Aequus

by Randi Cooley Wilson

“Upstairs.” He steps in front of me, blocking my view of the staircase. “You should know something.” He pauses.

  “What?”

  “She’s convinced herself that until the risk against her friends at the Academy is gone, you and she can’t be together.”

  The fuck we can’t. I don’t wait for him to continue; instead I step around him and storm up the stairs, taking them two at a time. My brother’s dark chuckle follows me. Once at the top of the landing, I march over to my bedroom doors and slam them open, seeking her out. They hit the wall with such force, the house rattles as I step in.

  Serena is by the bed, packing her suitcase. She glances over her shoulder at me for a quick second and with an annoyed huff, she swings her focus back to the bed and continues to throw her clothes into her luggage.

  “Why aren’t you with your betrothed, Tristan?”

  “Because I am here—for you.”

  Her hand freezes in mid-motion before she shakes off my words and keeps packing. Her tone is cool when she says, “You shouldn’t be. Your wedding is soon. And . . . I don’t want you here. For me, or for any other reason.”

  I snap. Her attitude in this moment, her words, and everything I’ve been through over the past few months with her finally comes to a head, and I completely lose my shit.

  Once in my room, I slam the doors shut, storm over to her, grab her elbow, drag her to the chair, and throw her into it with a forceful push. Serena curses at me and fire ignites behind her eyes. She stands and steps into my space.

  “By the grace. What is your problem, Tristan?”

  “My—” I make a pained sound. “My problem?”

  “Yes, your problem,” she snaps back.

  “YOU!” I shout. “You are my fucking problem.”

  She rears back as if I slapped her, and falls silent.

  My footsteps echo in the room as I pace in front of her trying to control my temper and erratic behavior.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just after last night . . .” I trail off.

  “Last night,” she spits out. “Are you referring to the moment when your batshit crazy fiancée threatened the lives of my friends and admitted to killing my kin because she is in love with you? And then, you ran away. Again.”

  “I didn’t run. I had an appointment.”

  Her eyes close as she tries to control her own temper.

  “Look at me,” I demand, and she does. “I’m sorry. I’m not handling all of this very well. You. Freya. Any of it.”

  Defeated, she drops back onto the chair and inhales.

  “I’m leaving. I need to return to the Academy to protect Magali, and everyone else,” her voice shakes.

  I crouch down in front of her and take her chin between my fingers, looking her in the eyes. “Who’s running now?”

  She swallows, searching my gaze. “I won’t—can’t watch you marry her, even though I know it has to happen. Seeing it will kill me, Tristan. And in turn, I will kill her.”

  Serena pulls her chin out of my grip, as her fingers brush and fiddle with the emeralds on her protector band.

  “Don’t push me away.”

  “She threatened me, here at court.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t have your realm’s protection.”

  “You do.”

  “If you protect me, you go against your vows.”

  I take her face between my hands and hold her gaze.

  “It is your blood that runs through me, Serena. It is you that I am sworn to protect. It’s you that I choose.”

  “That’s what I am afraid of. Freya has made it crystal clear that if you choose me, my friends will suffer for that choice.”

  “They won’t.”

  “They will.”

  I’m so mad that my hands are shaking.

  I need to get my emotions in check here, because I’m starting to feel as though no one is on my fucking side. No one trusts me, or my motivations, and their constant reminders of failure, fate, and obligations are grating on me.

  The truth of the matter is that I’m unsure if Freya will snap and truly go after Serena’s friends. I’ve put a plan into action that will stop any attack, but she doesn’t know that yet. I can do this; I can save us. She just needs to trust me.

  But she doesn’t, and therein lies the problem. I sigh and cast a rueful look at her, needing to show her we are more.

  “Trust in my love for you.”

  She sucks in a quick breath at my statement. Her watery eyes roam over me. “You can’t have one hand on the throne, and one on my heart. Our love won’t save us from this.”

  I smile. That’s the first time we’ve admitted our feelings aloud to each other. She loves me, which means there is fucking hope.

