaks, the shadows around Brielle dissolve, like smoke fading into the air.
She collapses, gasping for breath, and Grom is already there, helping her up in his arms. “Take her home,” I bark at Grom, my gaze never leaving Nyria. “Don’t lose her again.”
Grom’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he hesitates. But then he pull her closer, her breath still ragged, and starts for the door.
But Brielle… she moves faster than I expect.
Her grip on Grom loosens. In an instant, she’s pushing away from him, her feet stumbling but determined. Before I can react, she’s running, her arms wrapping around my waist, her body trembling against mine.
“I’m not leaving,” she gasps, the words barely audible against the frantic thumping of her heart. “Not without you.”
The world freezes. The blood pounding in my ears, the chaos of the battle behind us; it all disappears. All I can feel is the heat of her body pressed against mine, the way her fingers cling to my armor, as though letting go would mean losing everything. I’ve put her through so much bringing her here.
I stand still, my hand moving almost of its own accord to cradle her head. Her hair is soft against my fingers, her warmth seeping through the cold steel of my armor. For so long, I’ve imagined this, what it would be like to feel her, hold her—and now she’s here, in my arms, her breath mingling with mine.
Her head tilts up, her wide, tear-brimmed eyes locking onto mine, filled with desperation and fear. I hold her tighter, as if letting go would mean losing myself. And for the first time in years, I feel like I’ve found something worth fighting for that isn’t just vengeance.
“I’m not leaving you behind,” she whispers again, and her voice, though soft, rings with an unshakable strength that settles deep in my bones. She’s so warm. So very warm. Then I hear it—a sound that rips through the moment like a blade to the gut. The wet crunch of something being pierced, followed by a sharp, pained cry. My blood turns to ice.
I turn, heart racing, just in time to see Nyria, staggering back, her hand clutched to her face. Her face, contorted in agony, her fingers pressed against the hollow socket where her eye once was. But worse, far worse, is the sight of my crow, my loyal companion, skewered by the dagger in her other hand, its dark feathers soaked in blood.
For a second, all I see is red. My grip on Brielle loosens as I pull away, fury boiling in my chest. My Crow, my companion, my only friend, now lay lifeless at Nyria’s feet. But even through the haze of rage, something catches my attention.
Nyria is scrambling, blind with pain, her hand searching the ground frantically, her breath coming in ragged gasps between guttural screams. I step closer, intent on finishing her, when I see what she’s searching for.
The cursed crow’s eye.
It glimmers in the blood at her feet, a small, glassy orb that pulses with a faint, malevolent glow. My crow must’ve ripped it right from her face, stripping her of the power she’s wielded. I stride forward, and with a sharp movement, I plant my boot directly above it, the heel hovering inches from the cursed object.
“Nyria,” I bark, my voice as cold as the shadows gathering around us.
She freezes, her head tilting up to face me. Blood drips from the hollow socket, her face a twisted mask of pain and fury.
“You looking for this?” I growl, gesturing down with a flick of my head, my eyes never leaving her.
For a moment, she stares, her remaining eye wide with desperation. And then, with a snarl, she lunges for it, her fingers clawing toward the cursed eye.
But I’m faster.
My boot comes down with a sickening crunch, and I twist my foot, grinding the eye into the stone floor beneath me. Shadows erupt from beneath my heel, swirling up in thick, billowing clouds of smoke and darkness as the cursed object disintegrates into nothing but dust. Nyria’s scream pierces the air, high and sharp, filled with a terror I’ve never heard from her before but that I delight in so much.
“NO!” she wails, clutching her empty socket as she crumbles to the ground. “No, no, no!”I feel it, the shift in the air, the way the oppressive weight of her magic fades as the cursed eye is reduced to ash. She writhes on the floor, her hand slapping at the ground in futile desperation, her wails becoming softer, weaker. The shadows that once obeyed her no longer answer her call. I stand over her, silent for a moment, watching her reduced to this; a pitiful, broken creature, no longer the fearful ruler of the North she once was.
