Page 54 of The Never Queen

“I…I don’t know why I’m crying. I overheard what Hansel said and it just….”

“I know. What did he say that upset you?”

“That I’m, like, a dishonor. To the Witch Killers. Of all people. They kill people for having magic. And I’m the dishonorable one?”

The doubts are swirling in my head along with the rage.

They say I am not worthy, as if my very existence is in direct misalignment with their world view, and yet they operate from a set of rules I find revolting. I’ve met so many magical people who are beautiful and brilliant and good.

Am I not good?

“And Doren —” I start.

“What about him?”

“He thinks I’m a disgrace too. Right?”

“Mmm.”

“That I’m not worthy of being with you and on the fae throne.”

“Well, are you?”

He slows.

“Am I what?”

“Are you worthy?”

I lick my lips, my gut twisting.

The way he’s said it, it’s devoid of all of Bash’s usual warmth and charm. It comes out sounding accusatory. As if the answer is no, I am not. As if he is waiting for me to also come to the same conclusion.

A lump grows in my throat.

Does Bash not think I’m worthy to stand by his side? This whole time, was he agreeing with Doren?

Oh god.

I take a step back, but Bash grabs me by the wrist, hard, and yanks me.

“Hey. What are?—”

There’s a rustling of leaves to my left and several silhouettes step into a slant of moonlight.

But it’s the purple glow of the bone shards hanging from their necks that tells me immediately who they are.

“Bash! Run!” I yell, but his boots are dug into the ground, his grip on my wrist turning almost painful.

I look up at him, pleading with him to move, but his face shifts, like a mirage disappearing on the horizon line.

Suddenly, it’s not Bash standing next to me and my stomach drops.

“Doren.”

How did I not know? Bash smells like cloudberries and fairy wine and sweet tarts. Not pine and cloves. Bash is warm and kind and always makes me laugh.

I should have known. All the power of the Shadow and I couldn’t even tell Bash from Doren.