Bran launched himself through the portal made by the ancient Tuatha de Danann and landed in a crouch. They had said this would take him to Carman. He wasted no time, pulling his sword from his waist and letting out a snap of magic that arced like a whip in front of him.

The portal shimmered again, and Elva stepped out, her armor manifesting down her body like a second skin. The glimmering gold reflected the moonlight and cast its own light upon the ground.

He let the armor of the Raven King swarm down his body like a thousand black beetles trailing across his skin. They solidified, grouped together, and moved with his body like no metal ever could. The blade in his hand was thin, made out of dark metal that dripped black magic as it moved through the air. Poison.

“Carman!” he called out, his voice lashing through the air. “Where are you, witch?”

No one responded to him. There was nothing here but the pale, gray clay of the earth, a sprinkling of dead trees, and a black box so tall he didn’t think any man could scale it. He looked at the monolithic building and tilted his head to the side.

“A tomb,” he asked, “or a prison?”

“Both,” Elva replied, stepping closer to it. “They wouldn’t have put her in there, would they? They can’t control who walks into this place. It’s too easy.”

He agreed and might have replied if he didn’t hear the distinct sound of whimpering. He knew that voice. It haunted his dreams and sung him lullabies at night.

“Aisling,” he whispered in horror.

They shared a glance before bursting into motion. They raced across clay that puffed up behind them in dead, dried earth. Bran edged ahead of Elva, struck the door with his shoulder, and burst into darkness so profound that he had never seen its ilk before.

It was as if he no longer existed.

So this was how they tried to curse the witch. They placed her in a black box and filled it with magic that replicated the horrors of death. They created a living hell for Carman to exist in. A single ray of light beamed down upon her and the woman he loved.

Bran slowed, then stood still in the center of the mausoleum. He called out her name, but she didn’t react.

His heart clenched and stomach rolled as he watched Aisling kneel at the feet of the most dangerous witch to ever exist, release her from the chains, and then fall. His breath hitched as Carman drew his greatest love into her arms and whispered something in her ear.

“Don’t listen!” he called out, but Aisling couldn’t hear them.

Elva raced forward, but he already knew they were far too late. Whatever Carman had done, or said, had convinced the Raven Queen that Carman was right. Aisling wouldn’t fall under Carman’s spell so easily, but she would give her own life to save their people. Their lives, their safety, meant far more than her own to her.

More than him.

It felt as though his heart cracked down the middle. Something in him broke as yet another woman chose her own future over him. And he knew he shouldn’t feel that way. Hadn’t he promised Elva that she would get over such a heartbreak? That this was just a stepping stone in life?

He was a hypocrite. Losing Aisling meant more to him than a kingdom, than life, than anything else he could even fathom.

“Bran!” Elva shouted, lifting her blade above her head. She launched herself toward Carman and Aisling as though she could plunge her sword into the witch’s heart.

He knew better. Carman melted into Aisling’s skin, forming to her body as if it were a gift created just for her.

Aisling arched, arms open wide, back curved almost poetically. Her head was tilted back, berry colored lips open in a gasp.

And then all hell broke loose.

The stone holding the three giants at bay cracked down the center. Large shards rained down and snapped the stone tiles. A groan cracked through the room as the sons of Carman were freed to roam the lands once more.

The one nearest to Bran held a spear. He shook his great shoulders, opened his mouth wide, and let out a primal scream that made the very air shake. His brothers shifted forward, one reaching behind him for an arrow the size of a man that he then notched at his bow. The other drew back his sword and a wicked grin spread across his wide, square face.

But Bran wasn’t looking at the beasts. He was looking at his queen whose hair had lifted as if she were underwater.

“Aisling,” he called out, stumbling forward a step before telling himself it wasn’t her. But it looked like her, and he wanted to preserve that last lingering impression for as long as possible.

He tried again, lifting his voice and calling out for her to see him one last time. “Aisling, my love!”

Miraculously, her head tilted as if she had heard him. She opened her eyes, those beloved eyes that filled with tears he knew were meant for him. Bran stretched out a hand, too far away to touch her and too late to help her.

“Bran.” Her voice crossed the room, impossible for him to hear and yet he heard his name. “I lo—”

Magic blasted her head back again, hair raised in static, raven locks turning to white as too much power ran through her veins that she could not control. He’d seen such effects before, in a faerie who had touched a magical object that was too powerful for it to wield. The creature experienced an entire lifetime, aging and then exploding into a red mist before it disappeared from the world forever.

He couldn’t watch her die like that. He couldn’t see Carman win, but he couldn’t be there for her in this moment when she was dying and it was his fault.

