The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

by Carissa Broadbent

Long ago, I told you a tale of a chosen girl who fell to the darkness. Now I will tell you the tale of a boy who was born within it.

He was small, but he had a way with death.

The boy did not want glory. He did not want a crown. He wanted freedom.

And he cared about none of it, because he was losing the love of his life.

This is the tale of how a fallen one ascends. He does it in countless cascading decisions, over years, over centuries.

But in the end, he loses her every time.

When I died, it did not feel like the peaceful end to a grand fight. It felt like the beginning of one.

Vincent—dead vampire king of the House of Night—held out a hand to me.

Once, that disrespect would’ve been enough to send me to my death. But I was already dead. So what the hell could he do to me now?

I wasn’t angry. Anger was a fool’s emotion. It made you slow and stupid. What I felt was hatred. Cold, sharp, precise.

“I am not pleading my innocence,” I hissed. “I’m giving credit to its rightful owner. I did not kill Atroxus. Mische Iliae did, and she deserves to have her name painted in the stars for it.”

Mische Iliae would be remembered by the bones of time itself, and I knew it because I would write her story there with my blood if I had to.

With the memory of Mische’s voice came the image of her smile, bright as a second chance.

I had devoted my life to mastering the darker, less honorable arts of magic. I’d learned how to wield death itself. And yet, that was a candle—this was a wildfire.

I’d know her anywhere. I’d memorized her soul. I’d pressed her final moments into my heart like preserved rose petals.

Half a taunt. But half a genuine plea: Send me to the underworld. Send me home. Send me to her.

If vampires were cruel when it came to succession, gods were downright vicious.

Mische Iliae is no chosen one. Her blood is plain as it comes. And yet, she sits at the apex of so many different fates.”

“The two of you are now bound inextricably,”

You will need to become a god.”

If you follow this path, you will never be king of the House of Shadow.

“Billions of threads,” she murmured, “and not a single one where you say no.”

💕💕💕

Vincent was not good company. He made it very clear that he was not interested in conversation.

Good question. Why would Asar go through so much for someone who had betrayed him?

That stupid, reckless, foolish man was coming for me.

I didn’t deserve it. Deserve him.

I couldn’t look at anything but her. Mische.

“Mische Iliae, Dawndrinker or Shadowborn, living or dead, I will never let you go.”

Mische told stories the way a painter flung colors across the canvas—with grand, artistic gusto, expressions bright, hands flying, voice rising and falling like a piano’s melody.

“There’s no nice way to call me useless, Dawndrinker.” “Only temporarily useless, Warden.”

“Stop thinking like an acolyte and start thinking like a vampire.”

And a voice, quiet and booming at once, said, “Get your hands off my wife.”

We love to hear it 👏🏻👏🏻

It’s not about revenge, Asar. Sometimes mercy can get you further if you give it at just the right time.

I had traded that future away. I would do it again a thousand times if I had to.

I was more than happy to trade away something I no longer wanted.

“Death magic and heists,” he deadpanned. “What an acolyte you are.”

“You weren’t a tool. You were a child.” “If I had just been a child, Raoul would have executed me without a second thought. Being a tool gave me the chance to live.”

“You expect me to believe that you are going to sit quietly in this room of ancient tomes without wandering off?”

“Your anger is far more valuable than your happiness,” Gideon said.

I was practically snapping at her. Inwardly, I cringed at the sound of my own voice.

It was hard to think about Raihn and Oraya. I missed them so fiercely, but I loved them even more. I loved them enough to recognize that the best thing I could do for them was ensure that they never saw me again.

I wondered whether Mische had figured out yet that I would never—could never—say no to her.

When I looked to her, I knew I would remember that image for the rest of my life.

“You were incredible, Iliae. Absolutely incredible.”

A lifetime of friendship, weaponized. But I didn’t regret it, and that felt the worst of all.

‘Even if it is your fault, I will love you anyway.’

“For whatever of your mistakes, Mische Iliae,” he said, quietly, firmly, “for whatever of your faults, for whatever unintended pains you may bring this world, I will love you anyway.”

😍🫠🥹

A lifetime in a church, and yet, I’d never had my self-control tested so much as it had been since I met Asar.

“You are an event, Mische Iliae,”

Perhaps we were all wondering whether it was wise to go toward whatever had chased far worse beasts than us away. But none of us said it.