“Majesty, please—” Gavriel hissed, clapping a hand over his arm as invisible claws raked two lines down his skin, drawing blood that spilled into the grass. A similar mark appeared on Maeve’s arm, her blood spilling.

“It is done,” she said simply. “Let the world know you, a male of honor, have none. That you betrayed your queen for another, for a bastard get of yours.”

Gavriel stumbled back—then collapsed in the sand, a hand shoved against his chest. Fenrys snarled, his face more lupine than Fae, but Maeve laughed softly. “Oh, you’d like for me to do the same, wouldn’t you, Fenrys? But what greater punishment for the one who is a traitor to me in his very soul than to serve me forever?”

Fenrys hissed, his breath coming in ragged gulps, and Elide wondered if he’d leap upon the queen and try to kill her.

But Maeve turned to Aelin and said, “Get up.”

Aelin tried. Her body failed her.

Maeve clicked her tongue, and an invisible hand hauled Aelin to her feet. Pain-fogged eyes cleared, then filled with cold rage as Aelin took in the approaching queen.

An assassin, Elide reminded herself. Aelin was an assassin, and if Maeve got close enough …

But Maeve didn’t. And those invisible hands cut the tethers on Aelin’s sword belts. Goldryn thunked to the ground. Then daggers slid from their sheaths.

“So many weapons,” Maeve contemplated as the invisible hands disarmed Aelin with brutal efficiency. Even blades hidden beneath clothes found their way out—slicing as they went. Blood bloomed beneath Aelin’s shirt and pants. Why did she stand there—

Gathering her strength. For one last strike. One last stand.

Let the queen believe her broken. “Why?” Aelin rasped. Buying herself time.

Maeve toed a fallen dagger, the blade edged with Aelin’s blood. “Why bother with you at all? Because I can’t very well let you sacrifice yourself to forge a new Lock, can I? Not when you already have what I want. And I have known for a very, very long time that you would give me what I seek, Aelin Galathynius, and have taken the steps toward ensuring that.”

Aelin breathed, “What?”

Maeve said, “Haven’t you figured it out? Why I wanted your mother to bring you to me, why I demanded such things of you this spring?”

None of them dared move.

Maeve snorted, a delicate, feminine sound of triumph. “Brannon stole the keys from me, after I took them from the Valg. They were mine, and he snatched them. And then he mated with that goddess of yours, breeding the fire into the bloodline, ensuring I would think hard before touching his land, his heirs. But all bloodlines fade. And I knew a time would come when Brannon’s flames would dim to a flicker, and I’d be poised to strike.”

Aelin sagged against the hands that held her up.

“But in my dark power, I saw a glimmer of the future. I saw that Mala’s power would surge again. And that you would lead me to the keys. Only you—the one Brannon left clues for, the one who could find all three. And I saw who you were, what you were. I saw who you loved. I saw your mate.”

The sea breeze hissing through the grasses was the only sound.

“What a powerhouse you two would be—you and Prince Rowan. And any offspring of that union …” A vicious smirk. “You and Rowan could rule this continent if you wished. But your children … your children would be powerful enough to rule an empire that could sweep the world.”

Aelin closed her eyes. The Fae males were shaking their heads slowly—not believing it.

“I didn’t know when you would be born, but when Prince Rowan Whitethorn came into this world, when he came of age and was the strongest purebred Fae male in my realm … you were still not there. And I knew what I would have to do. To leash you. To break you to my will, to hand over those keys without thought once you were strong and trained enough to acquire them.”

Aelin’s shoulders shook. Tears slid out past her closed eyes.

“It was so easy to tug on the right psychic thread that day Rowan saw Lyria at the market. To shove him down that other path, to trick those instincts. A slight altering of fate.”

“Oh, gods,” Fenrys breathed.

Maeve said, “So your mate was given to another. And I let him fall in love, let him get her with child. And then I broke him. No one ever asked how those enemy forces came to pass by his mountain home.”

Aelin’s knees gave out completely. Only the invisible hands kept her upright as she wept.

“He took the blood oath without question. And I knew that whenever you were born, whenever you’d come of age … I’d ensure that your paths crossed, and you’d take one look at each other and I’d have you by the throat. Anything I asked for, you’d give to me. Even the keys. For your mate, you could do no less. You almost did that day in Doranelle.”

Slowly, Aelin slid her feet under herself again, the movement so pained that Elide cringed. But Aelin lifted her head, lip curling back from her teeth.

“I will kill you,” Aelin snarled at the Fae Queen.

“That’s what you said to Rowan after you met him, wasn’t it?” Maeve’s faint smile lingered. “I’d pushed and pushed your mother to bring you to me, so you could meet him, so I could have you at last when Rowan felt the bond, but she refused. And we know how well that turned out for her. And during those ten years afterward, I knew you were alive. Somewhere. But when you came to me … when you and your mate looked at each other with only hate in your eyes … I’ll admit I did not anticipate it. That I had broken Rowan Whitethorn so thoroughly that he did not recognize his own mate—that you were so broken by your own pain you didn’t notice, either. And when the signs appeared, the carranam bond washed away any suspicion on his part that you might be his. But not you. How long has it been, Aelin, since you realized he was your mate?”

Aelin said nothing, her eyes churning with rage and grief and despair.

Elide whispered, “Leave her alone.” Lorcan’s grip on her tightened in warning.

Maeve ignored her. “Well? When did you know?”

“At Temis’s temple,” Aelin admitted, glancing to Manon. “The moment the arrow went through his shoulder. Months ago.”

“And you’ve hidden it from him, no doubt to save him from any guilt regarding Lyria, any sort of emotional distress …” Maeve clicked her tongue. “What a noble little liar you are.”

Aelin stared at nothing, her eyes going blank.

“I had planned for him to be here,” Maeve said, frowning at the horizon. “Since letting you two go that day in Doranelle was so that you could lead me to the keys again. I even let you think you’d gotten away with it, by freeing him. You had no idea that I unleashed you. But if he’s not here … I’ll have to make do.”

Aelin stiffened. Fenrys snarled in warning.

Maeve shrugged. “If it’s any consolation, Aelin, you would have had a thousand years with Prince Rowan. Longer.”

The world slowed, and Elide could hear her own blood roaring in her ears as Maeve said, “My sister Mab’s line ran true. The full powers, shifting abilities, and the immortality of the Fae. You’re likely about five years away from Settling.”

Aelin’s face crumpled. This was not a draining of magic and physical strength, but of spirit.