"You should have known," I murmur, voice low. Her remaining eye flickers up to me, hatred burning within it, but I can see the fear now; the fear of someone who knows the end is near. I stride closer, her body trembling, broken by the loss of her power. Her wails are nothing more than pitiful whimpers now. Without a word, I reach down and grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her up with brutal force. She gasps, clawing at my hand, but her strength is nothing now. I drag her across the stone floor, her feet stumbling as I pull her toward Brielle.
The chaos around us stills in an instant, the clash of metal, the cries of battle; all silenced. Her army of shadows dissolves into nothingness, collapsing as though the darkness itself has lost its will to fight. Brielle doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t cower away from the scene before her. She stands tall, her chin raised, eyes blazing with an anger so fierce it nearly matches my own.
I stop in front of her, gripping Nyria by the hair with one hand, my sword in the other. The blade hovers at her throat, a hair’s breadth from spilling her life across the floor. I lean down, snarling into her ear.
"Kneel before your queen."
With a swift kick to the back of her leg, I force her down. She collapses at Brielle’s feet, her body crumpling to the ground, her face twisted in pain. I stand behind her, sword still pressed against her throat, my gaze shifting to Brielle. Nyria winces, gasping for air, her breath shallow as she dares to lift her head.
"You’re at the mercy of your queen now, Nyria. Will you grovel? Ask for forgiveness?" I growl, my voice dripping with contempt.
Her lip trembles, her pride shattered, but she says nothing. There are no pleas, no words of defiance left. She is defeated.
Brielle steps forward, her eyes burning with cold fury. She looks down at Nyria, the woman who tormented her, who tried to break her, and for a moment, the silence is suffocating. Brielle’s lip curls in disgust, and with venom in her voice, she says, “Save your words, Nyria, because just like you, they will be forgotten.”
Nyria shudders at the words, the final blow to her pride.
“This is a queen,” Brielle continues, her voice unyielding, “This is what a queen does. Isn’t that what you said?”
Nyria’s face contorts with pain, but it’s the truth in Brielle’s words that wounds her more deeply than any blade could.
Brielle takes a breath, her voice steady as she utters the final condemnation. “May Villinia’s soul rest in peace.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, and in that instant, I see it. The strength, the command, the fire of a true queen in her eyes.
“Kill her,” she says, the order clear and sharp.
There is no hesitation. I draw the blade clean across Nyria’s throat, the steel slicing through flesh with a deadly precision. Blood sprays in a violent arc, splattering the stone floor and staining the ground at Brielle’s feet. Nyria’s body goes limp, her hands clawing at her throat for one last desperate moment before she crumples, lifeless, to the floor. And then, silence. I stand there, breathing hard, my eyes locked on Brielle. The woman who faced a nightmare, who endured the horrors of the maze, who now stands as queen. The queen who commanded me without fear, and I… obeyed.
Brielle’s eyes are locked onto mine until they drift past me, widening as she stares at something on the ground. I turn, following her gaze, and feel my heart seize at the sight.
Where my crow had fallen, there’s now a body, a woman crumpled on the stone, her blood pooling beneath her. Her hair, dark as raven feathers, fans out in stark contrast against the cold, unforgiving floor. That hair, the same raven color I’d seen every day, every flight, every watchful moment. I stagger, breath catching in my throat, disbelief choking me. No. Not her.
I drop to my knees, hands trembling as I reach out, lifting her gently, so gently. Her head rolls back, and her face tilts up toward me; familiar, even now, even after all these years apart. My voice cracks as I breathe out, "Mother."
My chest feels like it’s being split open, an ache so deep it steals the air from my lungs. I pull her closer, cradling her frail, broken body as if I could shield her from everything that’s already happened. Her blood seeps into my hands, warm and accusing, marking me, binding me to this unbearable truth. I feel my throat close, the grief so raw and sharp that it feels like I'm swallowing glass. Her eyelids flutter, and she opens her eyes, pale and glassy, but somehow they find me, focusing with a clarity that defies her broken body. She looks up at me, her lips parting in a faint smile, so gentle, so warm, and I feel myself shatter.
