Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alice
Darius struggled to push himself up, his arms shaking, his face pale. He shifted in front of me even from the ground—still trying to protect me when he could barely move.
My pulse hammered in my throat. I didn’t understand. The bow had been light as air in my hand. Why had it slammed him to his knees like he was nothing?
I set the bow down slowly onto the ground, carefully, as if it might explode.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”
Grump didn’t answer. He strode toward us, each step heavy with barely contained rage. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. The veins in his neck pulsed. And his eyes—
His eyes looked like he wanted to tear me apart.
“That,” he said, his voice low and shaking, “is my father’s.”
The words landed like an accusation. Like a death sentence.
And then, from somewhere behind me—soft, ancient, unmistakable—the bow sang.
I’m yours.
Grump heard it too. I saw it in the way his face shattered—just for a moment—before fury stitched it back together.
“What magic did you use on that, witch?”
There it was. Witch. Not Fate. Not even Alice. Just the thing he didn’t trust. A mistake waiting to happen.
This was just as bad as the coven.
But I was so tired of shrinking.
I gritted my teeth and lifted my chin. “I didn’t use any magic. It called to me. That’s what Darius said the weapon was supposed to do.”
“No one has been able to lift that bow alone,” Grump said. “It took three of us to move it into the armory. Pick it up.”
Part of me wanted to refuse. To walk away and let him have his precious weapon.
But something pulled at me. The bow wanted me.
I clasped the handle and lifted it off the ground. Light as a feather.
“Happy?”
He snagged the bow out of my hand before I could react.
For a split second, triumph flashed across his face. See? It’s mine. It was always meant to be mine.
Then the bow betrayed him.
It wrenched him backward with brutal force. His feet left the ground, and he slammed onto his back, the bow pinning his arm to the stone floor like it wanted to crush him. A strangled sound escaped his throat—rage and disbelief and something rawer underneath.
Pain. The kind that had nothing to do with his body.
Darius locked his eyes with Grump. “It picked her. You can argue until the harpies become our friends, but your father’s bow picked her.”
Grump lay there, chest heaving, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. For a moment, he looked less like a hardened rebel leader and more like a son who’d just been rejected by his own father’s ghost.
Then his face twisted.
“That’s not possible.” He wrenched his arm free and staggered to his feet, snarling. “It should have picked me. I’m the firstborn. I’m the heir to the throne.”
Jealousy?
That was a new one. No one had ever been jealous of me. I was the unstable witch. The liability. The one Tinker Bell had to make excuses for. And now Grump—the firstborn prince, the man who bent for no one—was looking at me like I’d stolen something precious from him.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or run.
Darius clasped my arm. “If you’re destined for it, Grump, then take it.”
My fingers twitched. The bow had sung for me. It had chosen me. But I shoved the thought down. If it belonged to Grump, then it belonged to Grump.
Grump grabbed the bow with both hands. His arms strained. His jaw clenched. He managed to lift it an inch—maybe two—before it slammed back down.
He put his hands on his hips, breathing hard. “This is fucking impossible.”
This was ridiculous. I didn’t want to battle over a bow. I hadn’t asked for any of this.
As if it heard me, the bow sang. I’m hers.
My chest tightened. Even the weapon was fighting for me. Why? What did it see that everyone else had missed?
I looked over at Darius. "I can pick another weapon."
Nooo, the bow wailed, and I swore I felt it vibrating with distress.
Darius' lips twitched. "I don't think the bow agrees."
Neither did I. My grip tightened around it without thinking.
Grump’s head dropped. His shoulders sagged. For a long moment, he just stood there—defeated.
Then something shifted. He straightened. Rolled his shoulders back. When he turned around, his face was hard again.
“Let’s see if it really chose her.”
He strode toward a row of targets mounted on the far wall. Each one had a brunette woman’s face painted on it—cold eyes, cruel smile, a crown of thorns.
The queen. It had to be.
I glanced uneasily at Darius. “I’ve never shot an arrow before.”
My hands were trembling. Grump was watching me like a hawk waiting for a mouse to fail. One missed shot and he’d have all the proof he needed that I didn’t deserve this.
Darius stepped closer, his hand sliding down my arm until his fingers laced through mine. He pulled me close, his breath warm against my ear.
“Rumor has it that the bow is magical. All it needs is a bearer.” His silver eyes held mine. “You. The bow knows what to do. Trust it.”
Trust it. Easy for him to say. I was the one about to humiliate myself in front of a father who already hate me.
