Fearless (The Powerless Trilogy, #3)

by Lauren Roberts

For those fearless enough to follow their heart

There are very few reasons for a meeting between two cloaked figures in the dead of night.

Though these odd contradictories are rare, they are consistently tragic.

“Every brutal act is born of love.”

That understanding alone draws together even the most unlikely of allies. Even hooded and shrouded in shadows, these two strangers have never felt so seen.

Honey. It’s just honey.

She is shambles. She is haunted. She is to be a bride.

My chest is suddenly too tight, breath catching in my throat beside the flood of words I’m swallowing back. Because death is the fate I’ve been preparing for my whole life—the destiny I deserve. I feel it on the stained fingertips that will forever drip with the blood of others, in the O carved atop my sputtering heart to brand me a weakness.

His is the hand my bloody fingers reach for because there is comfort in his imminence.

Honey. It’s only honey.

And for the first time since that battle in the Bowl, we truly see each other.

Kai.

But it’s not his gray gaze I crash into. No, this one is brown, murky with blatant hatred. These are not the eyes I search for in every crowd. Not the eyes that rake over me with a reverence I revel in. Not the eyes that have counted every freckle dotting my nose, every shiver of my body.

Damn the pretending. Damn the hiding. Damn everything but him and us and this moment where I need him.

I am the sacrifice that Ordinaries have bled and died for. I am the power they lack. The ring trembles around my broken nail. His eyes flick to mine in quiet permission. Every moment of my life has built up to this one. This one fleeting second of bravery. I nod, and he pushes the ring down the length of my finger.

I thought I’d known torment until it wrapped around her finger. No, torment is tangible, and it gleams atop her tanned skin. I stare, unblinking, at the symbol my brother slid onto her finger. It is binding. It is infinite. It is my undoing. A laugh threatens to slip past my numb lips. It’s not as though she hadn’t promised to be my ruin, hadn’t already become my demise. She is the single most destructive thing I have ever desired, and yet, it is the diamond on her finger that will destroy me. I watch Paedyn through the gaps of a gawking crowd, just as I will for the rest of my life. I’ll be forced to spend my days at her service but never at her side. In her shadow but never truly seen. In love with a girl I’d have bowed to long before she became my queen.

I’ve been nothing but willing when it comes to drowning in those ocean eyes. But now, I can’t fathom drowning if she is not the anchor I’m sinking with.

I am the monster who hunted her down. I am the beast who delivered her to this doom. And I am afraid I’ll become so much worse when I’m no longer striving to deserve her.

It feels as though the ground is caving in beneath me. Why couldn’t we have just stayed in that field of poppies? I would spend the rest of my days making her flower crowns if she wanted to be a queen. My queen. Not Kitt’s. Not Ilya’s. Mine.

tower over him, ignoring the gasping crowd surrounding the scene I’ve made. Because the truth is, I don’t give a damn about what this court thinks of me. And my reputation sure as hell can’t get any worse. “So much as breathe on her again,” I snarl, “and I’ll ensure it’s the last time you ever do.”

My future queen has just made her first decree.

I head for the door, a flood of voices following. “Tempting, but I’m a bit busy saving your ass at the moment.” She can’t see the smirk that twitches my lips, but I’m sure she hears it in my voice when I add, “Speaking of ass, how’s the view back there, Gray?” “Nauseating,” she bites out. I whip open the door and step inside. “You know I can see your left foot twitch, yes?”

“Hey,” I amend gently, pulling at the hem of her shirt until she stumbles against me. “Talk to me.”

There’s that anger again, washing over me in waves. Because she was meant to be the death of me, not the life of another. It was her I was meant to adore in this world and crawl to in the one after. But now she’s tethered to a king, and I am nothing more than her killer.

“You’ve already survived worse,” I remind her sternly. “Besides, you seemed to have no problem handling that man in the throne room.” “As did you,” she counters, and I can perfectly picture the steely look accompanying those words. “I don’t need you to fight my battles.” “Oh, darling,” I murmur, “I know you don’t. But if I am to be your Enforcer, then you better get used to it.” This shake of her head is imploring. “I am no one’s queen.” “Is that so?” My fingers find her cheek before trailing down the smooth slope of her nose. “Then you have no idea how much power you hold over me.” “You seem to forget that I’m completely powerless, Prince.” Her words hold an edge, as though her breath has become a blade she drags along my neck. “So be my weakness, then.” “You know I’m betrothed to your brother,” she whispers, lips dangerously close to mine. I swallow, voice stern. “For now.” “For forever,” she breathes harshly. “I don’t think there is a way out of this. And if what Kitt said in the throne room is real, then the future of Ilya and the Ordinaries within it rides on this.” I tip my face until her forehead meets mine. “I’m too selfish to let you go so easily.” “Then pretend.” My thumb drags lazily over her bottom lip. “Does that mean I have to drag you into a closet every time I want to touch you?” I’m toying with her, trying to ignore the bitter taste each word leaves in my mouth. I refuse to let this be her fate, and yet, fear twines around me, tightening my chest even as I...