She lifts a trembling hand, cupping my face with fingers still stained from the fight, fingers that had once stroked my cheek to soothe me, to make me brave. I lean into her touch, my tears spilling over her hand. My chest heaves with words I can’t find, with a love so deep it drowns me.
“My son,” she whispers, her voice so soft, so achingly familiar, like the lullabies she’d once sung to me. She smiles again, and I feel the wound in my heart deepen, torn wider by that gentleness.
I manage a broken smile in return, though my vision blurs with tears. “It was you…” My voice is barely a rasp. “All these years, you were watching over me, guiding me…” My hands tighten around her as if holding her tighter could somehow stop this, could somehow make her stay.
Her lips pull into a small, pained smile, and she nods, the movement so weak it’s barely there. The fury rises, black and consuming, twisting my face as I glance back at Nyria’s crumpled body across the room. How dare she, how dare she rip this from me, from us. But my mother’s hand, still pressed to my cheek, grounds me, pulling me back to her, to the final moments slipping between us like sand. “No,” she whispers, a firmness in her voice that cuts through my rage, as if she can still command me, even now. “No, my son. Not like this. Not with anger in your heart. I waited so long for you, for you to be the king this maze needs, for you to find the light in your sea of darkness. Don’ t let your anger consume you again.”
I choke on a sob, the rawness of her words sinking in, tearing through my rage until there’s nothing left but grief. “But she took you… she stole you from me,” I say, my voice cracking. “Why… why couldn’t she let me have you?”
Her gaze softens, filling with a sorrow I know too well, a sorrow I inherited from her, the burden she carried alone all those years. “The darkness… it consumes all it touches,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing the lines of my face. “But you, my beautiful boy, you’ve found a light to hold onto. Don’t let it go… for me.” Her gaze drifts to Brielle, her message clear even as her voice fades. “Don’t let anger steal your heart again. There is no room there now… for anyone but her.”
I try to lift her, desperation making my movements frantic. “I can save you. I’ll find a healer, someone to help. I won’t lose you again.” My voice shakes with the words, pleading as I clutch her, as if my grip alone could bind her soul to this world.
She gasps, and a look of agony crosses her face, but she stills my hands, clutching my arm with surprising strength. “No,” she whispers, her voice a faint echo, a feather-light whisper. “This is how it was meant to be… my son. I am so very proud of you.”
Her fingers graze my cheek one last time, a final touch that feels like goodbye, like every goodbye I never got to say. I feel her slip away in my arms, her hand falling limp, her eyes still fixed on mine, but empty now; beautiful and empty. Her warmth fades slowly, leaving nothing but a hollow ache, a void where she once was. I lay her down gently, smoothing her hair back, covering her with the curtain. As I rise, I steel myself, clutching onto my composure like armor. I am a king, after all. I am not supposed to feel this, to be swayed by grief like this. But when I finally look around, meeting the eyes of my warriors, of Grom… even Brielle, I see my own sorrow reflected back at me, raw and unhidden. Their faces, roughened by battles and hardened by loyalty, are softened now, glistening with the grief we all share. Each tear is a testament to her memory, to the kindness my mother wove into all our lives, whether they knew her as their queen or as the crow at my side. They knew her as I did. Her spirit touched everyone here, even Brielle; especially Brielle. My mother, through every whispered suggestion, every guiding moment as a crow on my shoulder, had led her to me, had woven this fate as tightly as if she’d stitched it herself.
Brielle steps forward, hesitant, her eyes fixed on mine. I can feel the weight of everything I’ve put her through, the burdens I selfishly placed on her shoulders, drawing her into my realm, into my chaos, just to fulfill my own desires. I was cruel to bring her here, to watch her stumble through my labyrinth of nightmares. The silence stretches between us, a fragile thread woven with unspoken words. I search Brielle’s eyes, unable to hide the rawness in mine, and I know she can see all of it, the cruelty, the desperation, the king unmasked, standing exposed and vulnerable before her.
