Page 128 of A Dance with the Fae Prince (Married to Magic 2)
“A bold statement to make with a knife in your throat.” I pull in the dagger just a little for emphasis. Boltov leans his head all the way back to look up at me. His expression is mad glee.
“Davien Aviness—except he’s not really, is he? He wasn’t born with that name. He’s stealing the power of the old kings just as much as I would be. There’s not a drop of Aviness blood in him. That crown won’t heed him any more than it heeded me.”
“If you don’t think he could wear the crown, why try and kill him?” I’m not going to allow him to sway me.
“Because anyone who dares utter that they are part of that family is put to death. That name alone spurs rebellions. So long as people think there’s hope of an Aviness returning, they fight me.” He hisses and exposes all his sharp teeth.
“If Davien wasn’t the heir, then why couldn’t you wear the crown?”
“I’m sure there’s some squalling babe, or boy, a distant offshoot that has just enough blood in their veins to keep the ritual alive, likely from the last true Aviness who escaped my clutches. But who that babe is?” He chuckles darkly. “Not even I know. And killing every possible Aviness prevents anyone from even thinking to seek their heritage. So the true heir will never know either and the glass crown will never be worn again. The fae will be at an eternal stalemate.”
“Davien will wear the crown,” I snarl and jerk the blade even closer. It nicks his neck. Boltov merely smiles wider. “He is the heir.”
All this fighting. All this blood. To think Boltov is right…that all this time he was dissuading anyone from ever seeking out the discovery of the true bloodline…that killing Davien was a means to shatter the resolve of the Acolytes and he never was chosen for the crown…I can’t bear it. He’s lying, he must be.
“No, he won’t. The glass crown will only ever grace the brow of the true heir, and that is not Davien.” Boltov suddenly grips my wrist with strength I didn’t know he still possessed. I was a fool for thinking that just because he didn’t have the crown any longer, he would be helpless. He’s still a fae.
The world spins as I’m flung through the air. Boltov tosses me as though I am a rag-doll. But I grab onto him with my other hand at the last second and the momentum pulls us both toward the window. Glass shatters, raining down over the High Court.
Wind whips my hair and I feel my stomach sucked out of me as solid ground disappears beneath me. Boltov clings to me, scrambling. It’s just like the day I fell from the roof. I stare up at the sky, just like I did then, the moon a silent observer.
Never climb again.
Monster child.
The smell of the burning flesh on my back singes my nose.
For a moment, everything is clear. What really happened that day returns to me. The world seems to fracture because none of the pieces fit together for me any longer.
“I will not lose to you!” Boltov shouts. It brings me back to life. I have to catch myself. I reach for one of the ornate carvings of the windows and catch myself on a lily. “You will not—”
I silence him by plunging the bejeweled dagger into his neck. Boltov gurgles blood and his grip goes slack. He slips from me, falling, farther and farther, until he is nothing more than a speck swallowed by the shadows of the streets of the High Court far below.
