by Erin Rhew
She grappled for something to say. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For having the binding removed. Elder Werrick doesn’t see me as a person, but you do. You wanted me to have freedom and a choice. I appreciate that more than I can express.”
“Don’t thank me, Layla. Yes, I did it to give you a choice, but I also did it for selfish reasons. I couldn’t stand the idea you’d stay with me out of duty. My grandparents forced my mother to marry my father, and now he’ll never know if what they shared was real. I didn’t want that for either of us. If you ever do choose me, I want it to be because you want me, no other reason.”
“Wil.” Her hand reached out, of its own volition, to touch him, but she stopped its rise and willed it back down to her side.
“I know it’s wrong, but I do want you to choose me, Layla, because I choose you. At the same time, I can’t say I love you and then force my will upon you. If you want to be with Nash, do it. I just want you to be happy.”
His sadness reeled her in, like a fish on a hook. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and offer him comfort, but she didn’t know what would happen between them if she did. Was it really possible to care so deeply about two people at once? And if it were, did she—could she—actually love both brothers?
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his angst palpable. “You know, I was thinking on the way down here that it’s so strange. All of our lives, my father preferred me to Nash. My brother even explained his feelings to me once. I foolishly thought I understood what he said, but I had no idea. I do now.” Wil barked out a pained laugh.
He turned and walked over to the table, tapping his finger gently on the surface. He sighed. “It’s honestly the most gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever experienced, Layla. I can’t believe Nash lived with it his whole life and didn’t become a bitter person. The worst part is, while I’d love nothing more than to hate him, this knowledge just makes me respect him even more.”
Wil ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Several strands stood straight up, giving him a tousled look. She almost reached up to smooth the pieces back in place. Her hands ached to touch him in a way she didn’t understand.
He sighed. “I’d better go.”
Wil walked toward the door, but Layla, obeying her antsy finger, grabbed his arm. Energy sprang to life between them, buzzing so loudly the sound filled the whole room. She fully expected him to pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, their gazes met, holding them frozen in stunned silence.
Layla wanted to say so much to him, but she didn’t know where to start. She missed the ease with which they had always been able to talk. She missed his laughter and his smile—she missed the Wil she maybe, possibly, loved. However, she didn’t say anything because doing so would be selfish.
“Please let go of my arm, Layla. If you don’t, I can’t be responsible for my actions.”
Layla knew she should let go, yet she did not. Her body acted on its own, almost independent of her mind. She tightened her grip and pulled him forward. He groaned. Absorbing her into his arms, he pressed their lips together with a force and longing that took away her breath. The spark from earlier intensified until they both shook from the force of it.
At first, she remained stiff and uncertain but then found herself responding. A part of her wanted to move away, yet another part wanted to move him closer. Just as Layla reached up to place her hands in his hair, Wil propelled himself backward, creating distance between them.
“Layla.” Her name came out as a broken plea. “I’m so sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.” He pushed his hair around again, making it stand up even more. As before, Layla longed to reach out and smooth it down, but he kept talking. “You see, the person I want to be would let you go. That person would be happy for you and Nash and want nothing but the best for you, but as much as I want to be that person, I’m not yet. I’m still selfish enough to kiss you without your consent, to want to leave you with a special memory of me that wasn’t planted by an Alteration. I’m sorry I’m not a better person, Layla.”
She refused to let him shoulder the responsibility alone. Though she found the quality endearing, Layla also knew he’d torment himself with it. Besides, her body compelled her to kiss him earlier, just as it drove her toward him again.
“Wil, I don’t think you could be a better person if you tried. You’re already so kind and selfless. And just to be clear, you didn’t kiss me without my consent.”
She took another step forward, sucked in a deep breath, and closed the gap between them. Layla leaned into him, listening to the sharp intake of his breath, until their lips locked together again. Wil wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her. Even with her mind conflicted, her body responded. She let out a small gasp; he matched it with a low moan.