But the bow hummed softly against my palm. Warm. Waiting. Patient.
I won’t let you fall, it seemed to say.
Grump motioned with his hand. “Shoot, witch.”
From daughter to witch. I hardened myself, refusing to let him see how much that cut.
I took a slow breath and lifted the bow.
It settled into my palm like it had always belonged there. The gold was warm—not cold like metal should be—and it pulsed faintly beneath my fingers, like a heartbeat.
I reached back and pulled an arrow from the quiver. The shaft was smooth, perfectly balanced. My fingers found their position without thinking—one above, two below the nock—as if they’d done this a thousand times.
That’s it, the bow whispered. Just like that.
I raised the bow, drawing the string back toward my cheek. The golden thread hummed with tension, vibrating against my fingertips. My arms should have burned from the strain. They didn’t. The bow carried the weight for me.
My focus narrowed. Grump’s glare, Darius’ worry, the flickering torchlight—all of it faded until there was nothing but me and the target. The queen’s painted face. Her cold, cruel eyes.
Please let this work.
I exhaled. Released.
The arrow sang through the air—a streak of gold—and embedded deep into the target with a satisfying thunk.
Right between the queen’s eyes.
I fired again. Another bullseye.
Again. Dead center.
Again. Right through her painted throat.
The cavern went silent.
I lowered the bow, my heart pounding. Had that really just happened? Had I really just done that?
Darius’ smile was slow and warm, pride shining in his silver eyes. He leaned closer, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You’re amazing, Fate.” He gestured toward the bow. “You were destined to have that—whether Grump wants to admit it or not.”
I glanced at Grump.
He stood frozen, staring at the targets. Four arrows. Four perfect shots. From a witch who’d never held a bow in her life.
His jaw worked like he was chewing glass.
He dragged his hand through his hair. “You shoot better than Archer. He didn’t shoot this well when his bow chose him.”
I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say. Every time I opened my mouth around Grump, it was wrong. I felt like I kept throwing gasoline on a fire. We’d barely patched things up after our last fight—the wound still raw, the truce held together with spit and stubbornness.
He walked over to me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Something in his expression had shifted. The hardness was still there but cracked at the edges.
“You’re so much like your mother.” His voice was quieter now. Almost gentle. “She defied me as well. And she could do the impossible.”
My throat tightened. From witch to this. I didn’t know which version of him to trust.
But hearing him talk about her—even just a glimpse—made my chest ache.
I thought of how her magic had protected me. The chest. The bubble. The impossible things she’d done to keep me alive.
I just wished she could have escaped the fire.
“You’re her daughter.” He put his hand on my shoulder—heavy, warm. “And mine. Your grandfather must have sensed you. I believe he left something of himself in that weapon. He must believe in you... Fate.”
My throat tightened.
My grandfather. A man I’d never met. A king who’d died before I ever knew he existed. And somehow, from beyond death, he’d reached out and chosen me.
I stared down at the bow in my hands. The gold was warm, almost alive.
All my life, I’d had Tinker Bell. Just Tinker Bell. And I’d been grateful—so grateful—but there had always been a hollow space inside me. Questions I couldn’t answer. Where did I come from? Who was I supposed to be?
Now I had a father who was still learning how to be one. Six uncles who wore their hearts in their loyalty. And a grandfather who had left a piece of his soul behind—just in case I ever found my way here.
I blinked back the sting in my eyes.
“I won’t let him down,” I said quietly. “Or you.”
Grump’s hand squeezed my shoulder once. He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
“You’ll go out with Archer tomorrow. He’ll show you the perimeter and how to watch for our enemies, especially the harpies.”
My stomach dropped. Harpies. Those magnificent, deadly creatures I’d frozen in the sky. The ones that served the queen without question or mercy.
And he wanted me to go up against them?
Before I could respond, Grump turned and strode out of the cavern, leaving me standing there with a legendary bow and a head full of impossible things.
Darius wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close. “You’re full of surprises. How the hell did the coven not recognize how powerful you truly are?”
I stared into his silver eyes. My heart beat frantically. He was exhausted—I could see it in the shadows beneath his eyes, the pallor of his skin—but something else burned beneath the weariness. Wonder. Maybe even awe.
No one had ever looked at me like that.
“Because nothing worked,” I whispered. “Not there. Not with them.”
He leaned closer, his breath warm against my lips. “Maybe it’s because you didn’t believe in the impossible.”
Then he kissed me—deep and slow—and for one perfect moment, I forgot about harpies and queens and impossible things.
There was only him.