  “Then it’s settled,” I state.

  Serena’s face pinches in confusion at my announcement.

  “We love one another, which is good, because my realm happens to be on the brink of war, and as its future king, I could really use a protector to save me.” I hold her gaze.

  So many opposing emotions cross her face, like she is waging her own personal war inside herself. “I told you last night, we’re done, Tristan. There can’t be an us anymore.”

  My chest aches as I search her face. “I know.”

  “Then let me go,” she whispers, the fight now gone.

  “No.”

  “But—You just said—” she begins, but I cut her off.

  “I said, I know, meaning I know that’s the bullshit line you threw out last night while you were pissed off,” I reply.

  Ticked off, she stands and starts for the door, but I grab her by the arm and wrench her back to me.

  “Let me go.”

  “No!”

  “You have to!” she screams. “I won’t be the reason they die as well,” she cries, and falls to the floor in a sobbing mess.

  I drop to the floor and crawl over to her, taking her face in my hands and wiping away the tears. “I love you. So damn much it hurts my heart. I need you,” I croak. “Like I need air to breathe. And I’m too fucking screwed up to convince you, or myself, to want anyone or anything different. I’m too selfish to allow you to walk out when—” I take a soothing breath. “I just got you back. You are mine. And I am yours. Trust me to protect you. Us. Your friends. Our realms and families. Trust in me. In us, as equals.”

  Her eyes search mine. “Aequus—in the name of love?”

  “Aequus. In the name of love,” I confirm.

  “Heard some commotion and thought I’d check it out,” Zander knocks on the door as he lets himself in. “Everyone okay in here?”

  I stand, taking Serena with me.

  She buries her face in my chest, and Zander eyes us.

  “Everything is fine,” I blow out.

  “It doesn’t look, or sound, fine,” he counters. “I’d hate to have to rearrange your face, because we both know your looks are all you have, with that shitty personality.”

  “We’re fine. We’re just coming to an understanding.”

  “Serena has agreed to the plan, then?” he asks.

  “What plan?” she mumbles.

  I look at him, figuring she wants a moment to compose herself. “Would you mind?” I shift my gaze to the door.

  “I would. Is she . . . ,” his eyes fall to Serena. “Crying?”

  “What the fuck is it with you and her crying?”

  “Champ?” Zander’s voice becomes excited.

  Serena growls and pulls away from me, flashing my brother an annoyed look. His expression turns almost victorious.

  “This doesn’t count,” Serena tells him.

  “Hell yeah, it does. It totally counts.” His grin spreads.

  She growls out an exaggerated breath and turns her irate gaze to me. “This is your fault. I lost because of you.”

  “Lost what?” I look between them. “What the hell is going on?”

  “How did it happen? Did he tell he loved you? Wants babies? Killed your mom?” Za
nder ticks off, and Serena rolls her eyes at him, standing and crossing her arms in defiance.

  “Did you kill my mother, Tristan?”

  “No,” I reply, confused. “What the fuck, you two?”

  “I win!” Zander raises his arms in victory. “I WIN!”

  “Win what?” I snarl.

  “We had a bet. Winner takes all.” He rubs his hands together in a triumphant but calculating way. I don’t like it.

  “Bet?” I repeat, still in the dark.

  “Zander and I bet that I wouldn’t cry. I did. He won.” Her explanation is short and clipped. She’s pissed she lost.

  “What did he win?” I inquire.

  “Anything I want. At any time. I decide,” he grins.

  I study Serena. She’s frowning, watching Zander.

  “I warned you. Nymphs can’t be trusted.”

  Her eyes meet mine. “A lesson I learned last night.”

  Serena

  I CAN’T BELIEVE I LOST THE bet. And the way I did was so unfair. Once Zander finished gloating, they told me about Tristan’s meeting with Gage, and the plan they’ve put into motion.

  While I still have my doubts, and worry for my friend’s safety, I agreed to be part of it. Mainly because we’re out of options and time.

