Astrid

Damian bursts through the doors.

His eyes are wild, darting about the vast hall for the visions Lady Selaena has led him to see. He keeps one hand on the hilt of his sword in its scabbard as he searches.

He finds me sitting on the throne, one leg crossed over the other.

The skirts of my dress, green as envy, are long enough to hide the numbing gash in my leg. My hair tumbles wild and free over one shoulder. I allow myself the luxury of leaning lazily against the throne, hoping to gain some strength from this brief rest.

As expected, his gaze runs over my form with hunger. It causes him to approach without sheathing his sword. I have nothing on me save the single dagger strapped snugly against my hip. Still, I lift my chin and regard him as though he were powerless here.

“Did you get your chance to meet the beast?” a bored authority rings in my tone.

He scoffs and gestures to himself. “I’m still alive, am I not? Clearly I have not had the pleasure.”

“Shame.”

A corner of Damian’s mouth lifts. I do not entertain his humor, and he notices this. His eyes travel from my head to my feet once more.

They rest when they catch the dark liquid staining the bottom of my skirt as it drips onto the floor. His smile falters. Something old and familiar crosses his expression when a crease appears in his forehead.

He exhales heavily.

“Come away with me, Astrid,” he addresses me as if we are old friends. Perhaps we still are. “Let’s leave this bloody battle and torch the whole place down. We shall flee across the seas to where no one will know of your transgressions.”

“Nor yours.”

Irritation flickers in his face. I lean forward and prepare to lace my words with poison.

“I will see to it that you are put to an end before dawn breaks, Damian,” I sneer. “You will pay for the crime you have committed.”

“I did what I had to do,” his tone borders on edge. “For us, Astrid.”

“You killed my father.”

“Because you cast me off for the last time! When I finally have you in my reach – when you, artful, beauteous Astrid, finally deigned to direct your loyalty to me, that moronic old man decided to come between us! His death could not have come any sooner than he deserved.”

I launch myself off the throne. The shrieks that fill the hall are like those of a maddened banshee. The dagger finds itself in my hands as I slash blindly.

Damian only takes one shallow slit across his chest before he regains focus. In a manner of seconds, his blade slices across my left arm and I nearly lose my weapon.

I stumble back. We both pant and circle each other, like this is just another sparring session.

He nods towards the doors.

“Go on, then. I will give you a head-start, since there is no one else to help you now. Run if you want.”

I grit my teeth against the pain and lift my dagger, feeling keenly the difference in size between our blades. I raise my chin and look him dead in the eye.

“I will not run.”

He swings his sword in a dangerous arc and leaps towards me. I dance out of the way and slip under his arm. He catches me by the hair, but not before I am able to nick the back of his knee. I am rewarded with a knock against the back of my head.

For a split second, dark spots colour my vision. He yanks me to my feet before I can fall, twisting my arm behind me.

“What do you want me to do, hmm?” his lips and teeth press against my earlobe. “You want me to apologize?”

My free fingers find his eyeballs. I push them deeper into their sockets. He releases me with a cry, swinging his sword wildly. I stumble out of the way.

“I want you to suffer the same way he did!”

Damian’s cry fills my ears. He launches himself at me. I roll out of the way and thrust my dagger up his side, but it catches in his armor and remains there.

He tries to bring his blade down upon me while I am on the ground. My hands go up instinctively to grab the sharp ends.

Something presses harshly and heavily against my leg. The sheer agony of it paralyzes me from the waist down. I almost give way to the blade slicing into the flesh of my palms. Its tip lingers dangerously close to my chest.

Damian removes his foot off my leg and anchors me onto the floor, releasing his grip on his sword.

He lowers his face.

“I will never regret it.” His breath is hot against my jaw. “I will never regret tearing his body apart with splintered wood and my bare hands – and I will never regret the sacrifice of the other three. Not the sound of their screams, not the taste of their blood.”

Pressing his lips against the corner of my mouth, he runs his tongue across the gash on my cheek. Ice runs up my spine.

“Because I liked it.”

