Page 218 of Fallen Nocturne

My hands curl into fists. Even now, barely able to stand, she is trying to save everyone.

Finnbheara’s expression tightens. “Those are the laws, the ancient pacts. We cannot simply walk away.”

A smile slowly spreads across Landon’s face. “Of course you can.”

Rhianelle blinks at him. Finnbheara turns sharply, disbelief flashing across his face.

Landon walks toward the white ash circle. He stops near its eastern edge, kneels and brushes a thin layer of dirt away with his fingertips.

Beneath it, the ash line appears.

But a narrow gap, barely visible and easy to miss, lies where the ends fail to meet.

“You should not have trusted me to draw the circle,” Landon says.

A collective gasp rises through the ravine. Warriors crane their necks to see the break while shocked whispers pass through both armies.

Landon stands and brushes the dirt from his hand. “The Circle of Binding requires an unbroken line. Otherwise, the magic does not hold and the rules do not apply. Your duel is not valid.”

“The tournament is false,” Finnbheara mutters under his breath.

Landon nods. “No one needs to die today. No ancient laws are being broken.”

Finnbheara stares at him and takes a breath. “You sabotaged the circle. You lied to me, herald.”

“I cannot lie,” Landon says. “But I did trick you. We fae have always loved a good trick. You assumed the circle was complete, and I simply allowed you to keep believing it.”

Finnbheara’s face darkens. “You are my herald. You were bound to oversee the trial fairly.”

Landon gives a short laugh. “I was your father’s herald, Finn. Not yours. There is an oath, a binding, and an entire ceremony required before a king can appoint one. You have done none of them.”

The new fae king fixes Landon with a murderous stare.

Landon meets it without so much as blinking. “The choice is yours now, Finn. Do you wish to continue this fight?”

Finnbheara’s hand tightens on his sword as he looks at Rhianelle, the small, exhausted elven queen leaning against her wyvern for support. My body tenses. If that sword rises even an inch toward her, I will cross the circle and kill him before anyone can stop me.

But slowly, he sheathes it. The sound of the blade sliding home echoes through the ravine.

Rhianelle pushes away from Coral and stands on her own. Her legs are shaking. The injured shin can barely support her weight but she stands, and she raises her hand.

She extends her hand to Finnbheara. Her hand trembles in the air, visible from where I stand. She is shaking so badly I’m afraid she’ll collapse before Finnbheara can respond.

Finnbheara gazes at her hand and her face. He doesn’t move.

That fucker. That absolute fucker, making her wait like this.

Rhianelle’s hand stays raised. She’s barely holding on, her legs threatening to give out. I’m halfway to jumping into the circle when Finnbheara finally moves.

Slowly, he moves closer toward Rhianelle. With visible resignation, he reaches out and takes her hand.

Their hands clasp. Elf and fae. Queen and King. Enemy and enemy.

For a heartbeat, they just stand there, hands joined and looking at each other. But then Finnbheara’s eyes go wide. His whole body goes rigid. Rhianelle does not flinch. Her breathing slows and the strain disappears from her face, replaced by a calm that unsettles me more than Finnbheara’s shock. Then she closes her eyes.

“What is this?” he breathes. His hand tightens on Rhianelle’s.

Finnbheara’s eyes are still wide, fixed on Rhianelle and their joined hands. He is seeing something that none of us can see. Something that’s changing everything.