New Release! THE AMETHYST KINGDOM by A.K. Mulford ~ Includes an Excerpt!

In the fifth and final novel in the Five Crowns of Okrith romantasy series from bestselling author A.K. Mulford, a young fae warrior is hellbent on winning the Eastern Court crown, but when her fated lover—and hated nemesis—Ersan enters the trials she struggles to balance the competition and the chance at love. The crown is calling her name, but can her head bear the weight when passion sets her heart racing?

Carys Hilgaard has grown tremendously through her years; no longer is she the vapid, prejudicial fae who drowned herself in wine. At least, she wants to believe that’s true. Training has kept her balanced and open-minded—traits of a promising ruler. So, when the time comes for the Eastern Court trials to commence, her mind is set on one objective: win the crown and become the people’s queen. If she doesn’t, it puts the only family she has left—her halfling sister, Morgan, and her niece and two nephews—in danger.

But the gods have different plans. Lord Ersan Almah, her ex-boyfriend and fated mate, has entered the competition, vying for the kingdom himself—and hoping it’s enough to cure his heart after losing Carys. To make matters worse, Adisa Monroe, a devious witch, searches for mind-controlling amethyst seeds and plans to attack the Eastern Court on the night of the full moon, jeopardizing the entire kingdom of Okrith.

When incandescent hearts rekindle for a second chance at destined love, Carys must learn to let her lingering past go in order to protect her kingdom, the people she cares for, and fight for hope…if not, everything could collapse into ashes.  

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CHAPTER ONE

Wynreach was a hollow version of the sanctuary Carys once knew. Gone was the laughter of her drunken crew, the stories told around campfires after long days of trekking, and the feeling of them side by side in blood-soaked battles. They were all rulers of their own courts now . . . leaving only Carys, the last to claim her crown. But soon she’d be amongst them.

And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She glanced at the pinewood and river stone boundaries surrounding the Eastern Court capital. Now manned by dozens of guards, the entire city seemed to move slower in the awareness that a violet storm was coming to the East. The army that her friend and former leader, Hale, had once commanded now held watch at the city gates, watching, waiting . . . for what? Puffs of violet smoke on the horizon? Lion monsters? An army of cursed witches?

Whatever Adisa Monroe had up her sleeve, it was still unknowable. The leader of the violet witches had everyone shaking that her claws would be sinking into their city next. Augustus Norwood had disappeared with Fenrin and Cole from the Southern Court as if they evaporated into the ether. The skies seemed to dim the day they took Carys’s brown witch friend—a shift in seasons maybe, or a waking omen of malcontent.

Regardless, a darkness tinged with purple loomed over all of Okrith now.

As the brisk autumn winds whistled through the trees, Carys knew nothing could stay as it was. For better or worse, the realm, and Carys herself, would be irrevocably changed by winter. Maybe by then she’d be Queen of the Eastern Court.

Or maybe Okrith would be burning under the tyranny of an ancient, violet witch.

“You look seriously deep in thought,” Bri said. Her words pulled Carys’s gaze from beyond the parapet to land on her friend’s golden eyes. “Well, not anymore.” Carys frowned and Bri chuckled, nudging Carys with her elbow. “It never gets easier, by the way.”

Carys cocked her head, her long blond braid sliding over her shoulder. “What doesn’t?”

“Being Queen.”

“I’m not Queen yet.”

“But you will be.” Bri nodded, gesturing down to the open courtyard below. “None of these other contenders hold a candle to you.”

Carys glanced down at the assembled crowd, counting upward of sixty in her hasty assessment. Some were resplendent in full silver armor that had clearly never seen combat—the pompous sons of Eastern and Northern fae Lords. Others were dressed in modest attire, quiet and stoic. And some looked like frightened rabbits, possibly volunteering to compete just to be able to tell the story to their grandchildren one day. The only person who posed any real challenge was standing tacitly in the corner, her hands clasped behind her back, her sapphire hood pulled low over her face and her totem pouch prominently displayed over the top of her robes.

“What about Aneryn?” Carys asked, tipping her head to the lone figure watching the rest of the group.

