The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,155

behind me. No one said a word. Where was Ashleigh?

More guards marched in next, quickly followed by spectators with champagne glasses already in hand. The doors closed behind them, preventing me from checking the hallway for Ashleigh.

I received smiles, waves, and curses for defeating favored combatants. I clenched my teeth through it all. Where. Was. My. Asha?

Conversations blended together, until King Philipp entered the room through a side door and eased upon his throne. As everyone went silent, new tension stole through me, turning my limbs into stone. How smug he appeared. How happy. He even looked as if he’d recovered from his poisoning.

“Welcome, one and all,” he called, his voice carrying throughout the room. “Thank you for joining me to celebrate the victory of Crown Prince Saxon Skylair, soon to wed my daughter Princess Dior.” He held out his arm, and the princess entered from the same side door, her head bowed, her hands wringing.

Cheers rang out, throwing fuel on the fires of my fury.

I struggled against my confinement, midnight so close.

Suddenly a crash sounded, the double doors at my back swinging open again, flinging two guards across the room. Gasps arose, cheers dying. A hush descended.

Two females entered the room next. Everly Morrow, free of any disguise and—I jolted.

“Ashleigh.” Muscles flexed in an effort to get to her. She wore the garments of an avian warrioress, her hair plaited in dark, elaborate knots. Her eyes flashed between brilliant green and vivid blue, and I nearly fell to my knees as dueling tides of relief and dread crashed over me. Ashleigh was indeed alive and well, but Leonora was fighting for control.

“Hello, boys. I mean girls. I mean everyone,” Ashleigh announced. She glanced at Everly, who nodded in encouragement. “I came here to eat hors d’oeuvres and kick butt, and they’re all out of hors d’oeuvres.” She awkwardly held out her hands, flames igniting at the ends, and looked at Everly for approval again.

Everly winced but also gave her an encouraging grin.

My chest swelled, breath sawing in and out of my mouth.

The king jumped up, no longer quite so smug. Had he expected a more subtle attack? He shouted, “Traitors to the crown. Attack. Kill the sorceress. Kill them both.”

Attendees screamed and rushed for the doors—doors that wouldn’t open. We were sealed inside. Thanks to Ophelia?

Protests rang out. My armed guards drew their swords as people stampeded in every direction.

Get to Ashleigh. Must protect her.

Adrenaline burned through me. Fighting...muscles straining...bones threatening to crack... Where had Ashleigh—there. We met gazes through the mirror. Blood pumped through me, thundering in my ears.

The fierce beauty stalked closer, those flames crackling at the ends of her fingers, spreading up, up her arms. Her shoulders. Her neck. Even locks of her hair caught fire, smoke curling from her.

She’s mine. Anyone who neared her collapsed before they ever made contact. Body after body dropped, flesh blistering as it melted. The scent of cooked meat and burnt hair created a pungent stench, stinging my nostrils.

Guards tossed weapons at Ashleigh. Even as her clothes remained undamaged by the inferno, all the swords, daggers, spears, and clubs disintegrated before contact was ever made.

I watched her, never glancing away from her reflection, utterly entranced. Such grace. Midway, however, she stumbled, her eyes widening with horror. Though we were still oceans apart, she reached out for me, screaming, “Noooo.”

I didn’t understand. What—a sharp pain registered in my chest, every beat of my heart causing the torment to intensify. In the glass, I saw the soldiers on my dais were dead, avian soldiers near the bodies. I saw the back of a winged woman, who stood before me. I jerked my gaze to her face. Tempest. She held a dagger. The dagger she’d pushed through my chest.

Betrayed? Defeated again?

Dying with every heartbeat?

“She worked with King Philipp to do what needed doing.” Raven moved behind her, head high. “Half of your army did, too. Face it, son. You were never going to be our king. Twice was enough.”

“I’m sorry, brother.” A lone tear ran down my sister’s cheek. She left the dagger buried deep in my chest. So deep she didn’t need to hold it to keep it in place. “When it comes to Leonora, you are weak. You would have been our ruin.”

Would have been. As if I were already dead.

I could feel myself dying, cold invading my limbs. Pressure in my torso. Quaking in my legs.

For six days, I’d lived with the woman I loved. I’d held her. I’d kissed