  Gage sent word to Ethan and Lucas in Paris of Freya’s nymph snipers, and in turn, they’ve reached out to Mags, Ireland, and Ryker, so they’re all on alert. I know they all can protect themselves, but it doesn’t ease my fears. I love them all.

  Tristan walks into the living room. Following closely behind him, like a puppy, is Maria, his housekeeper.

  She’s a pretty, young, Hispanic woman, whom he relies on to run his house, as well as for his mere survival, since he doesn’t cook. Or shop. Or clean, which of course she loves.

  The first time we met, we didn’t exactly hit it off.

  I don’t trust her. She has secret feelings for Tristan.

  Today, her shiny, straight, black hair is pulled into a professional bun, making her seem even more beautiful and petite than the first time we met, which makes me hate her.

  Tristan smirks, seeing me eye her with suspicion.

  “Serena, you remember Maria?” he asks, amused.

  “I do.” I stand and hold out my hand, which she sneers at but takes for show. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” she fakes.

  “Maria dropped off some groceries for us.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  “All of Tristan’s favorites,” she smirks at me.

  “How,” I pause, “thoughtful.”

  Maria grabs Tristan’s hands in hers and smiles up at him brightly. “I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I wish you nothing but happiness. Freya is a lucky nymph.”

  At the mention of Freya’s name and the wedding I cringe. He hugs and thanks her before she takes her leave.

  Once she’s gone, his eyes meet mine.

  “Still jealous, raindrop?”

  “Jealous? No. Suspicious and mistrustful? Yes.”

  He bites down on his bottom lip trying not to smile, and immediately my eyes zoom in on his mouth. Desire floats over me, and the sudden need to taste him consumes my thoughts. His mere presence awakens every nerve.

  Tristan takes a step closer.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  “Approaching you.” His tone is low, lulling.

  This is a game he likes to play.

  One where he stalks me like he’s a lion and I’m his prey.

  Always wanting to devour me.

  He prowls toward me slowly, so I won’t spook and run.

  “Stop,” I plead, barely audible.

  “I can’t, raindrop. You’re giving me sexy eyes again.”

  “Am not,” I counter. But I am. I totally am.

  Tristan smiles at me, coming closer. Once there’s no space left between us, the back of his hand runs down my cheek.

  The cool metal of his rings sets off warm sensations within me. In one movement, he grabs my waist and tugs me to him, forcing my hands to clutch his forearms while his body lines up against mine.

  His fingers dig into my sides as he leans forward.

  I feel his breath on my lips as he whispers, “Caught you.”

  I suck in a sharp breath.

  From under my lashes, I see his lids are hooded.

  Someone needs to walk into the room and stop us from what we’re about to do. I’m sure Freya is close by, watching.

  At the thought, I jerk back, moving quickly away from him. A frustrated noise rumbles from his chest at my sudden withdrawal. From a few steps away, I watch as every muscle in his neck tenses and strains while he catches his breath.

  Ten seconds later, Zander enters the room, and relief washes over me.

  “Hey,” I greet him.

  Zander grants me a small smile before his focus shifts to his brother. He watches him with an overprotective expression and military stance, as if ready to strike out if need be, at anything or anyone that might attack Tristan.

  “Branna will be here shortly,” he reports in a dull tone.

  “Thanks.” Tristan replies.

  “Gage also wanted me to let you know, and I quote, ‘The nymphs shadowing Serena’s friends at the Academy have taken their last breath.’ As have the ones at Notre Dame,” he adds.

  “That was fast. How did he find them so quickly?” I ask.

  Tristan’s eyes darken. “He’s well connected.”

  His words are meant to be final. I exhale a deep, grateful sigh of relief that my friends are safe. “Thank you both.”

  Without warning, the air in the room shifts, and a pretty woman about our age materializes. My eyes rake over her porcelain skin sprinkled with a layer of light freckles.