Still. Bran kept his eyes forward, forcing himself to live this with her because even though he was a coward, he was hers. And she would not die alone.

White flames licked her fingertips, stretching out from her body as it leaked magic. And still he stared, watching as the woman he loved became something else entirely.

Power pooled at her feet in the form of liquid fire then a great clap of thunder boomed through the mausoleum and everything sucked back into her. Her body seized, her skeleton lighting up beneath her skin until he could count her ribs even through her clothing.

And then all fell silent.

Aisling’s body relaxed on a heaving sigh. Her shoulders curved forward, her hands limp at her sides, every bit of her suddenly calm.

Carman’s three sons paused, seemed to hold their breath, and looked down at the woman who barely stood to their knee.

The one who held a sword knelt at her side and said, “Mother?”

“No,” Bran said with a curse. “Anything but that.”

Aisling’s head lifted, and she stared up at the giant whose eyes widened in shock. “Hello, my son,” she whispered. “It’s good to be back.”

And damned if he didn’t feel a chill trace down his spine at the words. She had no right to possess the woman he loved. The Raven Queen was far too strong to allow someone else to take control of her body like that so easily. Aisling wouldn’t allow her; she would fight. But when she turned to look at him, there was not even a single speck of Aisling left in her eyes.

Bran shook his head and took a step back. “No,” he said again.

“What, you don’t recognize me?” Carman lifted her hands, so familiar and yet so strange as claws grew from their tips. “This body is one you love, Raven King. And we all know men love only the body, not the being within them. Such a change should be agreeable to you.”

“I loved her, not you.” He noted Elva stood frozen with her sword lifted over her head. He nodded toward her body. “What have you done to her?”

Carman gestured toward the shadows around them. “This place requires a sacrifice. None can leave it without one remaining. She shall do nicely, just as I did for my sister so long ago.”

She waved a hand, and Elva’s body launched to the chains. They snapped up, hovering in the air like snakes, then lashed out when she got close enough. The damning sound of locks clicking into place made his head ache.

“How dare you?” he growled, stepping forward ominously but hesitating. He didn’t know how close he could get to her or how powerful her magic was now. “That was my wife you possessed.”

“Was she? Not even in name from what I’ve heard. You never really made her your queen, did you, Bran?”

The sound of his name was the worst nightmare he could ever have dreamt. She knew the word that could control him. The one thing in the world faeries were weak to was their own name. Damn his mother for giving him one that was so obvious.

Carman grinned, her teeth suddenly sharp and feral. “Oh, don’t worry, Unseelie. I’ve known your name since the first day you were called the Raven King’s successor. I know all their names.”

“Then why didn’t you summon one before now?”

“I’m not interested in you. I’m interested in your queen. And you are the very first to ever find her.” She smoothed a hand down her chest. “Such a pretty little thing this witch is, and powerful as well. She’ll do very nicely for all the plans I must set into motion now.”

“What plans?” he snarled.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” She snapped her fingers, and all three of her sons lunged forward.

Bran swept up his blade and raced into battle. This was something he knew how to handle, something he’d done time and time again. His mind didn’t need to think in moments like this. His body did it for him.

The first son brought down his sword, swinging in a deadly arc that might have cut off Bran’s head if the giant had been faster. But giants weren’t quick, and Bran was. He dodged out of the way, landed on one knee, and spun in a circle with blade outstretched. It caught the giant at the heel who stumbled past Bran as Bran prepared for the second brother with the spear.

He launched himself forward, racing as quickly as he possibly could. Leaping into the air, Bran put a foot to the first brother’s back, pushed himself off, and lifted his blade as his momentum carried him up into the air.

The spear came dangerously close to his torso, but Bran managed to twist at the right second. He drew his sword across the giant’s cheek and then rolled when he landed on the ground.

An arrow sank into the stones next to him, just barely missing his head.

Turning, he bared his teeth in a grimace and watched the third brother notch an arrow in his bow. That one was dangerous, perhaps more dangerous than his brothers. Bran would need to plan appropriately to catch him the next time he loosed an arrow.

A dark thread of magic wiggled in his mind, shifting with purpose and desire. He’d never fully allowed the Raven King’s power to dictate what he did. Bran thought it was far too dangerous, too desiring of pain and dismemberment, to ever allow it freed. But in this instant, he couldn’t think of any reason why the Raven King couldn’t be free.

Aisling was no longer here to ground him, and though he could still feel the binding curse, it was on her body not her mind. She wasn’t here, not really. Instead, Carman controlled her like a puppet.

Why had she allowed it? It hadn’t seemed as though Aisling fought at all. She’d simply given in to the witch who had destroyed so much.