“Aneryn is powerful,” Bri conceded. “But she’s a blue witch. They spook people too much with their visions of the future. I doubt the people of Wynreach would cast their votes for her. Besides, it was you who was here in the aftermath of King Norwood’s death,” Bri said, clapping her on the shoulder. “You pulled the council together and kept the city running. It could’ve been chaos, but it wasn’t, and that was because of you.”

Yes, that was all true, but it still meant she was Queen in perception, not name.

Carys’s mind flickered back to when she last arrived in Wynreach, of the people calling her name and the children waving in the streets. Over the course of the last two seasons, she’d become a known figure in the Eastern Capital, especially in the human quarter where her halfling sister, Morgan, lived. Morgan and her family had been orchestrating Carys’s campaign before the competition was even announced. Morgan was Carys’s biggest supporter and in turn, people like her were the reason Carys wanted the crown in the first place.

But wanting didn’t mean it was certain, even after all she’d done for these folks.

She stared at the fae Lords in their shining armor again, her doubt turning back to resolve. The last thing Okrith needed was another leader just as wicked and prejudiced as the Norwood kings of old.

Still . . .

“What do they say about counting chickens?” Carys sighed. “Acknowledging my likelihood of winning will definitely make it less likely to happen.”

“Oh, is that how it works?” Bri arched her brow. “Since when have you been superstitious?”

“Since an ancient immortal witch stole the mind of our friend,” Carys muttered.

Bri glanced back down at Aneryn. “Good point.”

The brief warmth that had seemed to blossom in Aneryn had disappeared when Fenrin was taken. They’d kept their relationship secret, Carys only noticing the change in her demeanor now in Fenrin’s absence, but it was so apparent that it seemed to cast a pall on the young woman.

“Take care of her,” Bri said.

“You know I will.”

The head Councilor, Lady Maria Elwyn, raised her hand up to Carys in a slow gesture that she knew meant the Councilor was beckoning her down.

“Come on.” Bri grabbed her by the shoulder and playfully shook her side to side. “Time to win yourself a crown.”

They descended the rickety wooden ladder from the parapet down to the stone courtyard. Carys nearly tripped over the uneven ground before righting herself. She straightened, cheeks burning. People would be scrutinizing her more than any other. She needed to be strong yet demure, regal yet likable.

She needed to not stumble like a newborn deer.

She lifted her chin as she took another step. The dusty space in the royal wing of the castle had been neglected for the past several months. Weeds and saplings grew from the dirt between the stones. Soon, this would be the personal reception area of the next ruler, who would use the space to receive their council and honored guests. Now, though, it was ruin, and one filled with people vying for the honor of repairing it all.

And that was something Carys wasn’t prepared to leave in another’s hands.

The group of contenders gathered around Councilor Elwyn, who drew them toward her through sheer presence alone. Councilor Elwyn had been the wife of the late King Norwood’s head Councilor and it was clear from Carys’s first meeting with her that Elwyn was twice as smart and thoughtful as her late husband, though she’d never been afforded the opportunity to speak her mind.

When Carys met her, she knew that Councilor Elwyn had been watching, listening, and planning her whole life. Elwyn had everything it took to be head Council for the future ruler, and thankfully, the people of Wynreach had agreed, not a single whisper of protest when Carys had given her the temporary title while succession was planned.

It was Councilor Elwyn who kept the Eastern Court thriving and assembled a group of people to both help and challenge her. But there was only so much Elwyn could do and her requests for a future sovereign had grown more and more desperate over the summer. The people needed a leader—a real leader—and Elwyn had expressed time and again that she was not interested in being the face of the Eastern Court.