  She has waist-length hair, which is a vibrant, reddish-orange color. And poufy. I mean, untamed, crazy curls are flowing out of her head everywhere, in disarray.

  She blows a strand out of her face before her grassy eyes take us in and she pulls her peach lips in a friendly smile.

  “Beannú,” the stranger greets in Irish and waves at us.

  “Are you Branna?” Tristan’s tone is full of distrust.

  “Aye,” she answers with a bright smile.

  “The Maleficium witch?” he confirms.

  “Aye,” her kind smile widens.

  Tristan shifts next to me protectively. “No offense, but you seem a little too cheerful to be studying dark magic and sorcery. You look more like a magical leprechaun.”

  Within seconds, Branna’s expression turns from light and airy to fiery and dark. “For the record, I speak and understand English just fine,” she admonishes, with a heavy Irish brogue. “And leprechauns are evil little bastards. I don’t appreciate the insult,” she huffs. “And here I thought it was only Nassa who had a stick up her skinny little arse.”

  Zander sidles up to her. “Zander,” he winks at her.

  “Control yourself,” I hiss at him.

  “What?” He gives me an innocent look. “Accents are hot.”

  “What Tristan meant to say was thank you for coming.” I apologize on his behalf for his rude behavior. “And sorry, for that.” I point to Zander, who’s giving her puppy eyes.

  “You are the one I am to glamour, then,” she smiles.

  “I am.”

  “Strong-willed. Vocal. A fighter you are. I’ll do it.”

  “Wait,” I stop her from approaching me. “I need to know how all this is going to work before you just . . . spell me.”

  The brothers exchange a glance before Tristan locks eyes with me. “The real Freya was taken last night. Gage gave her a taste of her own medicine by drugging her. His team went in while she slept and quietly removed her from the castle. A stand-in that Branna glamoured to look like Freya slipped in and stayed in her place. She’ll remain in the castle until you take over, so as not to create suspicion.”

  “Where is Freya now?” I ask.

 
“The witches of the Black Circle are keeping an eye on her until after the ceremony tomorrow,” Zander replies.

  “She’s unharmed and comfortable,” Tristan adds.

  “The glamour is the easy part, Your Highness. I conjure a simple spell, and to the outside world you will look, speak, and act like Freya. Only you and Tristan will be able to see the true you beneath the façade,” Branna says.

  “Why Tristan too?” I ask.

  “Your bond. It means that you and he are the only two beings that can see the real you—all the time. No matter what,” she points out. “Even dark magic can’t trick a link.”

  “How long does it last?” Tristan interjects.

  “Forty-eight hours,” the witch replies.

  “Are there side effects?” Zander inquires.

  “No. You will feel like you, Serena, only look like Freya. It will wear off as fast as it comes. Aye?” she replies.

  “Is that enough time?” Zander asks.

  “It should be,” Tristan answers. “Once Serena becomes Freya, we go through with the ceremony tomorrow. We allow Oren and the dark army to attack. And end this. Once and for all. The realm and our family will be safe. As will Serena.” He turns to me, taking my face between his hands.

  “You sure about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s get it over with then.”

  Zander steps in and hands two photos to the witch.

  One of me and one of Freya.

  Branna smiles brightly and steps closer to me, taking my hand and leading me into the kitchen. With a few ancient words muttered quietly in chant, a flowerpot, a saucer, soil, and a watering can appear on the counter.

  “All right, Serena. Firmly pack the soil into the pot,” she guides, and I do as she instructs. “Next, place the image of Freya onto the soil.” I do. “Now, pour the water onto the photo until it is completely wet and her image fades.”

  I pour while she chants next to me. Within seconds, the outline of Freya begins to disappear from the photo and I hold my breath. I keep watering until the soil turns to mud.

  “Good girl,” she encourages. “Do you see how the saucer is branded with your image?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must pour the mud onto the saucer until the image is completely covered,” she coaches.

  Once my picture is hidden under the wet dirt, she guides us over to the sink and runs the faucet.