“Layla.”
His huskiness sent shivers down her spine. Wil bent down and planted a kiss at the nape of her neck. Her body ignited.
“Wil.” She chanted his name like a benediction.
Overcome, Layla dragged his head back up, smashing their lips together. They stumbled backward, knocking over a chair. The more heated their exchange, the stronger the electric hum between them grew. Layla clung to him, shaking. He lifted her up onto the table, his hand lingering for a moment on her thigh. Her leg quivered.
Wil reached up, cupping her face. They pushed their mouths and bodies as close together as they possibly could. Her hands roamed up and down his back, clawing at him with a fervor she didn’t even know she possessed. Mirror images, his hands copied hers.
Then, quite suddenly, Wil disengaged himself and stepped back. Everything stopped except their ragged breathing. Heat wafted around them, the air charged with their craving. His blue eyes darkened to a shade she’d never seen.
“Oh no.” Some realization dawned on his face.
Before she could even reply, Wil fled. She remained in place, stunned, her whole body still tingling.
* * * *
After standing and staring at the door for quite some time, Layla returned to the bed, in the exact position she had been before Wil came. She lay down on her back, wedged in a hole on the lumpy mattress, and replayed the whole scene with Wil over and over in her mind. Her face grew warm as she recalled her wanton behavior and warmer yet as she remembered how Wil had just pulled back and left. What did he think of her now?
And even worse…what about Nash? He’d been gone only a short time, yet she’d already fallen into the arms of his brother. What kind of person did that make her? A horrible one, she decided. Nash and Wil deserved better. Another soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Wearily, she walked toward the door, almost afraid to answer it.
“Layla, please let me in.”
She sighed in relief and flung open the door. Volton stood on the other side, offering her a soothing smile, but she knew no amount of consoling could calm her now.
“May I come in?”
“Please do, Volton.”
He shuffled in, his eyes ablaze with concern. Dread curled around her stomach. The Volton took her hand, rubbing it just like her mother used to when Layla got sick.
“Wil asked me to get you and bring you to the meeting room.”
“Why?” Her words strained to work around the lump in her throat. Sympathy radiated so palpably from Mars that Layla grew even more anxious.
“I don’t know why, but he acted upset. He also called Elder Werrick back.”
“I thought the Elder had gone.”
“Apparently not. We should go.”
They rushed out of the tunnels and into the meeting room. As she entered, Layla noted King Jesper’s absence, which eased her anxiety, but only the tiniest bit. Wil, the person she most wanted and dreaded seeing, sat at the meeting table. When she entered, he didn’t even look up. He sat with a straight back, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. Layla glance back at the Volton. He shrugged his shoulders.
“Thank you all for coming.” Wil stood. He still refu
sed to look in her direction. “We have a problem, Elder Werrick.”
Layla swallowed, but the stubborn lump in her throat grew larger. Did Wil plan to tell everyone here what had transpired in the tunnels? He didn’t seem the type, yet she couldn’t read his face to know for sure.
“What problem, Prince Wilhelm? Do you need the binding reestablished? I would be happy to perform the ceremony.”
“The problem, Elder Werrick, is that you already have.”
Layla gasped.
“I…I don’t know what you mean.” The Elder’s minor stutter gave him away. Wil’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the older man.
“You performed it once without Layla’s permission or mine, and you’ve done it again.”
Werrick sniffed. “And how do you know this?”
“How I know does not matter, but your disobedience to the crown certainly does.”
The Elder grinned—an evil, wicked grin. “You commanded me to unbind the girl, and I did. You gave no specific command not to rebind. After I saw how well the bonding worked between the Fulfillment and your brother, I had to try it again…with the correct prince this time.” His grin could have curdled milk. “You and the Vanguard girl fail to understand the enormity of this situation. The Prophecy depends on the two of you, but you just want to throw it all away.” He flung his hand toward him in disgust. “Well, I won’t let you. You can rearrange my mind all you want, but the next Elder will just perform the binding again. We won’t stop until we have what we want.”
