far away. There’s no way I’ll makeit without stumbling. Without Blæc’s dagger teeth sinking into my calves.
The Black Dog leans in. Its breath curdles up my nose: hot decay. Saliva strings down, drips against my cheek. I shut my eyes and wait for the dive. The teeth.
It never comes.
The gate rattles under my back as Blæc steps away. A long, low growl leaks through the dog’s teeth, mixed with hints of words. “Can’t . . . not yet . . . won’t let me eat . . . sooooo huuuungrrrry . . .”
I open my eyes just in time to see Blæc’s tail melt back into the shadows of the Underground. I sit still on top of the mangled metal, afraid to move. Afraid this miracle will not hold.
Yet it does. Blæc is gone. The crowd too. All that’s left is a heavy, harsh silence.
It doesn’t make sense. Black Dogs are killers—cold and cruel—not known for sparing prey. Especially when they’re so hungry. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I should be dead.
Richard’s right. I’m not what I was before. My life has become fragile, so easily snuffed. I have to start treating it that way.
My fingers clench hard against my ring.
There’s only one reason I chose this life. Only one person who’s worth it.
It’s time to return to him.
The fire is back. Richard stares straight into the candelabra’s shine—three pinpoints of light dancing in his dark eyes. My legs tremble as I run to the settee. To him. Neither of us says a word as we fold into each other’s arms. I bury my face into his neck, soak in the warm solid of his embrace.
One of the many things I almost lost.
“Emrys, I’m so sorry.” Richard’s apology rumbles through me. His arms tighten. “I do care. More than anything. The thought of losing you scares me shitless. But that’s no excuse. I never should’ve asked you to promise those things.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I whisper.
He pulls back, looks at me.
“I d-didn’t . . .” Quiver, shake goes my voice—as undone as the rest of me. I’m glad he doesn’t ask about it, since I don’t think I could bear telling him I almost died. Again. “I didn’t mean those things I said.”
Richard’s hand slides down to mine, weaving our fingers together. “You did.”
“I—”
“You meant some of them,” he says. “And you’re right. You’ve given up so much for my sake and I—I haven’t been there. Not the way you need me to be.”
“Richard—” My throat squeezes.
He goes on, “All this king stuff—it’s getting to me. I’ve been so caught up in trying to lead this country. Trying to keep everything in balance. And I’ve left you behind. Not to mention becoming a first-rate workaholic prat in the process.”
“Second-rate. At the most.” A smile flickers over my lips.
“That’s awfully generous of you.” Richard smiles back: all light. His fingers knot tighter in mine. “Do you want me to give up the crown? Because I will, for you. I could abdicate. Pass the throne to Anabelle. We could find a little cottage in the Highlands. No cameras. No press. Just us. For as long as we wanted.”
At first I think he’s speaking in metaphors: a poet’s language. But then Richard looks at me. The burn of those candles still lingers in his eyes.
He’s dead serious.
I can’t help but imagine it: Waking up late in rumpled sheets. Drinking flasks of Earl Grey on a loch’s stonyshores. All the time in the world to talk, to kiss, to rest. Together.
But I think of Lights-down and the Reforestation Bill. Magic-fusion batteries and looped Faery lights. I think of all our conversations with Queen Titania, imagining new worlds. Resurrecting Camelot.
I think of the poisonous blossom pinched in Julian Forsythe’s fingers. I think of the Labyrinth’s empty cell, its escapee loose in the world: impossible, dangerous, and angry. I think of the marching protestors, their hands tearing at my dress. I think of Blæc’s teeth, how they too almost tore me to shreds. How
The Black Dog leans in. Its breath curdles up my nose: hot decay. Saliva strings down, drips against my cheek. I shut my eyes and wait for the dive. The teeth.
It never comes.
The gate rattles under my back as Blæc steps away. A long, low growl leaks through the dog’s teeth, mixed with hints of words. “Can’t . . . not yet . . . won’t let me eat . . . sooooo huuuungrrrry . . .”
I open my eyes just in time to see Blæc’s tail melt back into the shadows of the Underground. I sit still on top of the mangled metal, afraid to move. Afraid this miracle will not hold.
Yet it does. Blæc is gone. The crowd too. All that’s left is a heavy, harsh silence.
It doesn’t make sense. Black Dogs are killers—cold and cruel—not known for sparing prey. Especially when they’re so hungry. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I should be dead.
Richard’s right. I’m not what I was before. My life has become fragile, so easily snuffed. I have to start treating it that way.
My fingers clench hard against my ring.
There’s only one reason I chose this life. Only one person who’s worth it.
It’s time to return to him.
The fire is back. Richard stares straight into the candelabra’s shine—three pinpoints of light dancing in his dark eyes. My legs tremble as I run to the settee. To him. Neither of us says a word as we fold into each other’s arms. I bury my face into his neck, soak in the warm solid of his embrace.
One of the many things I almost lost.
“Emrys, I’m so sorry.” Richard’s apology rumbles through me. His arms tighten. “I do care. More than anything. The thought of losing you scares me shitless. But that’s no excuse. I never should’ve asked you to promise those things.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I whisper.
He pulls back, looks at me.
“I d-didn’t . . .” Quiver, shake goes my voice—as undone as the rest of me. I’m glad he doesn’t ask about it, since I don’t think I could bear telling him I almost died. Again. “I didn’t mean those things I said.”
Richard’s hand slides down to mine, weaving our fingers together. “You did.”
“I—”
“You meant some of them,” he says. “And you’re right. You’ve given up so much for my sake and I—I haven’t been there. Not the way you need me to be.”
“Richard—” My throat squeezes.
He goes on, “All this king stuff—it’s getting to me. I’ve been so caught up in trying to lead this country. Trying to keep everything in balance. And I’ve left you behind. Not to mention becoming a first-rate workaholic prat in the process.”
“Second-rate. At the most.” A smile flickers over my lips.
“That’s awfully generous of you.” Richard smiles back: all light. His fingers knot tighter in mine. “Do you want me to give up the crown? Because I will, for you. I could abdicate. Pass the throne to Anabelle. We could find a little cottage in the Highlands. No cameras. No press. Just us. For as long as we wanted.”
At first I think he’s speaking in metaphors: a poet’s language. But then Richard looks at me. The burn of those candles still lingers in his eyes.
He’s dead serious.
I can’t help but imagine it: Waking up late in rumpled sheets. Drinking flasks of Earl Grey on a loch’s stonyshores. All the time in the world to talk, to kiss, to rest. Together.
But I think of Lights-down and the Reforestation Bill. Magic-fusion batteries and looped Faery lights. I think of all our conversations with Queen Titania, imagining new worlds. Resurrecting Camelot.
I think of the poisonous blossom pinched in Julian Forsythe’s fingers. I think of the Labyrinth’s empty cell, its escapee loose in the world: impossible, dangerous, and angry. I think of the marching protestors, their hands tearing at my dress. I think of Blæc’s teeth, how they too almost tore me to shreds. How
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