by Mila Young
It's not too late, but we have to escort our dickhead father back to our home. First get this worthless exercise out of the way, then I'll be back in the castle with her.
“I still don't understand why we have to greet the bastard,” Luther growls in my direction as our horses trot alongside one another along the wide path.
The sunlight is bright, the sky clear, but being out here is the last thing I want.
“Mother insisted.” If it was up to me, our real father would have never been invited to Ahren's wedding... and this is why I detest political bullshit.
Luther grumbles something under his breath, his knuckles white from how tightly he holds the reins. We all hate our father for different reasons, but at the core of the problem, he's an arrogant turd who puts wealth and status before family.
“You think he'll bring his bride?” Luther sneers when he asks the question. The woman is young enough to be our sister.
“Might be awkward, but it wouldn't surprise me.”
“I was thinking the same. It's another opportunity for him to rub it in Mother's face. Maybe we can speak to the chef about slipping something special in their meals so they spend the night in the toilet rather than at the ceremony.”
“Get it done, and I won't tell a soul.”
The evil smirk on his face has me grinning. Growing up under Father's thumb, the only way Luther and I survived was to make jokes, pull pranks—anything other than constantly fear his wrath.
We soon reach a crossroads. Straight ahead goes to Ash Court, and the other two lead toward the east and west kingdoms.
Standing before us are a dozen soldiers on horses, and near them is a golden carriage pulled by two mares. So he brought his bride after all. I sigh.
Our father rides forward on a large chestnut horse. He's filled out, grown stocky since we last saw him years ago. Gray streaks his short, dark hair, eyebrows bushy, and he's dressed in a thick winter coat the color of the blackest night.
“Luther, Deimos,” he announces upon approach. Our guards part for him to join us.
Father pauses in front of us, permanently wearing that angry expression like he might strike out unexpectedly. Except we're not kids anymore. He is a lord, while we're princes, and hitting us comes with death, no matter who you are.
“So they sent you two? Not even His Highness can pull himself from his new throne to meet his old father.” His nostrils flare, but I don't even speak to the man. The fact I'm out here is more than enough.
“Welcome.” Luther sits tall on his horse, taking the high road. “The woods surrounding Shadow Court are dangerous. You will see Ahren and Mother soon enough.” There's bitterness behind Luther's words.
Father snorts, his nose wrinkling. “Right, your land is still cursed. Shame, really.”
With the vile smile tugging on his lips, it’s easy to see he's enjoying every chance he gets to remind us of our downfall.
I grind my teeth, wondering if anyone will notice if we accidentally feed him to the Bloodcursed.
He glances over his shoulder and gives a low, short whistle at his men, and they begin coming toward us.
Father swings back to us. “Let's get moving. My ass and legs are aching from the saddle, and I want to hear everything about how King Tibout died. I've been hearing some strange rumors about your court, like a breach of Bloodcursed and fairies. Boys, maybe my arrival is exactly what Shadow Court needs.”
He rides up ahead of us as though suddenly he is in charge. My insides sear with fury, and when I glance over to Luther, the corded muscles in his neck twitch.
Gods, it may not be the Bloodcursed that kills our father after all.
Chapter 12
Ahren
“Get the fuck out of my room, all of you!” I bellow, fury tightening my chest.
The council members abruptly stop their bickering and jolt to their feet. They look at me like they heard wrong, except I couldn't be more serious.
“Out!” I snap and whip around toward the balcony of my study... the king's study.
I don't have the patience today for their ludicrous ramblings about where different guests are to be seated at the wedding, the whole discussion on how the king will be buried after the wedding, and how I am to be relocated in the palace in preparation for my new wife.
The notion has me feeling trapped, and I'm teetering on the edge of just walking away from everything. Everything I do is for duty, for loyalty, for my family.
But the cost is severe, and it's taking its toll on me.
All I can think about is Guendolyn and our time on the balcony. She healed my wings, eliminated the shadow I've lived under most of my life. And to thank her, I drove her away.
I'm fuming while my heart sits broken, a useless thing in my chest. How am I meant to marry another when the one person I would kill for is just out of reach? The hurt on her face is the worst... it destroys me to see her torn, to know I did that to her.
I clasp the railing out on the balcony and look down at the yard where guards and staff run around with decorations, making sure everything is perfect for something I don't fucking want. I’d give anything to be in their shoes, to just do a job and not have to make every damn decision for everyone. To be with who I want.
Tense, I grind my teeth, hating my life. I loathe getting up out of bed most mornings, and my stomach hurts unbearably. I can't remember the last time I had a full meal—nothing stays down anymore. I'm falling apart.
The door bangs shut behind me, and I twist around, expecting to find an empty room. Except Jasion remains, sauntering over to join me on the balcony, the fairy skull swinging from his neck annoying the hell out of me. It reminds me of Guendolyn. Everything does.
“Why are you still here?” I mutter.
“You're distressed. Good idea to get rid of the lot of them. They're a gaggle of geese going round in circles with no clear direction of what they want.”
