It didn't take long for Andromeda's opposition to falter.

They didn't fall one by one. It was by cluster and bundle. Some made it out of the chapel alive. But only if they had wings. . . .

There was enough blood in the area to taste. And enough smoke to choke on.

Joseph and Scott MacRae were still alive and intact, although that was becoming less factual as time went on and their strength waned. They were hopelessly surrounded—every aisle, every exit, every window—and outnumbered by a factor of one hundred, maybe more. And that was only what Scott could see.

The building was on fire. It was collapsing around them. Their magical dome was cracking too, buckling beneath the constant pressure—the weapons, the falling debris, and the heat. The smoke was infiltrating their safe space.

No reinforcements were advancing. The Legion of Liberty—they were likely dead already. Perhaps they were the first to go.   

"Joe, it's time," Scott said calmly. "Go on without me. I'll confuse them long enough for you to get away."

"I'm not leaving you here!"

"I'm not meant to live through this!"

The witch's prophesy—and her teary eyes—made more sense to him than ever. I look forward to wearing white with you . . . the day will be bittersweet . . . we will share in the rapture with one while consoling the other.

A wedding was not meant to happen while Scott was alive. He would truly be with his wife. And the identity of the groom was unclear.

"Dad, you're talking crazy. We'll figure something out!"

"Joe, we're tired. We'll both die if we keep going on like this."

"Then we'll go down together!"

"I'm not asking you to go. I'm telling you, as your father and leader."

Joe was steadily losing his ability to focus. Scott could feel the breach.

Swords and flaming arrows were now breaking through their magical defenses. Deflecting the onslaught created even more holes in their protection.

"Joe, I love you and I'm sorry. Sorry I couldn't give you a better life. Now run!" 

"I won't go!" Joe shouted in return.

"Please, do it for me!" Scott had made his decision and was at peace with it. He just needed Joe to accept that.

Joe shook his head and closed his eyes. He wasn't in complete agreement, but still, he pulled what was left of his power back inside himself. "I love you too."

Scott focused what remained of his mental energy into one strong, last surge. It was just enough to make up for Joe's withdrawal.

Before Scott collapsed, practically dead already, he managed to give Joe a smile. He hoped it would stay with him forever and help him make peace, if ever he should need some.

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Joe leapt up the wide steps that led to the altar—what was left of it. It was now an inferno.

He slipped past the Gray Coats his father had stunned and darted behind the flames. He dropped to his knees and crawled below a burning rafter that had fallen.

Fire had cleared the doorway to the left. He covered his face and tumbled through. It led to a hallway, still passable. For everyone, unfortunately. He was not alone.

He remained in a crouch and moved as fast as he could. He kept a shoulder to the wall. The smoke helped him evade notice.

He knew where Cassie was. Or should have been. And he headed in that direction. She may have had a decent chance to escape if she had been in the supply room when Andromeda's army took control of the building. His lack of a better idea brought him to that same location.

Maybe she's trapped. Maybe she's hiding. . . .

The room was empty. The stained-glass window was in shatters. She found a way out.

He made his way over the broken glass as best he could—it was so loud every time he stepped on it. And he intended to escape in the same fashion.

He had his hands on the sill. He lifted himself onto it. It was relatively high off the ground and there was a longer drop to the other side. There was jagged glass everywhere he looked. Everywhere he touched or could touch.

With one leg dangling out the window, he spared a glance at the room over his shoulder. He thought he was alone. But then, just as he was about to lift his other leg, he heard a zap. It hit his back, dead center.

Like a bolt of electricity, it sucked the air right from his lungs and shocked away his ability to move.

Joe fell inside the room. He rolled to his back. He could feel the pain—from his uninterrupted fall, from the pokes and nicks, and from whatever was surging through his body like high voltage. His awareness was at full throttle, but, oddly enough, he didn't even have the faculties to gurgle for help.

And it didn't matter. Because no one would come.  

Then, like a demon about to consume his soul, Queen Andromeda swooped in from the shadows, her magical scepter glowing a pure, eye-burning white. She hovered above Joe's paralyzed body. There was a stiff breeze coming off her perfect black wings.

She landed beside his head and used the tip of her pointed black boot to turn his face toward hers. "Ah, Joseph MacRae. What shall I do with you?"

Joe only had the strength and control to shift his eyes to the door. Her Crown Champions were streaming inside the small space.

"Take him away," she commanded, and they swooped further in and rushed to do her bidding.