So I distract. Deflect. Desire her more than ever in case this is the last time I get to. I can hear the weak smile beginning to creep into her voice. “You’re not supposed to touch me at all.” “But you could command me to,” I drawl. “Then I’d simply be following an order.” Her laugh is breathy, and I memorize the sound. Her arms twine around my neck, and I wonder if she will hold him like this. Her nose nudges mine, and I silently beg that she will never flick another’s. Her lips have only just brushed mine when the door flies open.

Powerless. Fatherless. Adena-less. These were the things I was already struggling to survive. And yet, it’s the ring on my finger that may be the death of me.

Of all the places I imagined sitting, a throne was the last of them. A dungeon, yes. At the edge of a blade, certainly. Because Ordinaries don’t rule. They cower.

Swallowing my sudden sadness at her words, I manage a small smile. My heart aches at the thought of our fort. Of the sanctuary Adena and I had scavenged for ourselves in the slums. To think I’d likened it to garbage makes me sick to my stomach. Though, to the naked eye, I’m sure that’s precisely what it looked like—and why it managed to stay untouched for so many years. Now, it likely lies empty. Cold without her warmth and dull without her brightness. Sun and sand and her bloody, broken body in my lap suddenly flash before my eyes. I blink back the memory, forcing myself to forget the sound of her final rattling breath or the thundering feet of bloodthirsty Ilyans surrounding us in the Bowl.

The bangs I continually cut for Adena looked the same.

Now I will never again get that privilege. So I hold on to her in the ends of my own hair.

Right. My entire existence has been reduced to appearances. I nod, suddenly unable to focus on anything but the blood crusted across my skin. It will be a relief to scrub away every remnant of the traitor running for her life. Every drop of blood, sweat, and tears shed on the treacherous journey.

“What was it you called me?” I can see the exact moment recognition lights his face. “A cockroach,” he chuckles, head shaking. “You’re a damn cockroach, Princess.”

The small space is stuffy, like that cellar where the Enforcer reunited with his Silver Savior.

I wish that is all I see when looking at it.

And I regret it more than anything.

His smile is tinged with an amused sort of sadness. “I thought you might let her go.”

“Fine, you want another option?” Challenge rings in his voice, smothering any sign of the composed king I returned home to. “My way out is killing her. That is what I was going to do. How does that sound? Are you happy now?” We stare at each other, chests heaving. Shock slackens my jaw; terror tightens my chest. His words are nearly as paralyzing as the unspoken ones hanging in the air between us. Because what is worse than her dying is me being the one forced to kill her. “If I don’t marry her,” Kitt breathes, begging me to understand, “I have no choice but to kill her. She murdered our father, Kai. But as my bride, she can help restore Ilya.”

We eye each other, and for the first time since setting that crown atop his head, I think we might just understand each other. Because suddenly, I see myself in him again. Paedyn is not a right or a wrong, not something as simple as a yes or a no. She is confusion itself, a feeling unplaced, a color between black and white. Hell, she is my Silver Savior. And hating her is not as simple as it may seem. But for me, it is not loving her that has proven to be difficult.

I don’t even need to turn around. The mere presence of her is familiar, branded into the hollow of my neck where her head rests, tethered to my ankle and forever tugging me toward her.

Those blue eyes crash into mine like a wave, along with the sudden realization that I’ve been nearly deprived of drowning in them since our arrival to the castle. Only now do I have the privilege to drink her in. I watch her do the same, though the stoic expression she wears never slips. Pretend.

Maybe I’m even jealous of the ring. Jealous of the way it clings to her skin, feels every shiver of her body. Because that should be me.

Kitt has finally broken free from Father’s choking grip.

Kitt dips his head. “Everything has changed. And now I too wish for all of us to be united.” My heart bangs against my chest, beating for her, beating for every moment we may never get to spend together. And when words finally spill from her lips, she might as well have plunged a dagger into my back like she promised so long ago. “Then I will marry you, Kitt. To save this kingdom from itself.”

My fingers deftly trail the jagged scar running down the side of my neck, stopping only when it reaches my collarbone and the carving beneath it. Like braille, the severed flesh tells a story. Each drag of the king’s sword is traced along my skin, embedded into my very being.

No, I want to remember her like this. See her in the stitching of a dress or in the rays of the sun. Watch her shine through every second for as long as I remain breathing the air she no longer can.

Those words don’t surprise me. But her next ones do. “In fact, you look like a queen.”

I spin my father’s ring beneath the massive table, if only to distract myself from the foreign one now encircling a nearby finger.

Comfort. Relief. Him.

Gray eyes flick between mine, soft in that way they only are when looking at me. That tether between us grows taut, heavy with the weight of so many unspoken words. But even the strongest of ties wear over time. It will be the slow death of us, spending every day alongside each other but never truly together.