Chapter 21
Florienne
Fight like hell, and when you win, change the game.”
— A BOY ONCE SAID TO A GIRL, BEFORE A ROSE BLOOMED
Dawn breaks over the Labyrinth as we reach its edge. Only three hunters crossed our path, none of which were a problem after seeing the bloomed rose on my chest. It feels surreal to have fought all night—days, actually—only to walk out of this place with a man I thought dead.
My hand, warm and secure in Drayven’s, tightens as the blood moon sinks behind us, bleeding into daylight.
Our shadows stretch long across cracked flagstones.
The walls around us morph and move, elongating and whirring to form a vast chamber with a high vaulted ceiling.
Two massive arched doors materialize at the chamber’s center.
“We made it,” I whisper, not quite believing it.
Drayven’s thumb traces circles on my palm. “Together.”
Beside us, Demaya kicks a loose stone with her bare foot. “Not all of us.”
On the walk, she explained four Vespers survived the Baron’s slaughter—just enough for next year’s Hunt. The knowledge settles heavy in my chest.
“Which door?” Drayven asks.
Both stand tall, hewn from ancient iron and wood.
But they couldn’t be more different. The left door bursts with roses—blood red and vibrant, their thorny vines weaving intricate patterns across its surface.
The scent of their perfume drifts toward us, sweet and intoxicating.
The right door stands barren, weathered and gray, bearing the insignia of the Pen.
“Two choices,” I murmur. “Go home a queen or return to captivity.”
Demaya steps closer to the barren door, her fingers hovering over its splintered surface. “It’s not just captivity, though, is it? It’s a chance to finish what we started.”
“Or a trap,” Drayven growls.
“What else could it be?” I ask, searching his face. “Who else could create these doors but Kasaros?”
“Maybe Amara isn’t as absent as we think.” His gaze drifts to the roses, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Well played.”
The voice slithers from nowhere and everywhere. Mist gathers, thickens, and twists into the familiar shape of Kasaros. His clothes bear not a single wrinkle despite the chaos we’ve wrought in his realm.
“My little rose.” He spreads his arms wide and grins. “And her loyal shadow. What an exceptional performance.”
Drayven tenses, shifting slightly to shield me. I step around him, refusing to hide. I’d be dead already, or taken, if Kasaros intended it.
“Our business is concluded,” I state. “I’ve won my freedom.”
He laughs, but it sounds hollow. “Have you? Let’s examine the terms of our arrangement.
You wagered you could reach the end of the Labyrinth unsullied.
I would end the Bride Hunt forever. Yet here you stand, thoroughly claimed.
” His gaze flicks to the blooming rose tattoo visible through my torn shirt. “I win.”
“You’ve had your entertainment,” Drayven cuts in. “Let us pass.”
“Oh, I’ve been entertained beyond measure.
” Kasaros strolls between us and the doors, hands clasped behind his back.
“But I find myself reluctant to let such captivating players leave the game.” He gestures to the barren door.
“Which is why I offer an alternative. Return to the Pen. Compete again next year for a greater prize.”
“What prize could be worth another year of captivity?” I scoff.
“Freedom for all women. Not just brides. Bring true change to your realm.”
My breath catches. The promise sinks hooks into my heart and pulls.
“Double or nothing,” he purrs. “An entire system dismantled in a single night, rather than the slow, painful work of rebuilding it piece by piece.”
The golden rose has bloomed. My hand drifts to my belly, where Drayven’s seed has taken root. I feel it—a subtle warmth, a knowing. Life is already taking hold, and my blood sings with joy.
Demaya’s eyes follow the movement. Understanding dawns on her face.
“What guarantee do we have you’d honor such a bargain?” Drayven challenges.
“None.” Kasaros shrugs, unrepentant. “Just as I had no guarantee she’d provide her blood willingly, yet here we are. I’ve tasted it now, through my throne. Our business is concluded.” He turns to Drayven. “As is my claim on you, former Huntsman. Your service ends with the moon’s setting.”
A weight lifts from Drayven’s shoulders. I see it in the subtle shift of his stance, the clearing of shadows from his eyes, the tentative hope that we might be let out of here—together.
