Page 133 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
‘I think it is time,’ Keir mumbled when his eyes fluttered open.
He said it every day.
And every day Adriana leaned over him, brushing the damp strands of black, thinning hair from his brow, smoothing them back as though she could smooth away fate itself. She would murmur reassurances, soft and steady, insisting that it was not yet time. Not today.
‘You need to hold on,’ she said now, her voice low but resolute. ‘When we reach the witches, then you may let go. Release your power. You could tear through them, Keir. You could obliterate most of their forces.’
He gave the faintest shake of his head, the movement costing him more than it should have. ‘I can’t hold on any more.’
The words struck deeper than any blade.
‘You must, my love,’ Adriana pleaded, her composure fracturing despite her efforts. ‘You are our only hope.’
His eyes drifted shut once more, his body surrendering to a heavy, unnatural sleep.
She remained there, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest, hatred blooming in her heart. Not for him, never for him, but for herself.
She was forcing him to endure what his vessel could no longer sustain. The flesh was failing. It trembled beneath the weight of the god it carried. And still she asked more of it.
Yes, part of her reasoning was strategic. When he finally released his hold on mortality, when the divine essence tore free, he could shake the world in his passing. His departure could become a weapon, a cataclysm unleashed upon the witches.
But beneath that calculation lay something far uglier.
Selfishness.
She was not ready to let him go.
They had built a life here together, beneath storm-dark skies and among wyverian stone. These were not their true names nor their original forms. They had claimed these bodies in near-infancy, growing into them as mortals did, weaving themselves into the rhythms of this world.
They had lived as husband and wife.
Once Keir let go, he would return to their realm, to the place of their first existence. And Adriana would be compelled to follow. She could not remain far behind him; the tether between them would not allow it.
And when they returned, the old ways would reclaim them.
The vastness of divinity would swallow memory. Mortal years would fade into something distant and insignificant.
Everything they had built here—every quiet morning, every shared glance, every fragile human tenderness—would dissolve like mist.
Adriana pressed her forehead to his hand and closed her eyes.
She did not want eternity.
She wantedthis.
Adriana had grown up at Haven’s side. She had become the future queen’s shadow and her confidante. And Haven had been her dearest friend.
It had not been coincidence.
Adriana had woven herself carefully into Haven’s life so she might remain close to Mal Blackburn. So she could observe. Watch. Guard. Adriana had always known the truth about Mal. What she was, what she could become. The ancient power coiled within her like a sleeping serpent.
The God-Killer.
Adriana had sworn to herself that Mal would never awaken into that fate.
And yet she had failed.
Now a colder fear stalked her thoughts: that Mal might one day discover the truth. That Adriana had stood beside Persephone and Hecate all those years ago. That she had helped force Mal into Hell with her own hands.