Councilor Elwyn’s white hair billowed in the breeze along with the skirt of her rust-colored dress. “You have each come here today to contend for the Eastern Court crown.” Her voice was deep and soft but carried such charisma that the group seemed to lean in to hear her. “There will be five public trials that you will be graded on before the final crowning vote and the people of Wynreach elect a new sovereign. Three weeks, five contests, one crown.” She slowly scanned her gray eyes across the crowd. “You will train for each of these trials together here in the castle. You will dine together, greet the people together, worship the Gods together, and learn about this court together.” Her eyes landed on one of the Northern fae—Ivar Halfast—the son of one of the richest Lords in Drunehan. “There will be no in-fighting and no trickery. Whosoever is caught cheating or trying to harm other contenders will be immediately kicked out of the competition. The crown is not about power, but service. To act otherwise is to betray you are here for the wrong reasons. Do you understand?”

The group muttered a collective “Yes,” but Ivar only flashed a white-toothed grin.

“Good—”

The carved wooden doors behind them were thrown open, cutting off the Councilor’s words. The group whirled as one. Carys lifted on her toes to see who it was but before she could even get more than a flash of the black hair through the crowd, she heard the telltale click of a cane on the stone. Her heart plummeted into her boots.

“Shit,” Bri hissed as Ersan Almah, Lord of Arboa, stepped to the front of the group.

“Lord Almah,” Councilor Elwyn said tightly. “How good of you to join us.”

Bri took a half-step in front of Carys as if she could shield her friend from the blow of seeing him in person after all these years. He had the same shiny raven hair that was pulled into a knot at the nape of his neck, the same beautiful dark eyes and tall, muscular frame. But his gaze was sharp, the lines deeper at the corners—the only indication of the years that had passed. He dressed in the same attire his father once wore: fitted tan trousers, knee-high leather boots, a billowy white shirt and double-breasted slate-gray jacket over the top. He looked wiser and colder, not the cavalier young fae who rode bareback through the Southern jungles.

She hated the very sight of him.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” he said, bowing to Councilor Elwyn and then giving a cursory dip of his head to the rest of the group.

Just the deep rasp of his voice made Carys’s body react of its own volition. The sound made her want to cry, pulling on the basest parts of her without logic or thought. How could just the sound of his voice make everything crack open and make her feel like a child again? She thought more solid roots had planted within her, that she’d moved on, but at just the sound of that sonorous timbre, it all felt so delicate again.

She steeled herself. No. She was a fighter now. Her muscles tightened, forcing fire into every corner of her heart.

Ersan rose from his bow. “It seems someone paid off the men at the docks to turn my ship away, but I found my own passage.”

Bri apathetically shrugged. “The city is being locked down with the current threats. Can’t be too careful.”

Carys pressed her lips together to keep from smiling, already knowing it must have been Bri who tried to waylay Ersan’s visit . . . but that also meant she knew he was planning on coming. It was such a Bri thing to do, to try and protect her friend by thwarting Ersan’s arrival rather than just telling her.

“And who exactly is Lord Almah?” one of the Northern Lords called, derisively emphasizing the word Lord. “You sound Southern.”

“It won’t matter. He’ll be gone by next week,” another jeered to a round of half-hearted grizzles of agreement.

“Forgive me.” Ersan put his hand over her chest and bowed to the group, not contrite in the slightest. “I’m Ersan Almah, Lord of Arboa.” He glanced sideways at Carys, his eyes flashing with mischief. She gave him a “don’t you fucking dare” look, but his look back to her was unmoved by Carys’s entreaty. “And Lady Carys’s Fated.”

Everyone sucked in a collective breath, their eyes darting to Carys. Her cheeks flamed at the burning touch of their many lingering judgments. In a split second, Bri unsheathed her dagger and took a menacing step toward Ersan. She moved with the stealthy precision that avowed her Eagle moniker, giving Carys barely a breath to grab her friend by the elbow and haul her back.

“You are a queen now, Bri. You can’t just go around murdering people,” Carys hissed in her ear, struggling to hold her back.

“Watch me.” Bri wrenched her elbow from Carys’s grip.

“Why don’t you all go settle in,” Councilor Elwyn called, stepping between Bri and Ersan, seemingly heedless of the knife, her voice rising above the hubbub. “We will discuss the championship details more over lunch.”

Carys grabbed Bri again and steered her into Wynreach castle and away from the person they both were two seconds from murdering, the person Carys hated more than anyone in all of Okrith—her Fated.