“You will stop.” Volton Mars sounded frightening, so different from normal.
“And how do you mean to stop me, Mars?” Elder Werrick wore a smug, self-satisfied grin.
Layla’s Vanguard fury flared. How dare he play with all of their lives like that? She wanted to launch forward and attack him. Only her curiosity over Volton Mars’ plans kept her rooted in place, though she did take the time to consider how much force would be required to break the Elder’s neck.
“You never valued learning, Werrick, and today that will be your detriment. I have been searching since the moment you presented Layla to this court, and I’ve discovered a way to block the binding spell. With Wil and Layla’s permission, I will block them both, as well as Nash, from being bound ever again, by you or anyone else. They will be outside of your reach, free to choose their own fate.”
“Do it,” Wil said.
The Volton turned to Layla, seeking her permission after gaining Wil’s. She nodded, a bit uneasy. Layla clenched her fists. Would she ever have control over her own mind again? The Ethereals held sway over thoughts and memories, yet the Elders and Voltons seemed to possess an equally debilitating control over matters of the heart. In the midst of such people, could she trust her own perceptions? If only the situation required brute force, she’d be prepared. But mind games and mystical spells, she didn’t understand nor completely trust.
Layla glanced between Mars and Wil. At this point, she had no choice but to put her fate in their hands; judging by the stricken look on the Elder’s face, this change in events deeply affected his plans. His distress alone convinced her to proceed.
“You can’t do this, Mars.” Elder Werrick screeched an octave higher than normal.
Ignoring the tormented Ecclesiastic, Volton Mars untied the rope around his robe and motioned for Layla and Will to stand beside him. The Elder made a move to interfere. Wil’s guard snatched him back, holding him in place. The older man twisted and squirmed, his face a mask of pure rage, but he could not escape the soldier’s hold.
“Do you have anything of Nash’s? I want to protect him from binding as well.” Mars leaned in so only Wil and Layla could hear him.
Wil bent down and retrieved a knife from his boot. He handed it over, his expression unreadable. “This was Nash’s. Will that do, Volton?” Mars nodded. Without a word, he wound the rope around Layla and Wil’s arms and around the blade of Nash’s knife. Layla tried to catch Wil’s gaze, but he still wouldn’t look her way. The Elder’s power reasserted itself, pressing her down without mercy. Volton Mars slipped his free hand under her armpit, supporting her, as her knees buckled. The heaviness dissipated. Had the Volton managed to ward it off with his touch?
Volton Mars raised his arms, much in the same way Elder Werrick had for his binding ceremonies, and their joined hands and Nash’s knife rose too. “That which is bound, I unbind, never to be bound again.”
He let go of Layla and retrieved a knife from his own boot to cut the rope in three separate places. Satisfied, he stepped back. Layla took a deep breath and felt oddly hopeful.
Wil rubbed his wrist. “Is that it?”
“According to my research, yes. When you forced Werrick to unbind Layla the first time, I knew the Elder would try something underhanded, so I’ve spent every spare moment researching ways to stop him. I hope this works for all of your sakes. No one deserves to be treated the way you three have been treated.” He curled his lips up at Elder Werrick, an uncharacteristic sneer marring his face. “Most importantly, Werrick thinks the unbinding worked.”
“I hope it worked as well. Thank you, Mars. You’ve always looked out for me.” Wil stepped back and turned toward the door. Layla followed, calling his name.
He spun on his heels to face the guard holding Werrick. “Deposit him back in the Borderlands. If Elder Werrick ever steps foot inside Etherea again, all soldiers have orders to kill him on the spot.”
Wil’s proclamation pleased the most vindictive part of Layla’s heart. If she never saw the dreaded Elder Werrick again, it would be too soon. Revulsion for the man and his underhanded tricks snaked through her. She thought about Nash and Wil and her feelings for them both. What kind of person manipulated the emotions of others with such callousness? Undeterred by Wil’s avoidance, Layla followed him into the hallway. She wouldn’t allow him to ignore her after what had transpired between them in the tunnels. Bound or not, their behavior, and its possible ramifications, had to be addressed.
