FINNIAN

Rowan’s eyes locked on me, sharp and cold, like he was trying to read the fire behind mine. He gently let go of Isolde’s hand, his voice slicing the air, “You’re not. She will choose herself.”

I stared at him, disbelief and challenge mixing in my chest. His jaw was set, his eyes were burning, and I knew there wasn’t a word I could say to change his mind.

“Rowan-” Isolde whispered, her hand clutching her dress, her voice trembling in the shadows of the ...