Beautiful Torment *Book One of the Beautiful series*

43) What Comes Next

Lucy stared into her reflection in the stream that cut through a valley on the outskirts of Cherrié. Beneath the surface, thin fish darted by in hues of deep red and silver, and a painted turtle poked it's head up to stare at her before climbing onto a rock at the edge of the riverbank to sunbathe in the dying rays. Her shoulders trembled softly as shock claimed her. There were truly no words for the horrific battle scene she had witnessed in the meadow, or the fear that hollowed out her stomach at the realization that Endon knew she was alive. That he and Queen Mary would stop at nothing to hunt her down. No one she loved was safe, not her King, or her mother, or even her best friend who she had thought would be protected by a prince's love, but now lay in the heart of the enemy's influence.

She glared harder at her reflection, sickened by the flecks of blood on her cheeks--the bits of human bone, crushed, and caught within the long strands of her dark hair. She was supposed to be down here washing it all away, making herself new and fresh so that they could continue their journey, keep pressing forth towards Naria and all of the hope it offered, but she found herself frozen. Unable to lift a finger as the man from the meadow's last words kept replaying in her head.

He is coming for her.

A bone rattling shiver tore over her flesh. Her eyes sank to her hands, pale and trembling. She tried to call forth her veil of light--even the softest of glows might have satisfied the rising panic. The helpless, powerless feeling clawing along every artery and vein within her. But no light came. She was sickened by the violence, the promise of more to come, and the realization that she had been useless in the meadow and was no closer to finding out how to control the power within her. To protect the ones she loved against such an imposing evil force. The man who hunted her, her own father.

There was a protest of a small, reasonable voice in the back of her mind. A voice that urged her to consider the display Alexander had just given. How he had shredding those men into pieces without breaking a sweat, but something about it still bothered her...the last man's reaction. There were no dying pleas, no begging for mercy or to be spared. Lucy had glimpsed the confidence in his eyes--the absolute belief that Alexander, even with all his might and power, would be no match for the dark god of chaos. That look had shaken Lucy's foundation, planted a seed of doubt deep within her. And she began to consider that perhaps Naria was not the answer. Maybe their best course of action would be to find the nearest ship and board it. To sail far away from Espen's shores and never return. Who said it was her job to save the country, the magic, a broken kingdom? There was no royal blood in her veins, no obligation to a nation that had viewed her as little more than a slave for most of her life. Who had let her suffer for years and years.

She owed no one.

Cringing, a flash of red hair and blue eyes flitted across her mind. She squeezed her eyelids shut tight but could not dispel the image of young Victoria, or the ones that followed behind as though they had just been waiting for the moment of weakness to show themselves. She thought of her mother, Scarlett, Rosalind, Marie, Jester, the witch children she had seen running about the coven encampment along with the ones who had chased the royal carriage at the capital. Even the old Elven cleric, Giforn took a turn amongst the flashing. Would she really abandon them all to Endon's mercy? Could she? Most had been kind to her. They were innocent and without her and Alexander, they had not a single hope in the world.

Lucy gritted her teeth, finally willing her body to move, to dip her hands into the rushing stream and rub circles along her face, cleaning the blood spatter and grime off. Once she was fairly certain she had gotten all of it, she climbed to her feet, legs slightly numb from sitting, and started the trek back up to the crest of the hill where Alexander and Hunter waited.

The former was stoic as carved marble, watching her with eyes dark and contemplative. It was a look that burned through her, burrowed into her soul and tugged out a rush of deep affection. Despite it all, every fear, every uncertainty, she knew she loved this man. That she would follow him to battle, to war, to save a kingdom that had turned its back on her simply because it would make him happy to do so. Looking at him now, broad shouldered and head high with the scorching sunlight casting a halo around his back, Lucy could not fathom her earlier thoughts of running. She knew that Alexander would never abandon his duty to Espen. That, like his father before him, he had lay down his life for his people and she had to admire that about him, even if she did not quite understand it.

He reached out his hand towards her and she took it, savoring the rough but warm feel of his skin against hers.

"What comes next?" she asked softly and swallowed at the smoldering gaze he gave her and the way he pulled her in close so that their chests pressed together, hearts meeting and beating as one.

"I have decided to bypass the neighboring kingdoms and make straight for Naria. We must get you trained, Luciana."

"And then?" Hunter asked, clearing his throat. Lucy, shamefully, had almost forgotten he was standing there, bow strapped over his shoulder, a smear of blood still lingering at his throat--but he wore a look of determination, a look of a warrior.

Alexander pulled Lucy tight against him, squeezing once before shifting her off to the side slightly so that he could meet both of their gazes with a hard, even stare.

"And then..." he mused, the hint of that familiar smirk tugging at his lips, "We kill a god."

-END OF BOOK ONE-