“Wil.” She called again. “Don’t you walk away from me. We will talk about what happened. You can’t avoid me forever.”
He stopped in mid-stride and pivoted to face her. His blue eyes burned, and his cheeks flushed. Taking a deep breath, Wil ran his hands through his hair just as he had done in the tunnels earlier. She took a step toward him.
“Layla, please. I can’t.” His voice broke.
“We have to talk about it,” she insisted, continuing toward him.
Wil held up his hand to stop her progress. “I said I can’t, Layla. I’m sorry.” She watched his retreat, hatred for Elder Werrick burning hot inside her veins.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nash
Nash and Rex collapsed in a patch of underbrush, trying desperately to catch their breaths. After fighting non-stop—working their way out of the dungeon, through the castle, and into the woods—the effort had left them spent.
“Do you think more are coming?” Nash forced out his question, though his lungs protested.
“Probably. If we stay here, we’re dead.”
“If we get up to fight in this condition, we’re dead.”
Rex laughed heartily, with no hint of scorn or mockery. “I’d rather die out here in the woods with a sword in my hand than go back to that dungeon. To capture me before, Vance and Montessa poisoned my drink because they were too cowardly to fight me like true Vanguards. Well, not this time. If I have to die, I die on my terms, not theirs.”
Nash cocked an eyebrow. Though his father’s rant inspired bravery, Nash didn’t want to die. He planned to return to Etherea, to Layla. Beside him, Rex sat up on his elbows, his mouth hanging open.
“What?” His father’s intense scrutiny made him self-conscious.
“Say, ‘You can’t be serious, Rex.’”
Nash hesitated, confused by the king’s cryptic request. Had his father lost his grip on reality? Shrugging, he sighed and complied.
“You can’t be serious, Rex.”
The Vanguard king fell back into the grass, a shocked look on his face. Concerned and still confused, Nash peered over at the older man.
Rex slapped a hand against his forehead, dazed. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“You are her son.” Rex marveled at Nash, as if seeing him for the first time. “That look on your face…it’s the spitting image of her. I don’t know how many times I received that same incredulous look when your mother chastised me.” Rex leapt to his feet, pulling Nash up with him. “You were telling the truth. You are my son with Sansolena.”
“Yes, I am.” He fluctuated between elation and dread. Now that Rex believed him, how would the king feel about having another son?
“I never knew she was pregnant. If I had…”
“You couldn’t have done anything. Her parents put a Lock on her memories.”
“Still, I should have fought harder for her. I loved her…I love her still. Not marrying your mother will remain the biggest regret of my life. Especially now that I know about you…”
“Then we have a lot to discuss, but first, we need to get moving.” He sensed a deep connection to this man, one he had never felt with Jesper.
The two men started toward the River Lars. As fugitives of two worlds, they had nowhere else to turn. Trying to stay as abbreviated as possible, while keeping an eye out for incoming danger, Nash relayed the whole story—Layla, Wil, Jesper, and Sansolena. Rex remained silent throughout the tale, though his face turned purple with rage when he heard about Sansolena’s imprisonment.
“Do you think Jesper will really put Sansolena to death?” Rex pushed the words past clenched teeth.
Nash shook his head, unable to understand the manic fluxes of a man like Jesper. “I’m not sure.”
“Regardless, we have to get her out of there.” Rex stood tall, his figure large and imposing.
Rustling in the leaves alerted them to the presence of more of Vance’s men. Nash swallowed the lump in his throat. All his life he’d felt unloved and unwanted by Jesper, and just when he had the chance to have a father, a real father, Rex might be snatched away. He sighed, saddened, but also emboldened. Nash knew he would give everything he had to this fight. He had so much to live for now.
