A Queen Comes to Power (An Heir Comes to Rise #2)

by C.C. Peñaranda

“You make it impossible not to love you,”

Even though he knew the Spirits themselves could not tame the fire that burned eternally within Faythe.

If I were granted one wish in this life, it would be to live long enough to see it happen.” His pride swelled, humbled by the comment, but then his heart fell in sadness at the reminder of Faythe’s mortality. As he looked upon her face, he knew his one wish was to see her live for far longer than her human body would allow.

If time didn’t tear them apart, his heart would, for it had always belonged to another, and the truth that churned his gut with self-resentment…was that he had used Faythe. Used her to feel again when he’d spent decades with a heart so numb.

“It’s not the act but the intention that separates the good from the evil.”

“You have me,” he whispered against the tender spot below her ear. “Until the last

star in the sky winks out, you have all of me.”

“A rose is too pretty for you. You’re more like a blossomless thornbush,” she sneered. His smile grew wider. “Because you think I’m dangerous?” “Because you’re a prick.”

“If you’re looking for damsels to save, General, you’ll be greatly disappointed tonight.” “You never seem to disappoint.”

“You can’t very well expect me to push them open while you stand pretty.”

“You should walk away now, save yourself from becoming tangled in a web of answerless questions, impossible notions, and dangerous propositions,” she warned. Yet she knew. Even before his mouth curled with faint humor, she knew his answer. “I’ve faced worse monsters, Faythe,” he said with an unexpected but soothing warmth. “Let me help with yours.”

“All right, demon slayers united. Let’s go,”

“In your quest to stop the King of High Farrow, one of those close to you will forfeit their life.”

“You don’t speak her name. You don’t cross her path. And if you dare raise a hand to her again, you’ll find yourself without it…perhaps without a life, depending on Faythe’s mercy.”

Feelings of care. So slowly, since the day he laid eyes on those golden irises he didn’t even know, until it became too late. He couldn’t turn his back on her now.

“It has nothing to do with the shape of your ears. They see you, Faythe. I see you…and I hear you.”

“I see you, Faythe. I see you, and I hear you.”

“I’ll kill every single fae in this room if they dare to take one step toward you. You need to let go.”

“I’ve got you. I am with you. Always. Don’t stop looking at me.”

“I see you too, Reylan. I see you, and I hear you.”

“She is her mother’s daughter.” Agalhor stared wide-eyed at Faythe. The uncanny resemblance was enough to erase any doubt about who she was. It wasn’t only her

mother she took after in appearance. “My daughter,”

“I promise to stand by you, Faythe Ashfyre. This day, until the end of days.”