Epilogue
I n a hallway void of light and warmth and joy, a broken princess was held up only by the arms of two males.
On her left was a traitor, one who gave up everything for a love that did not exist. His eyes of black stared forward, recalling a time it was his sister he carried to her death. Remembering the feel of her blood on his hands as she died. Though the barely conscious princess wore a thick band of leather around her neck, one with runes that glowed as they siphoned her magic from her, even she could feel the conflict that radiated from him. The regret.
On her right was a deceiver, one who gave up everything for vengeance that he would never have. His eyes of brown, eyes that were not truly his, stared down at her. His mind raced with memories of her denial, of her refusal, of her dismissal. Perhaps he understood where he went wrong, but there was no sorrow within him for the princess to sense. Only smug arrogance. For the male, with golden curls that he had only known a year, thought he had won.
Maybe he had.
As the princess’s feet dragged across the stone floors, the wound on her stomach only just healed, she wondered how long it would be before death claimed her. Her mind wandered to the statue depicting the God of Death and Creation then to his true face and name. Would he doom her to the Underworld as payback for leaving him? Or had the place she had gone been the Underworld all along? It was where all wicked souls went, after all.
Try as she might, the princess feared that she was too far gone for redemption.
What the princess did not know was that her story, though tragic, had not been in vain. Whether or not she lived to see that was still to be determined.
The two males continued to pull her along, taking her deeper into the abyss that lurked beneath a gilded island. When they slowed, the Princess forced her head up, those stormy eyes locking with the warmest brown irises she had ever seen.
Behind the iron bars sat a man, his clothes torn and stained but body free of dirt and grime. It was as if he had just been afforded a bath—as if he were being prepared.
The princess let out a gasp of surprise, her mind unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Who could blame her when little sense could be made of it?
The two males opened the cage beside his, and then they shoved her, watching as she flew to the ground with enough force to tear a cry of pain from her. Still, her gaze remained fixed on the prisoner to her right, who was scrambling towards her in a panic.
“Asher! Asher, are you okay?” Terror pinched his handsome features, those full lips and that petite nose so like his sister’s. In fact, there within the depths of those brown eyes were flecks of green, so similar to the bratty woman. The princess could find no words but one, the same that she had once used like a curse. As his warm pale hand met her cheek through the bars, the princess spoke.
“Sterling?”
Behind them, a Shifter loomed, his laugh wicked and vindictive in its shrillness. The princess turned, her eyes wide as she watched the male who had touched her and kissed her and threatened her morph. The thick blonde curls flattened, turning a muddy brown color. His once-pale skin deepened, taking on a shade of creamy brown. Those eyes, the ones that stared at her in her nightmares, lightened, a deep blue replacing the brown. Before her now stood a male she had not seen since Academy.
An immensely strong Multiple smiled down at the female he had long dreamed of holding. One he had wanted since he was only twelve years old. The very female who had rejected him time and time again, only to find herself at his mercy now.
“Hello, Ash.” The Multiple leaned forward, wrapping his hands around the bars and leaning his head against the metal. The princess recoiled, her eyes switching between the fae in front of her and the mortal beside her. Panic began to consume her, to remind her of all that she lost and all that she would lose still. In her state, she did not notice the traitor demon disappear in a cloud of darkness, nor did she witness when he reappeared, a golden queen now at his side. “I think I did quite well. The only thing I got wrong was his height, but you did not seem to realize. Not that I blame you. The two of you only met, what, twice?”
“Once,” the true prince beside her corrected with a growl.
His accent was twin to his sister’s, just slightly less formal than his parents’. Despite her horror, the princess silently chastised herself for not noticing before. For not putting together the pieces of the puzzle she had been given over the last year.
Before the princess could respond, the sound of heels meeting stone sounded from down the hall, lilac flooding the air. The queen, with her icy blue eyes and her bright orange hair, strutted forward, a smile contorting her face. There was no love in that expression, but perhaps there was some in those eyes. A love that was dangerous, for it brought nothing other than violence and desperation.
“Asher, I know this is a lot to take in, but you will have time to chit chat with Theon later. It is important we get this out of the way. Vital, even. You cannot go on without learning what consequences await your disobedience.” It was a tone of indifference—of finality.
“No, do not touch her!” The prince latched onto the princess’s wrist, tugging her further into the bars, as if he could somehow spare her. He thought of the death angel who visited him. Stassi, she had called herself. She would save them. He knew it. As long as he kept the princess safe, then they would live.
“Malcolm, take care of that.” The queen ordered with a flick of her wrist.
A deep cloud of black shadows fell upon the mortal prince. From it, the demon came. He held the mortal’s hands behind his back, yanking his hair and forcing him to watch as the queen approached the princess.
“Remember, my flower, I do this because I care.” From the queen’s hand, a vine formed, small at first. Then it grew, finger-length thorns popping through the thick green plant. The princess watched, her eyes slowly dulling. She bent forward, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs.
The princess felt the hopelessness and resigned herself to whatever came next. At least she had saved the ones she loved, she thought. When the princess tucked her chin, shielding her face, the queen spoke one last time.
“I love you, Asher.”
And then the queen lifted the vine, snapping it forward until it made contact with the princess’s back. A nearly silent cry escaped the princess’s lips, but before anyone could speak, the queen brought the vine down again. And again. And again. Each strike cut through the bandages that wrapped around the princess’s torso, shredding the final barrier that protected her skin.
The mortal prince jerked forward, trying to fight off the demon behind him to no avail. “Asher, hold on! Please, stop! Stop hurting her! Torture me instead! Please! Asher, hold on—hold on a little longer! Please!”
The Shifter walked into the mortal’s cage, covering his mouth and holding his jaw firmly in place. Tears ran down the prince’s cheeks, just as they did the princess’s—who remained nearly silent as her skin split and her blood flowed.
She was dying. She knew it, just as the others did. A part of her was thankful. What a heavy life it had been. Too heavy. Maybe this would be better. Death…it was a gift that she would accept. Her love—the prince of flame, water, air, and earth—would succeed. She had faith in that.
As the queen lifted her arm, poised to dole out the twentieth lashing, the princess had one final thought. Five whispered words slipped through her lips before her eyes closed and she went silent.
“May I return to Eternity.”