48. Children of the Revolution
BETH
T he Lunar Cascades rush around us, washing away the ash that clings to our skin. The silver light of the moon reflects off the water, its beauty at odds with the hellish glow of Summerlands Castle burning in the distance. Flames devour the spires, sending embers spiraling into the blackened sky.
Elio holds Damian upright, his face pale and streaked with burns, while I press a hand to the Shadow King’s chest, desperate to find his heartbeat.
Survivors huddle in the shallows, their eyes wide with terror, their clothes soaked through and clinging to their trembling bodies. The scent of smoke and charred wood hangs thick in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of the mineral water. I clutch the edge of a jagged rock for balance, my lungs burning from the effort of escape, but my gaze keeps drifting back to the inferno.
Aidan is still in there.
Freya is weeping beside me, her sobs breaking the stillness of the night as she clutches the lifeless body of her lover, Thorald Storm. Deep red and black burns pepper her usually beautiful face. Strips of melted skin expose the muscles of her arms, and yet she doesn't seem to notice, her eyes vacant with grief.
I think of Seth, still on the boat, unaware that his father died tonight. That his mother might not survive, her wounds grave enough for her life to be in danger. The thought hangs heavy in my chest. How quickly everything changed, how everything we thought we knew turned to ash.
“What about Ethan?” I ask Elio.
“There’s no sign of him, but he still lives. I feel it in my bones.”
I open my mouth to say something, but a tall, masculine silhouette emerges from the inferno. My heart bleeds as I recognize my husband among the flames.
Aidan marches out of the ruins of his castle like a god reborn, his short, soot-laden hair messy and wild, framing his sharp features. He’s unashamed of his nakedness, the phoenix tattoo curling up from his thigh to his hip—its wings spread in exquisite detail, flames etched in gold and crimson that shimmer along with his long strides.
His chest and stomach are streaked with ash and sweat, every line of muscle defined by the cinders embedded in the grooves of his skin. My breath catches at the sight of him. There’s purpose in his step, his chest rising and falling with a controlled intensity, each movement exuding strength and resolve. His eyes meet mine, molten and unyielding, and I can’t look away. Aidan isn’t just a warrior or a king in this moment—he’s a force of nature, and every nerve in my body hums in response.
The surge of energy that courses through me as I step toward him eclipses everything else. My clothes are in tatters, barely hanging on. The world narrows to the two of us amidst the wreckage of everything we’ve lost. His warm, steady hands slide along my arm before wrapping around my shivering frame, pulling me closer. There’s no hesitation, no words needed. His lips meet mine, and everything else fades—leaving only the taste of fire and blood. The world burns around us, but I’ve never felt more alive.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“I’m unharmed, thanks to you.”
“Willow escaped.” He grabs hold of my chin and kisses me again, like he can’t believe our luck. “But we survived. Who else is unaccounted for?”
We catch him up on the body count, the grim reality of our survival settling in. Hundreds of courtiers, servants, and guests didn’t make it out.
A woman with white-blonde hair is sprawled over Damian, crying quietly and clutching him for dear life.
“Is he?—”
“He lives, but barely. His wife healed him in time,” Elio answers, his voice steady but strained.
Lori is with her, gently patting the woman’s back, offering what little comfort she can. The two of them were among the servants and guards who managed to escape the castle in time.
By a cruel twist of fate, most of the High Fae foreigners escaped through the mirrors, while those without a Shadow mask—the less glamorous courtiers and commoners—were left to their own devices. We now have to reckon with the ones we couldn’t save, the ones we lost to the flames. The simple fact that very few among the elite guests invited to the wedding deigned to help seems to—at least in part—justify the attack. And yet, even though some royals died, the common folk paid a higher price, as always.
“Did you find Willow?” Elio asks Aidan.
“Yes, but she escaped.”
Elio’s skin is burnt in patches, the ice frosting along the margins of the burns as if it’s trying to keep them together, a fragile attempt at healing. “Willow was able to fool Ethan, which means the jewels of the Mist King make her more powerful than the King of Light himself. She might be able to save my wife.”
“Willow wants to kill your father at any cost. So whether or not she could help you, the new King or Queen of Light might,” Aidan responds, his gaze hardening. “And after what we all witnessed tonight, I’d say your father deserves to die.”
“With Ezra gone, who could the next King of Light be?” I ask, my mind racing. “Helios, the God of Light, believes in hereditary monarchies above all else.”
“My father has other children. Tons of them, in fact, scattered across the realms,” Elio says, his words striking us all like a blow. “We might even know some of them. My father loved to spread his seed in every royal line, as a game. If Willow wants to kill him, I’ll gladly help her in any way I can.”
With two dead monarchs, the chalice melted, and the symbol that was the Summerlands castle destroyed, the rebels have managed to spark a revolution.
War has come to the Fae continent.
I once thought Aidan would burn the world down for me, that he’d sacrifice everything, even his own destiny, to protect me and keep me close. But it’s not about destruction—it’s about rebuilding. Together. The world is broken, but we’ll forge something new from its ruins, something stronger. Something worthy. And this time, it’s not just his fight, his home, his future. It’s ours.
Aidan and I tend to the wounded as we wait for the flames of the brazier to relent, for the inferno to burn itself out before we lead everyone out of the Lunar Cascades and down the path carved through the mountains toward the streets of the capital below. It’s a brand-new world out there, one forged in fire and ash.
"As King and Queen of Summer, people will look to us for answers, for a way out of this mess," Aidan whispers.
"We’ll find one," I say, gripping Aidan’s hand. "And we’ll do better than those who came before us."
“Together,” he replies.
I give him a sharp nod. “Forever.”