CROWN OF GLASS ✔

90 | ACT VII, SCENE I

"Save your rage for the battlefield," my voice was low, a warning.

He only gave me a sour smile.

"Well then. I have thirty thousand men to lead. I'm off," he snarled, storming out of the doors with Justaline at his side, both in dark green armor that shone like poisoned water.

It was time.

For us to get into place as well.

"Well then," Helios said softly, his voice deep. "I suppose... this is it."

Deimos shot me a furtive, dark look as loathing glimmered in the pits of his indigo eyes.

"Kill those fuckers first. We can kill each other later," I snapped at him.

He turned on his heel and walked away with a detached nod. The rest too began to shuffle, picking up their weapons as I cast a look at the Citadel one last time.

All of that grandeur, that history, and all those centuries of hard work - Calchester stared down at us like a miserable bride, rich and ancient in her beauty. She was decked in candles and velvet banners, the crystal chandeliers above us lit. The crystals too seemed to be cut in the shape of tears, weeping as it were at the impending doom. As if they, too, were crying, preparing for their own funeral.

Death twitched in my ear.

Live, he said. For I am coming soon.

Edwina and I descended the steps in silence, watching the men march to Hewe. It was the place where the last Titanomachy had been fought as well. The Titans were nothing if not obsessively symmetric - or so we hoped. She gripped my hand tightly as we made it out of the gates, my heart pounding so badly at the thought of having to let her go.

I raised her warm palm, slowly brushing it with my lips before gently kissing it. I felt her shudder as her sea green eyes got lost in mine, her gaze on me, and me only. The rest of the world melted away, all the men, the horses, the weapons - everything. Her full lips parted slightly as she wrapped herself around me, and I pulled her into my embrace before pressing my lips to hers.

I could feel the misery in her kiss, I could taste it.

"I love you. No matter what happens. I will always love you."

"Tristan," she breathed, her voice shaken and faint as her eyes moistened. "Tristan."

"If we make it, promise that you'll show me how to use that cell phone of yours," I murmured into her ear, eliciting a choked laugh from her. I could hear the tears she was holding back in her strangled voice, yet she did not cry.

Edwina Tremayne was not a woman who cried.

She rested her hands on my chest, feeling my heartbeat.

"I love you, Valmont," she muttered, quiet, solemn, tenderly giving me another peck on the lips.

"I love you too, you stubborn woman."

"Give those motherfuckers my regards," she looked at me with fire blazing in her eyes.

I nodded, my lips pressed.