Demaya’s fingers brush against her robe pocket where something bulges. She catches me staring and quickly looks away.
I turn back to Kasaros. “I won’t return to the Pen. I won’t leave Drayven, and I won’t gamble with what’s growing inside me.”
Drayven’s breath hitches. His grip on my hand tightens so hard that I almost yelp. Instead, I offer a nervous smile. I don’t know if we’ll be good parents, but I know we’ll love this child deeply.
Kasaros’s eyes narrow, then widen with delight. “Already? How marvelously efficient.” He glances at Drayven with newfound respect. “Perhaps there was more to my Huntsman than I realized.”
“I was never yours,” Drayven growls.
“Details.” Kasaros waves dismissively. “The child complicates matters, but the offer stands. Think of what you could accomplish, little rose. One more year against generations of struggle.”
The temptation claws at me. And I know the God is so very bored, he might actually hold true to his offer if I remain and continue to fight. But this deal has a hidden edge—he’s tasted change and wants to tease it. Or he has an entirely different agenda to which we’re not privy.
I think of Demaya and the other girls in the Pen. I think of my unborn child. I think of Drayven, who sacrificed everything to keep me safe.
Quick fixes are never what they seem.
“No.” I lift my chin. “We’ll build something new together, something better. The slow way. The honest way.”
“Disappointing but expected.” Kasaros sighs. “Very well. The first door leads to your kingdom which is now lacking a Baron.” A cruel smile plays at his lips. “I should warn you—his allies have already begun circling his vacant position like wolves.”
“Let them circle,” I say. “I’m not afraid of wolves.”
“You should be.” His eyes glitter with malice. “The Baron rose to power by proving his worth in battle. The warlords respect strength, violence, victory. They’ll never bow to a woman—not even a fertile one—without a show of force.”
Drayven steps forward. “Then they’ll get one.”
“Ever the protector.” Kasaros looks amused. “But these battles require more than brute strength, former Huntsman. They require cunning, strategy, politics—arts you’ve never mastered.”
I stare at the God and read between the lines. He wants me to use my blood for destruction. But that dishonors the Goddess who gifted it to me. Unless I’m protecting my life or that of my family, I’ll only use it to heal, to grow.
“Good thing he has me then,” I interject. “I’ve mastered all feminine mysteries. You’d be surprised how many translate to warfare.”
Behind us, Demaya clears her throat. “I’m staying.”
We both turn, startled.
“What?” I breathe.
She crosses her arms, chin jutting, curls bouncing. “Someone needs to disrupt next year’s Hunt. Someone who knows the Labyrinth’s secrets.” Her eyes gleam with purpose. “I can be that thorn in his side.”
“Demaya, no—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“This is my choice, Flori.” Her voice softens. “You taught me that. To speak with the choices I stand by.”
Drayven’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing her. “You took the mask, didn’t you?”
She doesn’t deny it. “I saw what it gave you. Strength. Power.” Her hand pats her pocket. “Now it’s my turn.”
“It’s cursed,” Drayven warns. “It will change you.”
“Good.” Demaya lifts her chin. “Maybe that’s what we need. Someone willing to be changed.”
Kasaros watches this exchange with growing interest. His head tilts like a curious bird. “How delightful. The student becomes the revolutionary.” He steps toward Demaya, extending his hand. “Do you understand what you’re offering, little rebel?”
“Better than you think.” She doesn’t take his hand. “I’m not serving you. I’m subverting you.”
His laughter fills the Labyrinth. “Even better! A true agent of chaos.” He turns to us. “Your friend has spirit. She’ll make an excellent adversary.”
“Demaya,” I plead, “come with us. We can fight together.”
She shakes her head. “The fight is on two fronts now. You change things from the outside. I’ll change them from within.” Her eyes soften. “Four Vespers remain. I won’t abandon them.”
Pride and grief war within me. I step forward and pull her into a fierce embrace. “Be careful,” I whisper against her hair. “Fight like hell.”
“Always.” She squeezes me tight, then pulls back, eyes shining. “Go be a queen. Show them what we’re capable of.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Drayven clasps her shoulder, a soldier’s farewell. She accepts it with a solemn nod.
