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

by Carissa Broadbent

For every mortal heart trying to find their way home

This is the tale of how a fallen one ascends. 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.

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. He does it with the desperation of a starving soul willing to sacrifice anything, everything, for a single chance at redemption. But in the end, he loses her every time.

“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.

“There is no map for the path we must walk in times like this,” Vincent said. “But we must seize the chances that are given to us.

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

“Get your hands off my wife.”

“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.”

“You are an event, Mische Iliae,” he murmured. “God slayer. Dawndrinker. Shadowborn queen. And I would die to taste your skin.”

My queen. My light. My darkness. My future. The answer to every question. The ending to every sentence.

“Hello, Dawndrinker,” I whispered. She smiled through her tears. “Hello, Warden.” And I kissed her again, as the underworld bowed around us.

“You have resurrected me, Dawndrinker.”