Anger surged forth, taking hold of his sound mind and turning it into that of a mad man. Bran tilted his head back and let out a primal roar that sizzled at his fingertips. Black shadows boiled beneath his eyelids, then oozed out of his pores and raced from his body in rivers of black ink.

A murder of crows burst from his body, flying forward to attack the brother with the bow. They went for his eyes, pecking and screaming. He slapped a few to his face, but he couldn’t control all of them. They weren’t real birds, but simply shadows at the beck and call of a man who wanted nothing more than to see blood streaming from the giant’s face.

More flooded from Bran’s body, detaching themselves from his chest and taking with them pieces of himself until he didn’t know where he started and they ended. Each murder of crows had a single raven within them, and that bird was him. Through countless eyes, he surveyed with cool detachment the damage upon each giant.

He hadn’t ever wanted to hurt someone like this. He hadn’t wanted to be so close to the destruction of a person’s form. And yet, he enjoyed nothing more than hearing them scream.

The giants clawed at their eyes, screaming into the dark void of the mausoleum and begging for help. They would find none, not from him.

Bran’s soul darkened, and his mind filled with an ache that he’d never felt before. For the first time in his life, he’d lost something. Someone. And he didn’t like how it felt in the slightest.

For Aisling, he raged. For Aisling, he tore apart the giants and watched them bleed in rivers that leaked onto the floor like fountains. Through it all, Elva was hunched over herself, chained to the walls with her arms outstretched. Carman stood in the center of the room, watching him with cold eyes that only heated the moment he felt his heart shatter.

Carman clapped her hands slowly, the sound cracking through the air like a whip. “So you are capable of it,” she whispered in awe.

“Capable of what?” The sound of his voice whipped through the chamber, deep and aching with emotions he did not know how to express. He wanted more pain, more anguish, more screams.

“Everything that you are, everything that she was, came from a place of emotion and terror. She was powerful because she felt things deeper than you or I could imagine. But now I see you are capable of it. You can feel as so few faeries can feel.”

Hips swaying, she strode toward him. Her white hair curled slightly at her hips, and though he knew it was meant to be seductive, all he saw was a viper wearing the clothes of the woman he loved. She had no right to those clothes, to that form, to have any semblance to the woman who had changed him so thoroughly.

Bran bared his teeth in a snarl. “Step lightly, witch. I’m in no mood for your games.”

“No, I imagine you’re not. After all that I’ve done…” Carman tsked. “You want to kill me, don’t you?”

“Very badly.”

“And yet, you won’t.” She gestured up and down her body. “This is too precious to you, the woman you love. Your first true love, isn’t that right? The woman who replaced me, the woman in chains, was someone you felt deeply for, but not like this. Not the love that tore you apart and made you a new man.”

Bran imagined himself slitting her throat and watching the blood drain from her body in rivers. But the image made him nauseous, his heart thumping with the pain it would then feel. At least now she was alive. In some sense, Aisling was still alive.

Could he kill her?

He shook his head and took a step away from Carman. Perhaps he could. She wouldn’t want to live like this, not when so much of her life was dedicated to being good. She might have been a witch, but Aisling hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone.

He ran a hand over his face, the mere idea of murdering her hurting his very soul. He missed her already, and it had only been a few moments since he saw her consciousness glimmering in her gaze.

“I could kill you,” he finally said. “I wouldn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t want to do it, but if you don’t release her body and allow her to return to me, then I will not let you win.”

“You like to think that.” Carman trailed a finger between her breasts. “This body means far more to you than the mind within it. Come to me.”

“I have no interest in being your king. Leave, witch, or I will banish you from that body.”

Before Carman could respond, the dark magic behind her stirred. She glanced over her shoulder with a frown.

The shadows parted like a curtain, and a man stepped out of them. Tall and lean with a hawkish nose, he was a stranger in these lands when Bran had thought he’d seen them all. A tendril of the Raven King’s magic tasted him, running shadows along his arms, and he realized this was not a faerie.

The feel of this man’s magic was familiar, though strange. Bran narrowed his eyes, staring at the man as if trying to look through a glamour. When he looked hard enough, the man’s eyes shifted from black to slitted yellow.

“Lorcan?” he asked.

A grin spread across the man’s face, feral and toothy. “I’m surprised you could recognize me without the fur.”

Though he wished there was more time, Carman spun on her heel and shot a dart of magic toward Lorcan with surprising ease. The shadows burst from her fingers, rocketing through the air that shimmered like a heat wave around the bolt.

Lorcan calmly stepped aside. Her magic hit the wall of darkness behind him, which rippled at the impact.

The witch queen growled, “What magic is this?”

“The same as yours,” Lorcan replied. “The same as yours has always been.”