Kasaros claps his hands, breaking the moment. “Touching farewells aside, dawn waits for no one. Choose your door.”
I take Drayven’s hand and turn toward the rose-covered door. As we approach, the vines part, revealing glimpses of our kingdom beyond—snow-capped mountains, distant villages. Home.
A thought occurs to me.
“Wait.” I pause, turning back to Kasaros. “The Bride Hunt. You promised to end it if I reached the exit unsullied.”
“And you didn’t,” he counters. “We’ve established that. You are quite thoroughly sullied, my dear.”
“But I was claimed by the Huntsman—your servant—not a hunter. And I left your throne marked with my blood. Both sides won.”
His eyes narrow. “Clever girl.”
“End it,” I demand. “No more stolen brides. No more hunts.”
Kasaros considers me, his expression unreadable. Finally, a wicked smile curves his lips. “Nice try, but the Bride Hunt stands. After all, without it, your little rebel friend will be stuck in the Labyrinth for an eternity.”
“What?” Demaya blurts. “I thought I could—”
“Perhaps you should leave the thinking to the grownups.”
I step toward Demaya, but she raises her hand, stopping me with a warning look. This is her choice. She wants to see it through. Right.
As painful as it is, I turn to the door, but Drayven hesitates.
“The Baron,” he says. “He was the Huntsman before me, wasn’t he?”
Kasaros nods, pleased by the question. “Indeed. He served well until ambition overtook duty. He wanted more than servitude. He wanted power.”
“Is that the fate of all who wear your mask?” Drayven’s voice is cold. “To become monsters?”
“The mask merely amplifies what already exists within.” Kasaros’s gaze shifts between Drayven and Demaya. “He was cruel before he served me. You were devoted. And she—” he nods toward Demaya, “—she burns with righteous fire. The mask will make her a formidable revolutionary indeed.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” I warn him.
He laughs. “Oh, little rose. I thrive on chaos, remember?”
I look at Demaya one last time. She stands taller already, resolve straightening her spine. I recognize that look—it’s the same determination I felt when I volunteered for the Hunt. She’ll be all right. She has to be.
Drayven turns to Demaya. “There are safe havens within the Labyrinth. Find the Wanderer’s Rest and ask for Jorrid. Tell him I sent you.”
Demaya nods once but it’s Kasaros who interrupts.
“I forgot about that one.” His expression turns thoughtful. “Perhaps it’s time I pay him another visit. Until we meet again.” He bows with mocking formality.
“Let’s hope we don’t,” Drayven mutters.
We step through the rose-covered door hand in hand. Warm light bathes our faces as we emerge on a snowy hillside overlooking the Iron Kingdoms. Below, smoke rises from villages. People continue their lives, unaware that everything has changed.
Well, not all people. A troop of soldiers climbs the hill with a royal banner flapping in the breeze.
We’ll be the first king and queen of the Iron Kingdoms in centuries.
There will be celebrations, feasts, and political talks of showing a display of force to demonstrate our newfound strength—most likely through invading other kingdoms. Already, my gut churns with anxiety.
I turn around, hoping to see Demaya through the doorway. But it’s gone, leaving only a cascade of rose petals drifting to the ground.
Drayven gathers me in his arms, shielding me from the icy air—and protecting my dignity. He casts dark looks at the approaching emissary.
I rise on tiptoes and press my lips to his. The kiss is gentle, a promise rather than a demand. When we part, I rest my hand over my belly, over our future.
“You can still change your mind,” he says, brushing hair from my face. “I’ll take you anywhere, Flori.”
I gaze down at the kingdom before us—a world of warlords and rigid traditions, a system built on subjugation and fear. Changing it won’t be easy. It won’t be quick. But we have something they don’t.
“Well,” I say, “we did promise to join the military together. I guess leading one will suffice. We stay. Fight. Together.”
Drayven lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles, lingering over the thorns tattooed on my wrist.
“Always,” he agrees.
To the realm, we might be king and queen. But to each other, we’re still just a boy and a girl with dreams in our eyes. Not queen and king, not rose and thorn, but partners. Equals.
And somewhere in the Labyrinth, a revolution begins.