Chapter Thirty-Nine
I’m not thinking about death as I kiss him—not his, and not mine.
For once, I think of nothing … and feel everything.
There’s an inward fracturing, every defense obliterated by ferocious, demanding desire as Roze kisses me, and I have a moment to register the softness of his lips, the hunger in the way he presses them to mine.
There is nothing tender here. This is the kiss of a man who has been touch starved for a lifetime.
Cursed with lovelessness. He kisses me like he will never have enough.
Like I am the answer to every despicable desire of his heart.
He cradles the back of my neck, his fingers weaving into my hair.
I move my hands from his neck to wrap around his back, snaking my shadows everywhere.
This is no longer about escape, it’s about being found, and taking what is ours—world be damned.
His lips move against mine, devouring me, and I claw at him, pulling him closer.
I let my shadows ensconce him. Like a moth in a cocoon, I bury him. Like a viper swallowing a mouse, I take him.
Like my brother. Like Kole. Like his father. With the last dregs of my life, I take his.
And then we are both falling. Me by his lips, and him by my darkness.
I am first struck by the smell of grass and heather. Then, the warmth on my face like butter and liquid joy, which means …
I open my eyes. And I laugh—full chested and free.
Roze breathes deeply on top of me. “What could possibly be so funny?”
I shove his shoulder lightly. “Roll over, you buffoon. It’s the sun.”
Roze rolls off me, and though I miss his closeness, the look on his face when he opens his eyes is priceless.
His face cracks into a grin I have never seen—a smile that shows me that he has dimples when he truly smiles, that he would have been a torturously adorable child had he ever been allowed freedom or fun.
And his eyes. It is only in the sunlight that I can now see them clearly—not silver, but pale blue.
He catches me looking at him when he turns his head.
“Viola,” he says, his voice soft. He reaches toward me, and then stops, his hand freezing in the air. That familiar restraint crosses his face. But then it vanishes. Fingers bare, he reaches toward me and brushes his knuckles along my cheek.
Death has no power here.
Because death has all the power here.
“I don’t understand,” he says.
I don’t answer right away. I want to be sure. This was my greatest gamble, but the clues were all there.
I sit upright as well and take in our surroundings.
The neighboring woods are thick with powerful oaks, twisting every which way as though they’ve had all the room in the world to grow whatever way they thought best. There are bees, gliding from flower to flower, happy with the simple work of their existence.
A wild laugh escapes me. “We’re in Castelle, Roze.”
He sits up with me. “The Kingdom of Death.” He shakes his head disbelievingly.
I strain the tall grass through my fingers, feeling its warmth. “My father said death started to infect the land of Castelle when too much dark magic was used here. So much so that it became death itself. It became the afterlife. I guessed that we would be taken here—to my father’s Kingdom.”
But never did I think death could be so lovely. Everything here is bright and sharp, like I’ve been dreaming for a very long time and have only just woken up.
“For us to be truly rid of my mother, I needed to die—the abomination.”
My heart aches. “You’ve always been more than that, Roze. If you were just your mother’s awful power, you’d be gone now.” I reach out and take his hand. “But you’re not. You’re here.”
He stares back at me with such warmth and wonder that I think I might burst. “I’m here.”
For a long moment, or possibly a lifetime, we are silent, both content to sit there in the sun.
He leans back, hands behind his head, and gazes up at the sky.
“Not that I’m in any rush—this all seems rather pleasant—but if we’re dead, how are we going to get back?”
“It won’t stay the Kingdom of Death. It’s already starting.
The land is healing.” I pull a small yellow flower between my fingers, studying it in wonder.
“We’ve broken the Queen’s hold on Aragoa, allowing dark and light to coexist the way they were meant to, the way León and Alexandre wanted them to.
It’s going to heal Aragoa, Roze,” I whisper.
“Castelle too, I think. Everything will be balanced again.” I close my eyes, taking a deep, slow breath.
I silently promise myself to never breathe stale cavern air again.
“Viola, look.” Roze is pointing to the tops of the trees. In the far distance rise charcoal-black mountains, and ensconced among them, its dark twisting spires piercing the sky, is a castle.
“Well,” he says with a quiet laugh. “Welcome home, Princess.”