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exactly what I felt. I meant what I'd said: I did love Adrian. He was wonderful, in spite of all his flaws. Because, really, who didn't have

flaws? He and I had fun together. There was affection, but we weren't matched in the way Dimitri and I were.

"I'm not . . . I'm not the one for you," I said weakly.

"Because you're with another guy?"

"No, Adrian. Because . . . I don't. I don't know. I don't . . ." I was fumbling, badly. I didn't know how to explain what I felt, how you could

care about someone and love hanging out with them—but still not work as a couple. "I don't balance you like you need."

"What the hell does that mean?" he exclaimed.

My heart ached for him, and I was so sorry for what I'd done . . . but this was the truth of it all. "The fact that you have to ask says it all.

When you find that person . . . you'll know." I didn't add that with his history, he'd probably have a number of false starts before finding

that person. "And I know this sounds like another bullshit breakup line, but I really would like to be your friend."

He stared at me for several heavy seconds and then laughed—though there wasn't much humor in it. "You know what's great? You're

serious. Look at your face." He gestured, as though I actually could examine myself. "You really think it's that easy, that I can sit here

and watch your happy ending. That I can watch you getting everything you want as you lead your charmed life."

"Charmed!" The guilt and sympathy warring within me got a little kick of anger. "Hardly. Do you know what I've gone through in the

last year?" I'd watched Mason die, fought in the St. Vladimir's attack, been captured by Strigoi in Russia, and then lived on the run as

a wanted murderess. That didn't sound charmed at all.

"And yet, here you are, triumphant after it all. You survived death and freed yourself from the bond. Lissa's queen. You got the guy

and your happily ever after."

I turned my back to him and stalked away. "Adrian, what do you want me to say? I can apologize forever, but there's nothing else I

can do here. I never wanted to hurt you; I can't say that enough. But the rest? Do you really expect me to be sad about everything else

having worked out? Should I wish I was still I was accused of murder?"

"No," he said. "I don't want you to suffer. Much. But the next time you're in bed with Belikov, stop a moment and remember that not

everyone made out as well as you did."

I turned back to face him. "Adrian, I never—"

"Not just me, little dhampir," he added quietly. "There's been a lot of collateral damage along the way while you battled against the

world. I was a victim, obviously. But what about Jill? What happens to her now that you've abandoned her to the royal wolves? And

Eddie? Have you thought about him? And where's your Alchemist?"

Every word he slung at me was an arrow, piercing my heart more than the bullets had. The fact that he'd referred to Jill by her name

instead of "Jailbait" carried an extra hurt. I was already toting plenty of guilt about her, but the others . . . well, they were a mystery. I'd

heard rumors about Eddie but hadn't seen him since my return. He was clear of James's death, but killing a Moroi—when others still

thought he might have been brought in alive—carried a heavy stigma. Eddie's previous insubordination—thanks to me—also damned

him, even if it had all been for "the greater good." As queen, Lissa could only do so much. The guardians served the Moroi, but it was

customary for the Moroi to step back and let the guardians manage their own people. Eddie wasn't being dismissed or imprisoned . .

. but what assignment would they give him? Hard to say.

Sydney . . . she was an even greater mystery. Where's your Alchemist? The goings-on of that group were beyond me, beyond my

world. I remembered her face that last time I'd seen her, back in the hotel—strong but sad. I knew she and the other Alchemists had

been released since then, but her expression had said she wasn't out of trouble yet.

And Victor Dashkov? Where did he fit in? I wasn't sure. Evil or not, he was still someone who'd suffered as a result of my actions,

and the events surrounding his death would stay with me forever.

Collateral damage. I'd brought down a lot of people with me, intentionally or no. But, as Adrian's words continued sinking into me,

one of them suddenly gave me pause.

"Victim," I said slowly. "That's the difference between you and me."

"Huh?" He'd been watching me closely while I'd considered the fates of my friends and was caught off guard now. "What are you

talking about?"

"You said you were a victim. That's why . . . that's why ultimately, you and I aren't matched for each other. In spite of everything that's

happened, I've never thought of myself that way. Being a victim means you're powerless. That you won't take action. Always . . . always

I've done something to fight for myself . . . for others. No matter what."

I'd never seen such outrage on Adrian's face. "That's what you think of me? That I'm lazy? Powerless?"

Not exactly. But I had a feeling that after this conversation, he would run off to the comfort of his cigarettes and alcohol and maybe

whatever female company he could find.

"No," I said. "I think you're amazing. I think you're strong. But I don't think you've realized it—or learned how to use any of that." And, I

wanted to add, I wasn't the person who could inspire that in him.

"This," he said, moving toward the door, "was the last thing I expected. You destroy my life and then feed me inspirational

philosophy."

I felt horrible, and it was one of those moments where I wished my mouth wouldn't just blurt out the first thing on my mind. I'd learned

a lot of control—but not quite enough.

"I'm just telling you the truth. You're better than this . . . better than whatever it is you're going to do now."

Adrian rested his hand on the doorknob and gave me a rueful look. "Rose, I'm an addict with no work ethic who's likely going to go

insane. I'm not like you. I'm not a superhero."

"Not yet," I said.

He scoffed, shook his head, and opened the door. Just before leaving, he gave me one more backward glance. "The contract's null

and void, by the way."

I felt like I'd been slapped in the face. And in one of those rare moments, Rose Hathaway was rendered speechless. I had no witty

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quips, no elaborate explanations, and no profound insight.