“I am the monster they warned you about,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “I am the darkness you were dragged into, the shadow that pulled you through that cursed maze…
Her hand rises slowly, and I brace myself, unsure if she’ll touch me or strike me for the pain I’ve caused her. But instead, her fingers press lightly against my cheek, grounding me, the warmth of her touch undoing me in ways I’d never expected. She holds my face in her hands, and her voice is a whisper, raw and steady.
“I spent my time here hating you, fearing you,” she begins, her thumb tracing a line along my cheek, “but somewhere in that darkness, I found myself. Every trial, every step you forced me to take in that maze, it led me here, didn’t it? To this moment.”
Her words cut through me, unraveling the walls I’ve held up for years. She pulls herself even closer, her eyes unyielding, searching mine with an intensity that’s fierce, almost gentle.
“I don’t want a king who pretends to be perfect, nor a man untouched by shadows,” she says, her voice unwavering. “I want the man who wears his scars and nightmares like armor. The man who made me stronger by breaking me down, only to build me up again. If you’ll be that man for me… then I’ll be your queen.”
Her words strike me, sinking deep into the places I thought were long dead. She sees through it all, the mask, the stories, the legends meant to inspire fear. To her, I am simply the man standing in front of her, stripped bare of titles and power.
I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss into her palm, “Then I am yours, Brielle. Irrevocably. You have my heart, my shadows, my soul—now and always.”
I trace my fingers along her jaw, my thumb lingering against her pulse as if binding my promise there. “I’ve commanded fear, I’ve been the monster in every story, but none of it matters beside you. You make me crave more than power. You make me crave a purpose. If you’ll have me, I’ll stand by you through every breath, until the day I am nothing but dust at your feet.”
She doesn’t look away, and the strength in her gaze reaches into the hollow, shattered parts of me, piecing them back together with nothing more than her presence. At this moment, I’d burn down a thousand kingdoms just to see her look at me like this forever.
"My she-wolf," I murmur, my voice low and reverent, "you’ve become everything I knew your were. A fierce, unbreakable, queen who commands the shadows instead of fearing them. I’d stand in hell a thousand times if it meant seeing you rise like this.”
The doors slam open, and Lord Thacket bursts in, his voice booming through the chamber with his usual brash energy. His gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the aftermath of the battle, the bowing warriors, and finally landing on Brielle and me, still standing hand in hand.
Thacket strides up to us, clapping each of us firmly on the back. "Finally," he says, a grin splitting his face as he turns to the assembled men. “Bow, all of you, to your new queen!” His words carry through the room, and in a wave of rustling armor and scraping boots, every warrior bends a knee to Brielle.
I feel her hand tense in mine, her fingers trembling just enough for me to notice. But when I glance at her, I see the pride beneath the nerves. Her chin is raised, her gaze steady as she accepts their silent fealty, the strength I always knew she possessed radiating from her in waves. I squeeze her hand, a wordless reminder that she’s earned this, that I’ll stand beside her.
The men rise, and Thacket turns back to me with a wicked smirk, clapping me on the shoulder once more. “Now don’t fuck it up,” he laughs, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
But the laughter dies as Thacket’s eyes catch on something near the edge of the room, the slight curve of a form beneath a hastily-draped curtain, dark hair spilling out. His grin fades as his face contorts, and he looks at me, a question in his eyes. But I can’t bring myself to say the words aloud, to explain the pain settling like lead in my chest.
He moves to her, kneeling down, and as his hand touches the edge of the fabric, his shoulders hunch. For a moment, I think I hear him whisper something, a private farewell or a promise; I can’t tell. He’s still, only for a heartbeat, then he stands and clears his throat, his voice gruff with an emotion I hadn’t thought I’d see from him.
“We’ll give her a proper burial,” he says, straightening as he turns to me, his voice carrying a respect and finality that commands everyone’s attention.
“Yes,” I answer, my voice thick with the weight of the moment. “In the garden.” The place she always loved, where light and shadow met among the vines, where she watched over everything like the quiet sentinel she was.
Thacket nods, and as he orders the men to make preparations, I feel the first real peace settle over me, a strange calm, even amidst the grief. I turn to Brielle, her eyes still bright, still unwavering, and I know this is the beginning of something my heart has been waiting for.