All the Queen's Angels

Ch. 35: Is a Losing Game 🥀

As I regain consciousness, I roll over and find the imprint of a body beside mine, still warm. I peer around the same tent from before, this time in the dying light of dusk. The memories from last night swirl like angry tides, scattering fleeting moments in my mind like fractured shells. But then my mind snags on the man with the halo of fire obscuring his face.

It was not Malcolm who saved me. The only way I could have escaped death would be on wings—Angel's wings.

Though the distant sounds of battle still rage beyond the billowing tent walls, I abandon my fear and stand.

Someone has draped me in a simple white gown, my bloodstained clothes gone. There are people here I must speak to. I have to find them. Stepping through the curtained door of my tent, I make my way through a tunnel of more billowing sheets and drapery and into a labyrinth of pale fabric.

I peer through the flickering gaps in the tent walls to find palace ruins interrupted by a blinding white tundra and mountains in the distance. But then the ruins begin to look familiar.

A chandelier. A tower. A staircase. It's my palace. We are in Gardenia.

The only way I know for certain that I have not died is the stinging pain when I clench my fist as my wedding band digs into my palm. It's as if Malcolm is snapping at me to focus.

Malcolm. Although he seems hard to kill, I know it's not impossible. I need to know who survived. The world will be forever altered by the battle on the beach. Perhaps it already was. I begin to run.

Strange that a battle encampment would be so deserted, even with war raging nearby. Surely, some soldiers would have stayed behind? I continue down the empty, winding tunnels for so long that I nearly give up and step out into the palace ruins. But a flicker of firelight and a shadow catch my eye. At the end of the tunnel, at last, is another room.

The shadow moves, and this time I'm sure it's not a trick of the light. I'm deliberating how to knock on the tent door when the shadow suddenly disappears.

Panicking, I burst into the room, blowing out the candles and stumbling into a cloud of smoke. Frigid wind slices through the tent as a figure pauses at the opposite side, half-open to the crumbling walls of the throne room exposing the sunset behind the unmistakable Orchyid Mountains.

His silhouette is unfamiliar at first, but in the last rays of the dying sun, the golden halo around his head is unmistakable. Peering over his shoulder at me, he hesitates, the tent flap still clutched in his hand.

I step into the sea of smoke, moving as if through water, as if I truly did fall from the cliffs and sink below the riptides to the bottom of the cove. My body feels leaden, as if I carry all of Amaryllis's arrows in my heart. As if I'm chained to Leander's sinking corpse.

With great effort, I take another step and the figure takes a step back towards the exit.

Another, and the tent flap falls from his hand.

Yet another, and he inhales sharply as if my presence causes him pain.

"Stop," he rasps hoarsely. And although the silhouette is foreign to me, his voice is unmistakable. Maybe I am chained to Leander's corpse, and this is just a cruel dream before I die and the world goes to hell. But this is my dream. It becomes harder to breathe as I continue towards him.

"Stay where you are," he grits out.

I'm so close. My throat aches with unshed tears at the sound of his voice, familiar but undeniably different. Hardened.

"Stop, please—," he chokes out, flinching when my fingertips brush his cheek. I pull my hand away, still close enough to see him clearly in the low light. His eyes are wild with fear and disbelief and something else. He swallows and looks away, and I watch his chest rise as he takes a shuddering, unsteady breath.

"Please...". He turns towards me again, steeling himself.

It is shame. His eyes and his body and his voice are filled with shame. My heart aches and I, unthinkingly and reflexively, place my palm to his cheek and elicit a sharp inhale from him once more.

"Ambrose," I whisper, my voice breaking. "What did they do to you?".

And then he cracks. He closes his eyes, lashes brushing my thumb as his tears carve rivers in his cheek. Slowly, he presses his face into my palm, leaning in slightly. Ambrose holds my hand there with his own and I'm afraid to move and ruin the moment. His brow is furrowed, his face uninjured but hardened by worry and reddened by the cold. His freckles have grown pale. His hand is warm but calloused and bruised. With my thumb, I brush away his tears.

He opens his eyes but does not pull away. Then I frame his face with my other hand and bring his forehead to mine. Then I press a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Evangeline," Ambrose whispers.

Then I kiss his right cheek. His left cheek. His jaw. His nose. When I pause to meet his eyes, they shine with tears and something indescribable. Raw.

"Evangeline," he repeats, his voice gravelly. "Kiss me again. Kiss me until we forget what they've done to us."

His wings. My marriage. Our kingdom.

As I pull him in, Ambrose slowly wraps his arms around my waist and presses me closer. Leaning in, my hands slide down his neck and pause at the base of his shoulders, feathers replaced with bandages. I close my eyes against the burning tears that threaten to fall and press my lips to his.

Once, just softly.

He doesn't give me a chance to pull away before his mouth captures mine in an urgent, feverish kiss that leaves me gasping for air. Just as he leans in again, Ambrose pauses and untangles my left hand from his hair.

My wedding ring glints at us in the moonlight and my heart falls with shame. Ambrose knows I've slept with Malcolm. Even if it was just a marriage of convenience, he might not want me anymore. Chest tightening, I try to pull away but he grips my wrist, firmly pulling me back to him.

Then he peppers my hand with light kisses, from my palm to my fingertips. I don't get the chance to laugh at the ticklish feeling when he suddenly closes his teeth around my ring finger, pulling my wedding band off.

Ambrose smiles darkly, the onyx band glittering between his teeth. Then he brings lips to mine once more, the cold stone burning our tongues.

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A/N: UGH I LOVE ANGST 😩 also I busted my ass trying to write the next two chapters I hope you enjoy what's coming up 🤭