✦✤✦ 💜 ✦✤✦

CHAPTER TWO

Shouldn’t you be going?” Carys snapped at Bri, who was leisurely lounging across her bed.

“Hey, don’t take this out on me, Car. It’s not my fault Lord Asshole showed up even after I paid a guy at the docks five gold coins to make sure he didn’t enter. Besides,” Bri shrugged, “my ship doesn’t leave until sunset.” She popped a grape into her cheek and then picked another. She’d nicked the bowl from the reception banquet after Carys had stormed off at Ersan’s arrival. Bri looked around the room, her mouth pinching with distaste. “This place is depressing. It’s one step up from a dungeon.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, but I know what you’re saying. A few glasses of wine and it’ll be the golden temple of Saxbridge.” Bri rubbed the threadbare purple curtain between her thumb and forefinger. “Bet you they’re regretting decorating everything in violet-witch purple now, huh?”

“It’s still the patron color of the Court,” Carys defended as she folded her arms and leaned against her door. The room that she had been appointed as a crown competitor was much smaller than the one she’d stayed in when she was a council advisor. Before, she’d had a whole suite complete with bathing chamber, dining room, and formal lounge. Now, she was in a hall of tiny dormitories just wide enough to fit a single bed filled with clumpy straw and a sliver of window above it. The armoire and a little table with a porcelain washing bowl took up the rest of the room. She wondered if the space had originally been food stores or servants quarters . . . if so, the castle was so lacking in servants after the death of Gedwin Norwood that they had sixty rooms to spare. If she were to become Queen, she’d refurbish this whole wing and make nicer accommodations for her staff like they had in the High Mountain Court and the new Northern Court palace in Murreneir. Just one of the many things Carys would need to change once she became ruler.

And certainly not the most pressing at the moment.

“I think I should delay my departure,” Bri said, interrupting Carys’s regal daydreams and bringing her back to the harsh reality that her ex-lover and ex–best friend and ex-Fated—if there was even such a thing—had now entered into the competition. “I don’t want to leave you here alone. With him.”

“You’ve got a wedding to plan,” Carys countered, inspecting her nails to keep her hands busy when really she wanted to strangle something, or rather, someone. “You know—your wedding.”

“Weddings can be postponed.” Bri tossed another grape up and caught it in her mouth. Her words came out muffled as she moved the grapes into her cheeks like a smart-assed chipmunk. “People kind of have to listen to us now.” Carys snorted; that was one way to define being a ruler. “And Lina would happily postpone the annoying pageantry for you. We’re family. A weird, fucked-up family, but family nevertheless.”

“Lina might be fine to delay your nuptials, but she is still trying to pull her court back together after that coup. She needs you by her side more than me,” Carys reminded. “I appreciate your concern, but I have this under control. I can handle him.” She didn’t even want to make herself say the name Ersan, let alone his nickname, Sy, which is what she had called him for all of their relationship. Even thinking about being so familiar with him made her stomach sour and her body feel like it was being transported back in time to when they’d been together.

“You could hack his other leg off,” Bri offered through a mouthful of grapes.

“I didn’t hack his first leg off,” Carys muttered, hugging her arms tighter to her chest. “He was trapped beneath a beam and I left him there out of spite. His foot was crushed and he would have lost it regardless.”

“Minor details.” Bri twirled a grape-less stem in her hand. “When he was running in to save your wedding ring, no less.”

“Well, I didn’t need it anymore,” Carys gritted out.

“That’s cold, Car, even for you.” Yet Bri laughed with an approving nod. “I’m surprised he had the guts to show up here at all.”

“I’m not surprised by anything he does at this point. If he can hurt me, he will.” Carys pulled the knife out from the belt on her thigh and flipped the blade over and over in her hand. “He lied to me. The fact the Fates decided to punish him for it is not my problem.” She loosed her knife, watching it fly across the small chamber and embed into the wood of her wardrobe.

Bri smirked at the soldierly way Carys let out her anger, because it was the same way Bri dealt with her emotions—stabbing things and punching her knuckles into the wall. It didn’t really heal anything, but Gods, did it feel good in the moment.

