Page 127 of A Dance with the Fae Prince (Married to Magic 2)
“I will,” Vena swears.
“I can show you the way,” I say.
Vena shakes her head. “That’s no place for a human, either. You should stay here.”
“I’m going to lead you.”
“Vena is right,” Shaye says as she tends to Giles’s wounds. He groans softly. “You should stay here; it will be safer.”
“Let’s go,” I say firmly to Vena.
“This isn’t your fight,” Vena says.
“This is my fight.” I point to the ground, as if I’m making my stand, as though I’m swearing on the rock on which the first fae king was crowned. “This has been my fight from the moment the magic of the old kings entered my body—from the moment I married Davien back in the Natural World. And then I made an oath to your people. I followed through on my promises. I want to see this to the end.” I want to see the first moment Davien sits on the fae throne.
“Very well,” Vena relents with a glint in her eyes that almost looks like approval. “Lead on.”
We race back through the corridors and rooms. There’s not a sign of a single Butcher on the way. But as we grow near, I can hear why.
The fighting in the main hall has reached a fever pitch. Screams and explosions of magic rattle the doors that Raph and I escaped through. Hold on, I plead from the deepest recesses of my heart to Davien, hoping that somehow he can hear me. Hold on just a little bit longer, I have things I need to tell you.
I hang back, and let the fae charge around me. Even if this is my fight, they’re better warriors than I am. Especially since I lack all magic now.
Doors burst open to reveal a hall scarred by magic. Wispy weapons fling through the air as Butchers leap from shadow to shadow. Davien is in the center of it all. He is alight, power still rippling off of him as cold flames that deflect most of the attacks. With a mighty flap of his wings, he launches into the air, catches a Butcher by the throat, and throws them to the ground, landing atop their chest before engaging with another.
The fae from Dreamsong flood into the room and further level the playing field. With this many hands, they’re able to free those that were still trapped in the cages hanging from the ceiling and they join the fight as well.
As the tides turn, I look to the dais. The smear of blood from Boltov’s head is still there, but Boltov himself is not. I thought he was killed, or knocked out at worst.
Where is he?I don’t see him in the fray, and the fact spurs me to action. I begin to run along the wall, jumping over debris and dodging deflected attacks that dig pockmarks into the brightly colored frescoes at my side. Crouching low to make myself small, I inspect the blood trail that leads away from the dais and around the back. Following it, I find a small door, hidden from view of the main room. It’s ajar.
I glance back to the hall. No one seems to have noticed me. They’re all too busy. Before I can think better, I cross the threshold.
Behind the door is a tunnel that I have to crawl through. It widens to open up to a spiral stair. Up and up, I spin until I’m spit out into what appears to be a closet. Dozens of coats and pants, all stained with blood and left on the floor to stink up the room, cushion my feet as I push through the curtain of hung clothes.
Shuffling in the other room has me halting. Boltov mutters to himself. Footsteps grow near and I crouch, sinking back into the passage before he can see me.
The hanging clothes obscure most of my vision, but I can see him rummaging around in glimpses. He grabs things frantically, as blood is still streaming from his forehead, painting his face a haunting shade of crimson. He opens a cabinet, revealing daggers, but instead goes for the jewels that are laid out beneath them.
When he leaves, I slink back out and take one of the weapons for myself, silently lifting it off of its pegs. He’s trying to run and I’m not going to let him escape. One bloodline will end tonight, but it’s not Aviness.
I emerge into the king’s bedchambers. He’s in an attached office, framed by bookshelves on either side, illuminated by a window-filled wall that overlooks the city and stars. Sure enough, he has an open bag on a desk he’s trying desperately to stuff too many yards of fabric into. He curses, frustrated, and sends clothes scattering with a grunt.
I silently pad up behind him. This is the king that has held the fae kingdom at its knees? No, he’s just a watered-down version of the first usurper, clinging to prestige that no longer exists.
Boltov reaches down for one of the jewels he dropped. He’s far too frantic to notice me. When he’s on his knees, I slip the dagger in front of his throat.
“Don’t move,” I say softly. He looks up at the window that dominates the wall behind his desk. Our eyes meet in the reflection on the dark glass.
“You.” He rasps laughter. “A human girl has come to kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you.” Though I certainly considered it.
“You’re going to show me mercy? I doubt your friends will like that.” His upper lip curls as he sneers.
“I’m going to let the new and rightful king decide what to do with you.” Is there a better coronation gift to give Davien than Boltov’s head?
“The new king…that squalling bastard won’t last a year.”