I return my attention to the grounds below. “And what do you want?”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “For Your Highness to be happy, of course. Remember all those years you spoke about what sort of king you'd become when it was your turn? How you'd make the kingdom a better place, ensure fairness and equality of wealth? I worry you've lost that spirit. Maybe the reality of being king is a lot more stressful than any of us realized.”
His voice grates on my nerves, his words like a mosquito, constantly in my ear.
I straighten and face the mage as he leans over the balcony railing to stare at everyone working tirelessly in the courtyard. “Don't give me your pity, Jasion. What do you really want? I can tell when you're leading up to something.”
He coils around to meet my gaze and squares his shoulders. His hair is wild today—more than usual—peppered with tiny feathers, which means he's been practicing magic.
“I worry for you,” he states, like he does all the time.
But my thoughts sweep back to my discussion with Luther on our way to Ash Court, where he insisted Jasion was infatuated with me. I've heard similar rumors for years, but I never paid them any attention. Jealousy comes in all forms—except when I study the way he looks at me, it makes me wonder.
“What you need is a close advisor by your side who isn't a dusty old rat who'll leak information to anyone for gold coins.”
I frown at him. “What are you implying? That my royal council isn't to be trusted?”
He breathes heavily like he carries the world on his shoulders. “Ahren.” He steps closer—too fucking close for my liking. “Where do you think I learned that your wings are healed?”
I stiffen, his confession taking me aback. “What the fuck?” I growl.
His shoulders rise and stiffen. “You're missing the point. I am the only person on the council you can trust to have your back, so appoint me as your chief advisor to take some of the load from you. Let me deal with the intricacies of planning your wedding, of the funeral, of our guests. You should not be bothered by these things.”
<
br /> He has a valid point, but my attention remains on someone having watched me on the balcony with Guendolyn. Had they seen her healing my wings?
“What did they see?”
Jasion rubs a hand over his mouth as if having to think this through. “You were seen from the grounds elevating over the balcony, your wings bright and spectacular. This is a new start, like you were reborn, meaning you leave the past as just that.”
I almost choke on the words 'new start.' What waits for me feels more like being herded into a corral where I’ll be closed away for life.
“Leave,” I command. “I need time to think.”
“Of course.” He bows his head and begins retreating. “Just remember, you don't have to do everything on your own. We've been friends for a long time, and I'm here for you.”
His over-affection is wearing thin on me. While he makes some good points, I don't know how much faith I can put in him until I better understand his motivation. He and I may have grown up together in Shadow Court and shared experiences, but that also made me privy to the type of fae he is: manipulative, starved for attention, and in desperate need to prove himself. Those traits don't make him deadly. Yet with Guendolyn’s mistrust of him and the conversations I’ve had with the king and my brothers about him cause me to question things. To look at him in a different light, which now leaves me now doubting Jasion.
Once he leaves the room, I turn back to look outside, needing to find a way out of my damn messed up life.
Guendolyn
An ear-piercing screech rips me from my sleep—if you call slumped against the wall, hugging your knees on the filthy floor of a prison any kind of sleep, that is. I don’t even know how much time has passed. A full night? Hours?
Footfalls sound, and I make out the sounds of two people entering the dungeon. My stomach growls, and I'm certain it’s starting to eat itself. Aside from water, the guards haven't given me a morsel to eat. And that's if they come to visit me at all. I'm alone down here, leaving me nothing to do but stew on my hate for Jasion. I hate him with every fiber of my being. My throat is raw from screaming, but no one can hear me down here.
The bastard mage is going to get rid of me without anyone knowing what happened. The princes will think I vanished, or maybe used a portal to run away after discovering Ahren was getting married. But I'd never run from Deimos and Luther. My time here has given me perspective. Ahren pushed me away, and it's my choice what I do with that. Not him or anyone else. So once all this bullshit marriage business is over, I'm going to ask Luther and Deimos to move with me out of the mansion, maybe even the kingdom. I don't care where we live, but I can't be under the same roof as Ahren knowing he is fucking someone else. It will rip me to shreds more than it already has.
The murmur of voices hums in the air, but I can't quite make them out, so I push myself up to my feet and quietly tread toward the barred door. I look out, but from my angle, I can't see who it is beyond the brick walls of my prison.
“You did a good job,” a bristly, dark voice says in a whisper. I don't recognize who it belongs to.
“Just as you said, the bigger they are, the faster they fall,” Jasion responds, and my hackles flare. I clench my teeth when I hear him.
“And Ahren?” the man asks, his voice vicious.
I freeze in place.
“He'll slowly come around,” Jasion explains. “Then once you relocate here, he's ours to sway.”
I don't dare move, going over and over what I've just heard.
“Come, let me show you the girl.”
My heart slams into my throat as their footsteps close in. I throw myself to the nearest wall and slump down onto my ass, head low as though I'm sleeping.
A loud whack of metal against the bars has me jerking and snapping my eyes open. My breath catches as these two murderous monsters stare at me. Jasion and an older man with graying hair, wearing a long winter coat.