Adrian left, and I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

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THIRTY-THIRTY-SIXSIX

THIRTYTHIRTY --SIXSIX

I'D OFTEN DREAMED ABOUT waking up with Dimitri, waking up in a way that was . . . ordinary. Sweet. Not because we were hastily

trying to catch sleep before fighting our next foe. Not because we were recovering from sex we had to hide, sex laden with baggage

and myriad complications. I just wanted to wake up together, in his arms, and have it be a good morning.

Today was that day.

"How long have you been awake?" I asked drowsily. My head was on his chest, and I was wrapped against him as best as I could

manage. My wounds were healing rapidly but still had to be babied. We'd found a few creative workarounds last night. Sunlight now

spilled in through the windows, filling my bedroom with gold.

He was watching me in that quiet, solemn way of his, with those dark eyes that were so easy to get lost in. "A little while," he

admitted, lifting his gaze to the sunlight-filled window. "I think I'm still on a human schedule. Either that, or my body just wants to be up

when the sun is. Seeing it is still amazing to me."

I stifled a yawn. "You should have gotten up."

"I didn't want to disturb you."

I ran my fingers over his chest, sighing in contentment. "This is perfection," I said. "Is every day going to be like this?"

Dimitri rested his hand on my cheek and then moved down, tipping my chin up. "Not every day but most days."

Our lips met, and the warmth and light in the room paled compared to what burned inside me. "I was wrong," I murmured when we

finally broke the long, languid kiss. "This is perfection."

He smiled, something he was doing an awful lot of lately. I loved it. Things would probably change once we were back out in the

world. Even if we were together now, Dimitri's guardian side would always be there, ready and watchful. But not right now. Not in this

moment.

"What's the matter?" he asked me.

With a start, I realized I'd begun to frown. I tried to relax my face. Unbidden, Adrian's words had come back to me, that the next time I

was in bed with Dimitri, I should think about others who weren't so lucky.

"Do you think I ruin lives?" I asked.

"What? Of course not." The smile changed to shock. "Where would you get that idea?"

I shrugged. "There are just a lot of people whose lives are still kind of a mess. My friends, I mean."

"True," he said. "And let me guess. You want to fix everyone's problems."

I didn't answer.

Dimitri kissed me again. "Roza," he said, "it's normal to want to help the people you love. But you can't fix everything."

"It's what I do," I countered, feeling a little petulant. "I protect people."

"I know, and that's one of the reasons I love you. But for now, you only have to worry about protecting one person: Lissa."

I stretched out against him, noticing my injuries really were constantly improving. My body would be able to do all sorts of things

soon. "I suppose that means we can't stay in bed all day?" I asked hopefully.

"Afraid not," he said, lightly running his fingertips along the curve of my hip. He never seemed to get tired of studying my body. "They

come first."

I brought my mouth back toward his. "But not for a little while."

"No," he agreed. His hand slid up to the back of my neck, tangling in my hair as he drew me closer. "Not for a little while."

I had never attended a royal coronation before, and honestly, I hoped I never would again. I only wanted there to be this one queen

ruling in my lifetime.

Eerily, the coronation was kind of a reverse of Tatiana's funeral. What was the old saying? The queen is dead. Long live the queen.

Custom dictated the monarch-to-be spend the first part of the coronation day at the church, presumably to pray for guidance,

strength, and all that spiritual stuff. I wasn't sure what custom did in the case of atheist monarchs. Probably they faked it. With Lissa,

who was fairly devout, I knew that wasn't a problem and that she was probably legitimately praying she'd do a good job as queen.

After the vigil, Lissa and a huge procession walked back across Court to the palace building, where the crowning took place.

Representatives from all the royal families joined her, along with musicians who were playing much more cheerful tunes than they had

for Tatiana's procession. Lissa's guardians—she had a fleet now—walked with her. I was among them, wearing my finest black and

white, including the red collar marking me as a royal guardian. Here, at least, was a notable difference from the funeral. Tatiana had

been dead; her guardians were for show. Lissa was very much alive, and even if she'd won the Council's vote, she still had enemies.

My colleagues and I were on high alert.

Not that you'd think we needed to be, not with the way the onlookers cheered. All those who had camped out during the trials and

election had stayed for this fanfare, and more had shown up still. I wasn't sure when there'd ever been this many Moroi in one place.

After the long and winding walk, Lissa made it to the palace building and then waited in a small antechamber adjacent to what

served as the Moroi throne room. The throne room was almost never used for modern business, but every once in a while—like a new

queen being sworn in—the Moroi liked to pull out ancient traditions. The room was small and couldn't hold all the witnesses from

outside. It couldn't even hold the entire procession. But, the Council and highest-ranking royal members were there, along with some

select invitees of Lissa's.

I stood off to the side, watching the glamour unfold. Lissa hadn't made her grand entrance yet, so there was a low hum of

conversation. The room was all green and gold, having been given a thorough and fast remodel in the last few days, since custom

dictated the ruling family's colors dominate the throne room. The throne itself sat high against the far wall, accessible by steps. Carved

of wood I could no longer identify, I knew the throne had been carried around the world by Moroi monarchs for centuries. People were

lining up in carefully assigned positions, preparing for when Lissa would enter last. I was studying one of the new chandeliers,

admiring how realistic the "candles" in it looked. I knew they were electric, but the craftsmen had done amazing work. Technology

masked in old-world glory, just as the Moroi liked. A small nudge drew my attention away.

"Well, well, well," I said. "If it isn't the people responsible for unleashing Rose Hathaway on the world. You've got a lot to answer for."

My parents stood before me in their typical and wildly contrasting clothing. My mom wore the same guardian outfit I did, a white shirt

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