“Why are we even bothering with this competition?” Bri mused. “They should just crown you now. Everyone knows you’re going to win.”

“Formality, I suppose. When you’re appointing a new queen, the ceremony is important—or so Elwyn says. So I still need to win all five of these trials,” she said. “Or at least come in the top of each. I need the people to believe in me as a ruler. They need to vote for me.”

“They will. Regardless of your performance, their opinions of you won’t change over the course of three weeks.” Bri plucked up the now empty bowl and rose from the rudimentary bed. She pulled Carys from the doorway with her free arm and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. “Just don’t let the Lord of the Dickheads distract you.”

Carys leaned into Bri’s hug, resting her chin on her friend’s shoulder. The smallest, quietest part of her wanted to cry and beg Bri to stay. She hated how easily broken Ersan’s presence made her feel shattered herself, how deeply he riled her just by existing in the same space as her. Instead of admitting the weakness, though—something she was loath to do with even her closest friends—she filled her voice with the confidence of a warrior and said, “I won’t.” She released her friend and opened her door to let Bri out. “I’ll see you at your wedding.”

“I’ll see you at your coronation first.” Bri gave her a wink and added, “Don’t die, Car.”

She left, and Carys was all alone.

✦✤✦

Bri had only just departed when a messenger had knocked on Carys’s door with a note—a farewell note—and Carys had probably scared the life out of the messenger by barking out obscenities and pushing past them down the hall. She’d be late to the competitors’ lunch, having not changed or freshened up, not even bothering to pull down the knife still embedded in her wall, but she needed to confront the sender of the note straightaway.

Carys stormed into Councilor Ashby’s room, not even deigning to knock. Second only to Councilor Elwyn, Ashby had helped pull the Eastern Court through the tumultuous months without an official ruler, and Carys had always envisioned them being one of her most important guides during her reign . . .

“You’re leaving?” Carys asked by way of greeting.

Kira Ashby turned, her sage-green eyes softening when they landed on Carys. “It doesn’t seem right for me to be here anymore.” Her voice was smooth and soft, the sound like a warm blanket wrapped around Carys’s shoulders, and despite Kira being denied the role of mother for so much of her son’s life, she still was the epitome of maternal.

“You’re letting them bully you out,” Carys snarled at Kira, instantly feeling guilty for speaking so harshly to such a gentle person.

Kira simply laughed, displaying her hard-won backbone despite her mousy demeanor. Hale’s mom had grown more into herself since her banishment had ended. She was one of the first appointments on the new Eastern Court council, one that Carys herself had helped orchestrate. So many of the people who had been wronged by Gedwin Norwood were now filling his old council chamber. It had been strategic on Carys’s part, a nonverbal way of communicating to the citizens of Wynreach still loyal to the Norwood throne that change was coming.

This—Kira leaving—was a change she didn’t want, though.

She and Kira had become close during that time while Carys had helped assemble the council . . . which felt like a minor accomplishment compared to that of her friends. She felt sometimes like the rest of the crew had taken on more important roles in the rebuilding of Okrith: Remy had reconstructed Yexshire from ashes and revived the red witch coven back to a thriving community again; Rua had broken a curse and moved the Northern Court capital; Bri had stopped a coup and was remaking the Western Court; and Neelo had just prevented a whole city from crumbling under the weight of their addictions and yet another mind-controlling curse. They all found their own crowns, their own glory, all the while Carys was back in the East playing nursemaid to a broken kingdom and trying to move along boring endless meetings. The one thing—or rather, two things—that had gotten her through the tedium was becoming close with Elwyn and Kira.

Kira’s eyes trailed around her room. She stood and roamed over to the short swords mounted on the wall. She gently selected one and took it down, inspecting the blade and holding the hilt in a way that made it clear she didn’t know how to hold a sword.

“I can’t believe I’d ever willingly come back here,” Kira said, “after everything that’s happened.”

Carys took another step into the room. “You knew it was the right thing to do for the realm.”

