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

by Carissa Broadbent

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.

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

“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.

As if the gods had seen some beauty in mortality but failed to realize that the imperfection of it was what made it remarkable.

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

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

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