I stand before the glass coffin that holds my beloved. Dressed in a long, silken, blue gown, she appears as if she is only sleeping. I struggle to blink back tears as I place my hand atop hers.
Even in death, her cheeks and lips still hold their color. Bran stands on the other side of her, his entire face a mask of pain. “It is only a curse,” he murmurs. “It must be.”
I clench my jaw, unable to speak, praying he is right.
We sent word to the Fae Kingdom of Anara. Their Healer—Oradon—is familiar with cursed and poisoned magic, according to Ruvaen.
“Healer Oradon will be here soon,” I tell him. “The dragon should be back with him anytime now.”
Closing my eyes, I send a silent prayer to the old gods.
Healer Oradon is our last hope.
The heavy thud of booted steps draws my attention and I turn to find Oradon walking toward us. His glowing blue eyes widen as he looks beyond me to Lyana.
Prince Ryvan and his human mate, Princess Ella, are only a few steps behind him. I did not expect them to come. Especially when I notice her swollen abdomen—heavy with their child.
Although it has been many years since we’ve seen each other, Ryvan and Oradon greet me warmly. “Caelen, I am so sorry.” Ryvan’s glowing green eyes search mine in concern, his clear membranous wings fluttering behind him. “We would have come sooner if—”
“It is all right,” I tell him.
Over his shoulder, I notice Veron. I dip my chin in a subtle thanks to the dragon for having brought them here so quickly. He does the same in return.
Envy fills me as his mate—Alara—rushes to him. He pulls her into a warm embrace. I think of Lyana and the last time I held her like that.
I turn my attention back to Ryvan. He runs a hand roughly through his short dark hair as his wings flutter behind him. He gestures to his human mate. Her long, brown hair is braided down her back and her sky-blue eyes stare up at me with a pitying look. “This is my mate, Princess Ella.”
“How long has she been like this?” Ella asks.
“Two days,” I answer, struggling to keep my voice from breaking as sadness tears at my heart.
Oradon moves to Lyana’s side and carefully studies her. He bows his head and begins speaking words of enchantment.
My jaw drops and Bran inhales sharply as a soft, red glow surrounds Lyana’s body.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Ruvaen was right,” Oradon murmurs. “It is a poisoned curse.”
“How do we break it?”
He looks to me. “Tell me about your visions. Ruvaen’s letter said something about a sylven apple.”
“Yes. In every vision granted to me by the mirror, I saw the dragon, the apple and Lyana in a glass coffin.”
Ruvaen moves to my side and addresses Oradon. “Sylven apples are a symbol of hope and life in our kingdom. It is the same in yours, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“I thought the apple was a symbol,” I explain. “I thought the mirror showed it to me to give us hope that she could be saved. I—” My voice hitches as I look at Lyana’s still form. “I foolishly thought it was a good omen.”
“It is,” Oradon says. “Before the Great Wars, it was rather common for our kind and yours to take humans as their mates. There are stories of not only extending their lives by marking them with our dark kiss, but also of healing them with the nectar of sylven apple blossoms when they became injured or ill.”
Hope fills me. “I can send for—”
“There is no need,” he says. “I brought some with me.” He holds up a small vial of liquid. “I carry it with me at all times in case Princess Ella needs it.”
“And you believe it will break the curse?” Ruvaen asks.
He shakes his head. “Not on its own.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “What else must be done?”
“A poisoned curse requires an antidote”—he holds up the vial—“and a counter spell.”
“What is the counter spell?”
“True love’s kiss,” he replies. “You must pour a few drops of the liquid in her mouth and then kiss her. The tonic will counter the effects of the poison, but only something as strong and powerful as love will break the curse.”
I take the vial from Oradon. I gaze down at my mate. Her long, black hair is spread out beneath her like a beautiful halo. Long, dark lashes fan across soft, pink cheeks. Her lips are parted in a small o.
I reach down and gently cup her face, tracing my thumb across her petal-soft skin.
Everyone stands behind me, observing silently as I pour three drops of the liquid in her mouth.
I lean down and press my lips to hers in a tender kiss. A tear slips down my cheek as I take her hand in mine and whisper. “I love you. Come back to me, my Lyana.”
I hold my breath, watching her closely, praying to see the rise and fall of her chest, but nothing happens.
Panic and devastation war within me, threatening to lay waste to my already fragile control.
Lyana’s eyes flutter softly.
“Lyana?” I barely manage, my heart pounding.
Her golden-brown eyes open and she gives me a faint smile. “Caelen?” she murmurs. “What happened?”
Emotions lodge in my throat and I’m unable to speak. Tears sting my eyes as her gaze holds mine.
“Caelen, what is wrong?”
I pull her into my arms, holding her close to my chest. “I thought I had lost you,” I barely manage. “The witch cursed you and I thought—” My voice catches, and I cannot push the words past my lips.
“Caelen.” She looks down, only now noticing the glass coffin. When she lifts her gaze, she cups my cheek. “You did it.” She smiles. “You found a way to save me.”
Unable to speak, I nod. I’m so relieved she’s awake, I cannot stop touching her. I press a series of kisses to her forehead, cheeks, brow and nose before claiming her mouth in a tender kiss. When I pull back, I drop my forehead gently to hers.
“I love you, Caelen,” she whispers softly.
I brush my lips to hers and whisper against them. “Ashal’veh, my Lyana.”
