Page 190 of Fallen Nocturne

We both turn to look at him.

He’s staring at us like we’re completely insane. His face is twisted in disbelief. “You’re actually planning to stay and live here? Build a fucking castle?”

“Yes,” Rhianelle and I say in unison.

Death looks back at the gate. The souls are still flooding through. The stream has become a river, swelling wider by the moment.

“This is not how this is supposed to go!” Death runs his hands through his hair. He draws a slow breath, and when he speaks again his voice has lost its earlier edge, settling into something quieter. “There is something you should both know.”

Death turns toward Rhianelle. “Blight should never have taken your memories or interfered with your bond. What she did was reckless.”

Rhianelle stiffens against me.

“But she was not entirely wrong,” he continues. “Fate foretold that Rhianelle Wiolant and Landon would end this war and save those caught within it.”

His gaze shifts to me. “Fate says nothing about you, Arescaine.”

My jaw tightens.

“Blight saw the prophecy, saw the possible bond between Rhianelle and Landon, and decided they belonged together. She put the pieces together and acted without permission.”

Fear passes over Rhianelle’s face. Her arms tighten around me as though Fate itself might try to tear us apart again.

I hold her closer.

I will never let you go again, little fawn. Not Fate. Not Death. Not any fucking god in existence will take you from me.

Death draws a slow breath and points toward the gate. His voice loses its anger. “Do you see that? Do you see how many souls are arriving? Too many are crossing at once. My realm can’t hold them all at the same time.”

I look down at Rhianelle. Her smile has faded again. She looks exhausted, sad, and guilty as she watches the souls pouring through the gate.

“I’m only one person,” she whispers. “I can’t save everyone.”

“Rhianelle, please,” Death pleads. “I’m asking nicely now. Return to the land of the living.”

“Not without Svenn,” Rhianelle says, and her voice is calm. Final.

Death turns to me, his eyes desperate now. “You wanted true death, didn’t you, Prince of Morsvyenn? Peace and an end to your suffering? Isn’t that what you prayed for? For three thousand years? You prayed for me!”

He’s right. I did pray for that. Begged for it.

But that was before.

“I don’t want that anymore,” I say.

“Why not?” Death demands.

“Because I have her now.” I look down at Rhianelle and she looks up at me. The love in her eyes is almost blinding. “I’d rather have an eternity of suffering with Rhianelle than an eternity of peace without her.”

I feel them then. My beasts. The parts of me that have lived inside for so long. Coinneach. Mal. The demons from Hel. Ysendral. Cyntefin. Fenrir. Wendy. All the darkness that makes up who I am.

For once, they are all in agreement.

We want her. Not peace or death. Her.

The gate behind Death shudders with a deafening crack.

“This is insane,” he mutters.