Damian starts to pummel at my face with his fists. My lungs empty out. My shaking arms are powerless as they attempt to shield me from the brunt of his blows.

An anguished cry pierces the air.

The head of the monster above me snaps up.

The scene before us starts to change. When I turn my head to the side, the thrones dissolve into thin air. The walls and windows around us give way to an open space.

We are surrounded by a spectating crowd.

Damian heaves himself off me. My head is pounding so hard, I think it is about to explode. But the satisfaction of watching the discombobulated look on his face is worth it.

I roll over to spit out the blood seeping out from where my teeth collided with my inner lip. In the distance I catch Bayorn and Isabelle forced to their knees, weapons pointed into their backs.

They all watch us with wide eyes.

One by one, people start to drop their weapons.

“He murdered them,” the whisper stirs amidst the crowd.

“Blamed it on the beast…”

“...Captain Federer…”

“Liar -”

Damian nearly pulls his own hair out. He pushes an outraged cry through gritted teeth.

“Stop this!” He turns on me. “You – you witch! Put an end to these visions.”

My laugh is bittersweet on my tongue. A groan mingles with my humor as I struggle to my feet.

“All this is real,” I gesture limply to the crowd. “You may be stronger than me, Damian, but I am smarter than you. Drink it all in, because your punishment will not come from them.”

I tilt my head upwards to the balcony of the West Wing.

Lady Selaena smiles down on me. I raise my left arm as high up into the air as I can.

The ground beneath our feet starts to tremble. Damian’s eyes widen with realization. He tries to search for his sword, but we are already hoisted closer to the twilight sky by then, to the enchantress’ level. Confused outcries erupt form beneath us. Out of them all, I can hear my friends – my family – calling my name.

Damian turns on me one last time.

There is no dishevelment, no rage in his expression. The creases in his forehead smoothen out into a calm. His deep gaze focuses directly on me with an emotion I can now identify as solely his.

Resolve.

“If you will not belong to me,” he growls, one hand removing a knife concealed in his tattered uniform. I poise myself for one last push of energy.

“You will not belong to anybody.”

We charge into each other.

My body never crashes into his.

I fall onto the uneven ground. All wind is pushed out of my lungs. I hear bone boulder against bone before lifting my face off the ground.

Kieran’s eyes are animal as he wrestles with Damian. Both of them tangle with each other and roll right towards the edge.

All my strength is nearly drained clean out of me. My eyes can barely distinguish between the two even though they are as different as night and day.

One of them slips right off the edge.

The scream that finds its way up my throat never comes out. I crawl on my hands and knees towards the man on level ground. His dark hair tumbles over his forehead as he pants, sweat dripping onto the dirt. When he sees me, he offers me his hand to help me up.

Kieran and I stand over the edge. Four fingers dig into the soil. Below them, Damian clings onto the final remnants of his life.

Kieran steps back. I do not need to hear him say it:

Your choice.

I drop to my knees and peer over the edge. Damian’s breaths are hitched, but he knows not to make a sound. Mercy will not be waiting for him up here nor down below.

Those big, hazel eyes meet mine. Damian Federer, my old friend. The man who promised to take me across the world. To love me.

The man who murdered my father and brought ruin upon hundreds more.

My fingers touch his. He whimpers.

I should do it. He deserves it. Nobody would fault me for punishing a bloodthirsty murderer. He killed my father when my father tried to defend me. He killed three more to cover his tracks. He led so many into their deaths tonight.

He let Imogen die.

My father would want this.

My fingers reach lower down to coil around his forearm.

“Take my hand,” I say.

Disbelief registers on his expression; it must mirror my own. Nonetheless, I repeat myself: “Damian. Take my hand.”

His free hand reaches up and clasps mine. A childlike fear reveals itself in the downturn of his mouth.

He pries my grip off his skin and lets go.

“No!”

It is too late. He reaches the ground so quickly. I hear a sickening, ‘pop!’ before I can bear to see no more death. I turn and bury my face in Kieran’s chest.