“Yes. Just as I know the right thing to do now is leave,” Kira murmured, carrying on before Carys could interject.

“I know my presence here brings unease. The council is fully capable of overseeing the trials without little old me.” She touched the tip of the sword in her hands to the thick purple curtain. “This place was once my dungeon,” she whispered. “It felt good to reclaim it.”

To say Kira had been through an ordeal would be an understatement. The elderly fae was easily lovable, gentle yet strong, kind but tough. Yet what she had been through at the hands of Gedwin Norwood was truly horrific and it took a great amount of bravery to return to the place of her torment.

“Did you know?” Carys asked the question she’d been wondering since the Solstice in Saxbridge. “Did you know that Adisa Monroe was your ancestor?”

Kira lowered her sword and walked back over to its mount. “I thought I was only the pawn of kings, not witches too.” She sighed. “But now it’s clear Adisa Monroe played with my Fate as much as Gedwin did.” She glanced up at Carys, seeming to know she was waiting with bated breath. “No, Carys, I didn’t know my ancestry. I didn’t know who that wild-haired woman was to me even when she was standing on my doorstep.”

Carys sucked in a sharp breath. “You’d met her before?”

Kira paused, seeming to consider her words before speaking. “I didn’t know her at the time, years ago. I thought she was a traveler lost in a storm.” She rubbed her hands together. “I took her in for the night and in the morning she was gone, leaving behind a bottle of perfume.” Kira held Carys’s sharp gaze. “Blooming amethyst. My favorite scent.”

Carys’s eyes widened. “And where was the dagger? The one with the amethyst hilt?” She wandered over to Kira and sat on her bed across from her. “Neelo believes it’s the key to the immensity of her violet witch powers—a conduit like other talismans.”

“That rusty old dagger was at the bottom of my dresser.”

“Why would you keep it there?”

“Because I didn’t want to see it,” Kira said with a shrug. “Or any reminders of Wynreach and my life before I was relegated to a tiny corner of the realm.”

Kira stretched up and placed the sword back on its mount, missing one corner. The blade toppled toward the ground. Instinctively, her hands shot out to catch the blade.

Carys leapt over to Kira, already preparing for the sight of blood. Kira wouldn’t be the first person to accidentally grab a dropped blade. But when Carys grabbed Kira’s hands and turned them over, her palms didn’t even have a line mark on them.

“I’m fine,” Kira reassured.

Frowning down at Kira’s palms for another beat, Carys finally released the Councilor’s hands and dropped back onto her bed. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe the sight of Ersan had distracted her and she didn’t see what she thought she saw . . . she pinched the bridge of her nose as Kira sat in the armchair across from her.

“So you kept an ancient, powerful dagger in the bottom of your dresser because it reminded you too much of here?” Carys asked, trying to focus back on getting to the bottom of how the amethyst dagger came into Adisa Monroe’s possession.

“Can you blame me?” Kira leaned forward. “I think you and I both know what it is to be hurt by old memories.”

Carys stiffened at that. She may have drunkenly spilled her guts to Kira about Ersan one night and now it was apparently coming back to bite her in the ass. She ignored the pointed accuracy of Kira’s statement and kept to task. “So Adisa Monroe pretended to be a lost traveler to steal her dagger back from her great-great-however-many granddaughter?”

She hadn’t meant it to be an accusation, but realized her tone was not one of gentle inquiry as Kira responded defensively, “She looked like a human. I’m fae. How would I have known she and I were related?” Kira picked at her fingernails, her expression tight with guilt. “The worst part is she seemed nice—a bit eccentric—but nice.”

Carys balked. Then said, “That’s the least believable part of your story.”

“But I’m not lying,” Kira said. “I’m no enemy of the East, no matter how I felt about its former king. We’d be kidding ourselves, however, if we think my presence here won’t bring suspicion. Too, I fear our closeness might hurt your quest for the crown. You did, after all, encourage my appointment.”

“If anyone has concerns with my decisions, they can bring them directly to me,” Carys said.

