Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice #2)(68)

“It was a candy bar wrapper. Packaging that goes around food from my time.”

“You mean…?”

“Yeah. We were there. We all were.” She sighed. “And now we’re back here.”

Zayne tipped her face toward his and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “Do not be sad, my love. For our wedding day fast approaches, and I pledge to do all I can to fill your remaining days with nothing but joy and happiness.”

“I’m trying not to be. It’s just…hard sometimes.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her face into his chest. “And thank you.”

The winds of transformation whipped through the square as silver and black beasts became Prince Tristan and his father once again, the younger Bennett still clutching his elder by the neck. Addie looked away, muttering something about the view hurting her eyes.

“My son?” said King Jarin.

“Fight me no more, Father,” replied a weary Tristan. “I do not wish to harm you.”

His father’s brows furrowed. “Whatever do you mean? Release me this instant.”

Tristan did as ordered but remained alert, prepared to restrain his father again should he attempt another attack. His father scanned the scene around them, rubbing his forehead. “Where are we?”

“You do not remember?”

“I do not. Now someone hand me a damned robe.”

A laugh bubbled from Addie, the musical sound drawing a grin to Zayne’s lips. In but a moment, robes were produced from the lurking crowd and quickly draped upon both King Jarin and his son. Zayne whispered to his betrothed that it was safe to look upon them once more.

“Do you truly not remember where we are or why?” Tristan asked.

“No.”

A shuffling of footsteps sounded behind Zayne, and all faces turned toward the sound. Quinn now stood where the manor home’s front door had once been, his face bathed in soot and blood, Giselle limp in his arms. To his right stood Rosalind, her equally filthy face yet damp with tears.

“Rosalind,” called King Jarin, relief in his voice.

She scanned the crowd for him, then hurried forward into his waiting embrace. “Oh, Father. Forgive me for leaving you. For my years of bitterness, for my wrongdoings.” She looked to his face as he stroked her cheek, her hair. “Anger had consumed me. Swallowed me into the darkest of places within my mind. But these people, they helped free me from its prison.”

“They have, have they?” His wary gaze flashed to the group of people standing with Quinn at their helm. “And who are they, then?”

“Why, the witches, Father,” she said.

“The…witches?”

Rosalind looked from her father to Tristan, confusion clear in her eyes. A voice arose from the crowd, and Zayne watched as his mother’s younger sister, Ella, stepped forward.

“The curse, at last it has been broken.”

“Curse?” said Jarin, his brows furrowed. “What curse?”

Ella moved to stand before the king, her cheeks damp and eyes ringed red from crying, and dropped into a sweeping bow. “My sister, Giselle, leader of the witch clan, believed you to have been under a curse these twenty-some years—one bestowed upon you by your own high wizard, to strike fear into your heart at the thought of our peoples, whom you cast from your lands. When Princess Rosalind came to stay among us, the curse caused your fears to rise to a fevered pitch.” Her gaze shifted to Tristan. “Causing you to attack your own flesh and blood.”

The king drew in a sharp breath and looked between Tristan and Rosalind with wide eyes. “Forgive me, my children. I knew not what I was doing.”

“Doesn’t take back what he did to you,” Addie said softly, raising a hand to Zayne’s healed chest.

“No, it does not. Though I shall feel safer in your father’s presence the next time I visit knowing what I know now.”

Her arms tightened around him once more. “You and me, both, buddy.”

“Does this mean the war between our peoples has ended?” called Quinn.

The group turned their attention to him, who stood yet with his deceased mother in his arms.

“Our peoples?” said Jarin.

“Yes, Father,” Rosalind said. “Their leader is no more. She saved Quinn from his battle wounds, sacrificing her own energy to restore him upon discovering he was her long-lost son, thought to be dead and thus the cause of her intended revenge.”

Jarin’s gaze narrowed as he looked from his daughter to her lover. “You wish to assume your mother’s place as leader of the witch clan, Quinn Blackstone?”

“Aye, Your Majesty. ’Twas my mother’s dying request. As it was that I take Princess Rosalind as my destined mate. If, of course, you would allow it.”

A tense moment of silence ensued, and Zayne began to wonder if the curse had truly been the cause of Jarin’s previous paranoia or not. The king cleared his throat and lifted his chin.

“A pity, Blackstone, as it shall be difficult to find a replacement as worthy of my trust as you.”

A joyous shriek pealed from Rosalind’s lips as she wrapped her father in a tighter embrace. He looked from Blackstone, who gave the king a regal nod, to his younger daughter.

“And you, Rosalind? Shall you cease your scheming, mischievous ways and commit to be this man’s proper wife?”