His gaze widens as I lift my blade—metal. Not an inch of stone on me that he can control. And with my momentum fueled purely by near-death panic and unadulterated rage, I swing my sword. Right through his neck. Metal slices through him, and the moment his head hits the snow, so does every single statue. All at once. Lifeless. Unmoving. Useless rock. I land hard on my knees, heaving breath, the head of the fae king rolling to a stop to my left. Dead.
Thank god something goes right