The first to reach Joe gripped him by a handful of hair. "Do we execute him, Your Majesty?"

Andromeda considered that notion for a small forever. "I haven't yet decided. Lock him in the dungeon until I do. And make sure to sedate him." She pulled a vile of liquid from her billowing black gown. "He's more powerful than he once was."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The vile was emptied into Joe's mouth. He had tasted it before. The day she first got ahold of him. The day that ended his "human" life. And just as that memory took form, all of his senses—usually so sharp and infallible—abandoned him. 

⭐️⭐️⭐️

It was a strange feeling. Cassie was thoroughly warm and comfortable. She felt no pain. Nothing was poking, pinching, or sticking into her.

She pointed her toes. Stretched and shifted her legs. Her chest rose and fell as she took in a deep breath. Her undeniably bare skin rubbed against the soft bedsheets.

And she felt safe. Could it have been a dream?

She would have called it a nightmare had it not been for her hero and the time she spent with him.

Whether it was or wasn't, whether it happened or was imagined, her rest was satisfying, for once. She didn't want it to end. She didn't know if she could end it. I'm so tired, I must be dead.

Nonetheless, her eyes had a will of their own. She was confused. Curious. And immediately, upon their flutter open, she knew something was amiss.

Where am I?

Her first heavy blink revealed unexpected surroundings. She sat up with a start. The Aurora Borealis. The blankets fell from her upper body. She realized she had nothing on underneath, or very little. She was completely topless. And bottomless except for her lacy unmentionables, little more than decoration for her—oh my—husband to be!

Seemingly alone, Cassie reached for the sheets to cover herself, in no hurry, until, that is, something or someone shifted in the shadows beside the window.

The creak of a chair. Footsteps. . .

Cassie scrambled to get the blankets up to her chin.

Christopher MacRae stepped into the firelight. It wasn't a dream. He had changed out of those abhorrent gray slacks, charred at one ankle, and was instead wearing his own clothes—tan trousers, and layers of brown and midnight blue. The style could pass as Pyxian, but it was uniquely Chris as well—part fairy, part human and soldier, a little bit of the tropics and yet somehow, all-American. She didn't even have a good grasp of what that meant, until right now. He was the only example she'd ever need or want.

"Sorry about the corset." He winced while glancing at the shredded remains of it on the floor, her petticoat beside it. "You weren't breathing right and . . . it wasn't helping." 

Cassie gave him a distressed nod with her eyes pinched shut. "I am so embarrassed." She remembered it all so clearly now. She had made a fool of herself, professing her love at such a distasteful time, and then she collapsed, forcing him to care for her instead of doing what he intended—to rescue his brother and father.

"Why?" Chris sat down on the bed beside her, closer than she would have anticipated. Too close. "I didn't look. I swear." He had his hands up and gave her a slight but reassuring smile.

"It's not that," she claimed, although she did tuck the sheets beneath her arms and ball herself up against the headboard. 

"Then what? You were brave enough to tell me how you feel. And you were right. We should stay together." His head bobbed toward the window. "It's not safe anywhere."

She nodded, and then covered her eyes. She couldn't hold back the tears and didn't want him to watch her fall apart. She couldn't talk, she couldn't think, she couldn't be this close. It was torture, unless. . .

She didn't resist when he lowered her hands from her eyes. "Please, don't cry."

As one of her tears escaped, their eyes met. "Do I have a good reason to stop?"

Chris took a deep, audible breath. "You never gave me a chance to say anything before." After a long pause, her hands resting lightly in his, he slid his fingers toward hers. He slipped off her engagement ring along the way. His blush deepened as he placed it in her palm. "Since that's out of the way, I can now say . . . I love you too. I hope that's reason enough."

Chris shifted to be even closer to her. He reached for her with one hand. He wove his fingers into the back of her hair, stroking her cheek and her tears away.

She closed her eyes, savoring his touch. The diamond ring in her hand fell to the floor with a clatter.

The sound moved them over the peak of uncertainty and into the unchartered land of absolute truth. There was no more angst, no more second-guessing, and there was no turning back. 

Chris leaned in to kiss her. It was just a brush, at first. When he paused, there was a new hunger in his eyes, as if her lips were too tender and nourishing for him to deny.

He took a better grip of her head and neck and pulled her back for more. And when the sheets fell from her bare chest, she was too enamored to feel any shame.

⭐️⭐️⭐️