The older fae with longer ears leans forward, squinting his eyes to look at me. “So this is the whore who captured Ahren's attention? She doesn’t look that special.”
I hug my knees tight, unable to find any words that will make a difference to these two.
He tilts his head, studying me. I already detest this man as much as I do Jasion. I don't have a damn clue who he is, but I have to warn Ahren that he's in danger.
“She was found with the ruby from the king's throne. And she will be executed for treason before the whole kingdom the day after the wedding. But there's something special about her I haven't worked out yet.”
The man sneers. “Get over here!” he barks at me.
I don't move.
Jasion glares at me. “Do as he says or I'll come in there and force you.”
My skin crawls, and I want to scream at these assholes to leave me alone. But I push myself to my feet nonetheless and move toward them.
“Hand,” he demands.
I swallow hard, terrified. “Please don't hurt me.”
“Give me your hand!” he shouts, and I flinch.
Considering my palm still hurts from my failed attempts to remove the shards of ruby, I stick forward my other arm.
He lashes out and snatches my wrist, dragging my whole arm through the bars. The side of my face slaps against the metal bar, my body shaking.
The bastard sniffs my hand, the sight sickening me.
I'm locked in place, my stomach tight. The man's expression gives little emotion. I get the feeling that maybe he’s incapable of showing any feelings.
Jasion is in my face in seconds, smirking like a gutless asshole. “Not so tough now without your prince.” He enjoys seeing me squirm.
As I suck in a rapid breath, I take in the scent of strong cloves... a familiar smell I can't place at first.
Then a sharp pain digs into my wrist, tearing skin, feeling like blades.
I scream and wrench my hand back to find a goddamn bite-mark. The old bastard drew blood.
“You fucking pig,” I spit as I pull down the sleeve of my dress to cover the bite mark, pressing the fabric against the wound to soak up the blood.
The dickhead licks the blood from his teeth, his eyes fluttering upward for a moment. “You're right, she's more than just a healer. The magic sparks in her blood. She will destroy everything we have worked toward for years. Kill her!”
“No!” I cry out and recoil, my knees buckling. It's only by a miracle that I'm still standing.
“I'll arrange it shortly,” Jasion answers, then looks my way with the threat clear in his eyes that he’d prefer to torture me than make it a swift ending.
The older sonofabitch groans and turns away. “I've had enough of this depressing dungeon. I'm starved.”
“Of course, your lordship.” They both stroll away, the man barking in laughter, until the clang of the main prison door shutting steals the hideous sound.
I can't move, not after everything I've just learned. Fear grips me, and dark whisperings of nightmares coming my way drag me under.
But like a spark, the scent of cloves I picked up on Jasion clings to my nostrils, and the reality of it slams into me like a wrecking ball. Michae said he found cloves near the king in the throne room right after he was murdered. I thought it had been strange at the time.
Fuck! Jasion used magic to murder the king. My father. I knew it.
My stomach drops right through me like a boulder.
And I'm next.
The asshole blamed me, using the ruby as evidence. I'm his scapegoat, aren't I?
My chest burns with rage, my heart beating so fast and hard, the room tilts around me. They killed the king in cold blood for Ahren to get into power, to use him as a puppet. But my prince isn't that stupid. He can't be.
I pace mindlessly in my cell, both hands now hurting terribly.
Anger surges like a tsunami through my chest, and nerves dance across my temple. Darkness begins to linger inside me. My time is coming if I don't get out of here and warn the princes.
All I can think about is them, my throat thick with terror that I won’t get a chance to stop this.
I close my eyes and take deep breaths to still my raging heart, and a flare of power erupts down my arms. My power sparks as a sharp ache digs into my cut palm from the ruby. Is my ability fluctuating because I shattered the ruby?
There is only one thing to do and it’s risk, but sitting here is not going to help me. I raise my hand covered in dried blood and bits of stone too small to remove, bringing it to my mouth and focusing on the image of a portal opening to my room in the castle. Then I blow out a breath.
A surge of energy rises through me and rolls out past my lips. A pale blue fog puffs out into the air, billowing all around the cell until it concentrates in a corner, darkening until all that stands before me is a black opening just large enough for me to enter. I don't wait a single second longer and lunge toward my escape.
As I step through the portal, I whisper, “Please don't let this be a mistake.”
Chapter 13
Guendolyn
I step out of the portal and emerge out into an oversized sitting room with pearlescent wallpaper. Long, narrow windows flood the room with natural light, while a fire roars from the hearth in the corner.
Ornate wooden furniture decorates the space, and carved display cabinets are packed with all manner of books and colorful gems. Only when I look over to the two couches facing each other do I notice the back of someone’s head.
My heart beats frantically because nothing in this room looks familiar. I've seen enough of the princes’ mansion to know they don't have windows like these.
I’d been trying to get the portal to take me to my room, but obviously it didn’t work. So where the hell am I?
I turn back toward the portal, except it's gone, and my insides freeze over.