“Listen to you, talking like you’re already Queen.” Kira chuckled and her smile lines deepened. “How it would reflect on you isn’t the only reason I’m leaving . . .” She twiddled her thumbs, her cheeks reddening before finally saying, “It’s Timmy. He and I . . . well, he was meant to live in Haastmouth Beach and I guess I was meant to live there with him.”

Carys’s mouth fell open. “But he’s not your Fated.” Hale’s real dad—Kira’s Fated—had died when she was still pregnant with Hale, killed by her former lover, the then-prince Gedwin Norwood. It had been decades since then, but it still made Carys sit a little straighter to hear of anyone moving on from being Fated. It wasn’t horror that flooded through her, but rather, hope. If someone could move on from the death of their Fated, maybe she could move on even with him still alive.

“No, he’s not my Fated.” Kira leaned forward and stared down at her hands, rubbing them together rhythmically as she thought. “But I love him because I choose to love him. He makes me happy and I want to be with him.” Her smile lines creased again even as she tried to hide her grin. “Stop looking at me like I have two heads.”

Carys blinked and schooled her expression. It didn’t seem possible. How could anyone move on like that? But excitement also shot through Carys’s veins. Maybe it was all just a matter of choice. Maybe she could choose someone other than Ersan and finally get him out of her life for good.

“What was it like?” Carys asked. “Losing your Fated?”

Kira leaned forward, her voice gentle as she patted Carys on the knee. “You already know.”

“So much pain,” Carys murmured, wringing her hands together, wishing part of her didn’t feel compelled to say it aloud. But Kira, of all people, was safe, which made it all that much harder that she was leaving. “Enough to poison every moment of joy.”

Kira hummed. “I hate to say, it never goes away. Not fully.”

“But you just said you and Timmy—”

“You need to learn to live with the discomfort of two things being true at once.” Kira smiled softly. “Which is probably the best advice I could ever give a future Queen. Hurt and love, rewards and punishments, all at once. I feel the pain of Alaric being gone and I let it be there. I let it exist within me. That sorrow walks beside me every day. I cannot turn from it or push it away or else it only amplifies and expands. Sometimes the more you try to be okay, the harder it becomes to be so.” She rose from her chair and cupped Carys’s cheek. “But joy walks beside me every day too, and I don’t try to push away that happiness or love either.”

Carys bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her cursed eyes from welling. She stood, wishing she could fall apart in Kira’s arms just as she wished she’d done with Bri, but again wouldn’t allow it of herself. Despite Kira’s words, it felt like a lack on her part that she wasn’t okay. Carys was a soldier. She shouldn’t need any shoulder to cry on. She shouldn’t need to cry at all. And yet, it stung knowing that Kira was leaving her too. Her allies and guides were dropping one by one and without them propping her up, Carys was beginning to realize how ill-equipped she was to weather her storming emotions on her own.

“I’ll try to remember that,” Carys said tightly, her voice thick with unshed tears, even though she was doing the exact opposite even as she spoke.

“The lesson will reach you when it’s ready, Carys,” Kira said, as if knowing Carys’s wayward thoughts. Her pale eyes watched as Carys headed toward the door. “I wish you luck.”

Carys bowed her head to Kira and left, feeling further from everything that once anchored her to the world with each step. Gods, she had used Kira to keep her grounded instead of finding her own way, and couldn’t help but feel that was the other woman’s fault and not hers. She’d wanted to shout at Hale’s mother for abandoning her to this competition on her own. She didn’t, because a part of her knew it was utter selfishness again. Kira had helped her despite the pain it caused, and now was trying to do the right thing and trying to find her own happiness, which she deserved more than anyone after all she’d been through. And yet here was Carys feeling like she was the mountain herself and that everyone should shift their own lives to accommodate her. Instead, it seemed she was nothing but clouds around the peak, and everyone else was wind pushing by her.

Gods, she hated this feeling. She shouldn’t need anyone.

She stormed into the shadows of the hallway, hating herself a little more with each step, all while steeling her heart against everything and everyone.

A little voice in her mind echoed out from the darkness: Focus on the crown. Forget everything else.

Another voice put it a different way.

Embrace the pain.