“Never the same. I was the first, young witch,” she snarled in return. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“But I do, Carman of Greece.”

She flinched at the words. One hand lifted as if she wanted to cover her face. Bran wondered if she were ashamed of where she’d come from, but that didn’t seem right. The legends all claimed she was proud to have been Grecian and wore her heritage like a badge.

Lorcan stepped forward. “You are not welcome in that body, and it’s far past time for you to allow the original owner control over her own form.”

“She is locked away in the darkness where she will remain.”

“No,” he said, then shook his head. “She won’t.”

Carman’s head snapped back, rocking side to side as if in pain. A low whine erupted from her lips.

Once again, Lorcan called out, “Witch, you cannot control the body of the Raven Queen. Not for long. You’re only hurting yourself in this struggle.”

Her head snapped to the side, ear pressed to her shoulder, and she wheezed out a long breath. Then her eyes slowly closed.

Lorcan caught Bran’s gaze and nodded toward her still body. “Now, Raven King. While you have the chance.”

The knife he had in his belt seemed to burn against his thigh. Could he kill her? Damn it, he didn’t want to. But he couldn’t stand to see her where she was, with another woman looking out from her beloved eyes.

He stepped forward as if underwater, slowly making his way to her side, while pulling the knife free from its sheath. The metal gleamed in the dim light. Bran wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her against him, and slowly slid the knife between her ribs.

Bran held his breath, hoping beyond hope that Lorcan was right. He hadn’t called out to her, damn it. Why hadn’t he thought to call out to her? Of course Aisling was strong enough to banish this witch who had claimed her body. She was far stronger than he’d ever given her credit for.

“Come back to me,” he said quietly. “I’m here, my love. I’m fighting for you, and now I need you to fight for me. Please, Aisling. We all need you.”

Heartbeats passed, and then her eyes drifted open. She lifted her head, blinking at him as if he were a shining light in this darkness.

“Bran?” she asked. And it was her voice, not anyone else’s.

Her eyes stared back at him and recognized him. Bran nearly fell to his knees as a wave of relief poured over him. It was her. She was still here, even though somehow Carman had taken over. But Aisling, his love, was still here.

He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, staring at her as though she might disappear any second.

“It’s you?” he asked.

A breathy sigh brushed against his wrist. “I’m so sorry, Bran.”

“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.” But she did, and he knew it as well as her. Allowing Carman to take over her body was irresponsible for someone like them. They were too powerful for something like that to happen.

Lorcan cleared his throat. “She does, you just don’t know it yet.”

He didn’t look over at the cat, but a sense of dread settled deep in his belly. Bran stared into Aisling’s eyes and asked, “What did you do?”

“A witch always has another plan,” she replied, “just in case anything goes awry.”

“Aisling, what did you do?”

The soft smile on her face wasn’t reassuring. She pushed herself out of his arms, stumbling backward once, twice, three times until he could no longer reach her. Throughout it all, she held his gaze even as blood bloomed on her chest and the knife blinked in the light.

He’d never seen anything like this: a woman with arms outstretched, the shadow of white wings overlaying her form from shoulder to fingertip. The darkness couldn’t touch her. It reflected from the edges of her feathers like they were made of metal.

When she stepped back again, he realized she was barefoot. How long had she been like that? Pale, elegant feet stepped through a pool of blood and the red smears looked like the end of a war. Each step left a smudge on the darkness of the floor, golden and glimmering with her magic.

It poured from her in waves. A dangerous woman, made of the void and something more, something infinitely more.

“Aisling?” he asked again, but knew she wouldn’t respond.

Her eyes left his and she smiled at Lorcan. “Thank you.”

Bran had been warned of women like this. Whose grin was made for fighting and whose teeth were hiding fangs. “Aisling?”

A wave of her hand sent ripples through the shadows. The darkness disappeared in the wake of a blazing light that filled the mausoleum. Bran lifted a hand to his eyes.

The hanging tree stood in the center of the room, its branches ablaze. A rope hung from a branch and seemed to shift in a breeze he could not feel.

“No,” he whispered. “Anything but that.”

Aisling looked back at him then. “If I could have spared you this, I would have. I’m so sorry, my love. Infinitely sorry.”

“Aisling, don’t do this.”

Her eyes shifted, flickering from dark to light as Carman fought to the surface. Perhaps, for the first time in the Witch Queen’s life, she felt fear.

Aisling lifted a hand, and the rope from the hanging tree snapped out. It lashed around her throat and looped around itself.

“There wasn’t any other way,” she said, voice choking as the rope tightened its grip. “Just like she said. Only a god can kill a god.”

The rope tightened and then drew taut.