by E. A. James
Leonie rose a little, ignoring her pain as she curled around Adrik to inspect his back. Her fingers quivered and ghosted over the soot. If he had been human he would have been incinerated.
Maybe it was worse because he wasn’t human. She knew so little about Gargans…
“Adrik,” she breathed, cringing as more guards screamed and Froda continued her assault. “Adrik, talk to me. How do I—how can I help?” She patted his upper back, her fingers coming back coated in black.
He coughed, shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Just…warm.” He hacked and shuddered, black saliva dripping from his mouth.
Leonie scooted back—scooted around to get a better look at his back. Her eyes ended up landing in the nearby distant, Froda slashing at men and shooting bursts of fire from her mouth. She roared and shook with a palpable rage.
Many of the guards laid scattered on the floor, blood and black ash staining their uniforms.
Adrik hacked again, trying to reach up to his shoulder before he gave up and let his arm collapse to the ground. His head lowered, swaying. “I’m fine,” he rasped again.
Leonie’s torso constricted and a grievous anger pulsed through her. She pushed herself to her feet and glared at Froda—at that monster. Leonie ground her teeth together and, thoughtlessly, limped toward the crazed princess.
This couldn’t stand. Even to Leonie—a duchess of Asawiss, a kingdom that hadn’t experience a war in several generations—violence was necessary to make this right.
“Leonie?” Adrik whispered, sounding dazed. “Leonie?”
Froda cornered one guard and slammed her claws down on his shoulders, fire trickling from her mouth.
The guard screamed and tried to reel away, but Froda’s grip was too strong—claws too sharp and sturdy.
Leonie’s heart beat harder. Her nostrils flared, pain ebbing as she was filled with primal rage. Leonie limped toward the monster before her.
A sword gleamed on the ground—beside the corpse of the dark haired guard whose name she had never even bothered to learn.
Her gut clenched, and she gritted her teeth against the wretched sensation. Without stopping—ignoring her side—she bent down, picked up the sword, and continued to Froda, whose twisted back was to Leonie.
Froda tossed aside the guard—now dead—and blew fire at another group of guards, hiding behind the mouth of the small hallway. One guard threw a dagger at Froda, the blade slicing her arm.
Froda didn’t seem to notice, still belching fire at them.
Leonie walked around her. The sword was at Leonie’s side, her eyes glued to Froda’s spine—jutting up out of her back like a bony mountain covered by satin clothing. Leonie tightened her grip on her weapon before closing the distance.
Froda shrieked at the guards as she approached them. She moved like an animal, scuttling around on all fours, trying to corner the guards.
The guards sank deeper into the hallway, swords raised defensively.
Froda twisted her head into the corridor and fire erupted once again, filling the hall with orange light.
Leonie sneered at the monster’s back. Her footsteps must’ve been loud—smacking against the ground as she struggled to hold her head high—but if they were, Froda still didn’t seem to notice her.
Leonie brought her other hand to the hilt of the sword—grabbing it. With both hands, she raised the sword and aimed its tip at where she thought Froda’s heart would be in this new twisted form.
Froda cackled with madness as the fire continued to pour out of her towards the guards, some falling as she did so.
Leonie cried out and threw all of her weight into her thrust, driving the sword deep into Froda’s back.
Froda went rigid, head canted back into a stiff position. For one second, it was silent, Leonie hanging off the sword’s hilt as the blade sunk in a little deeper. Leonie sucked in a breath through her mouth.
Froda screamed, claws flying upward and head remaining in place. Her back shuddered and warped. She slashed backward, claws missing Leonie be centimeters, before stumbling and falling forward.
Leonie released the sword and fell against the wall, using her legs to drive herself back and put some distance between them.
Froda shrieked and choked, squirming over the ground and puffing out smoke. She twisted herself and snarled at Leonie.
Leonie balked, nausea drenching all other emotions.
Froda snapped her jaws, smoke coating her sharp teeth. Then, as she reached out toward Leonie, the monster’s eyes dulled. Its body went limp a second later, smoke vanishing.
Leonie cried out in relief, and then her pain came crashing back. It was too hot—too cold—she panted and rubbed her hammering heart. Her vision blurred at the edges, world swirling for a few seconds. She closed her eyes and constricted her throat against the strong scent of blood and ash.
“Adrik,” she blurted, opening her eyes and glancing back at him. Her eyes bulged.
Adrik walked up to her, but his pebble gaze was aimed at Froda’s body. His bare torso moved organically as he breathed, the surface gritty and gray but…flexible. At least, it looked like it could be flexible—stretched, twisted a little. He breathed heavy and his large round shoulders sagged.
Leonie let her eyes run over him, and then she turned crimson as delightful warmth tickled her flesh. She shouldn’t be feeling any kind of warmth in such horrible circumstances.
“You alright?” Adrik croaked, blinking at Froda.
“I think so,” Leonie breathed. She nodded jaggedly and forced herself to look away from his muscular arms. She stiffened at the surviving guards, who peeked out of the hallway. She nearly swore. “Are you all alright? Is anyone severely hurt?” She limped toward them, but after they glanced at one another, they shook their heads.
“Many causalities,” an older guard said, face lowering.
Leonie sighed brokenly, chest aching. “I’m so sorry.”
The guard nodded, gaze still low as he set off to inspect the others that had fallen to the beast.
Adrik rested his fingers on her shoulder. “Leonie, you saved the rest of us. You have nothing to apologize for.” He glared at Froda. “Her lunacy was born out of her own sadistic ambition.”
“But others suffered because of it,” she said. She pointedly raised her gaze to the man chained to the bed.
He blinked at the ceiling, his mouth open as he breathed deeply.
Leonie's heart soared. “He’s alive,” she blurted, pushing past Adrik and limping over to the bed. “Thank the gods.”
The man’s face had regained some color, the flesh on his bones thickening more and more as the seconds went by. He still stared—eyes distant and breaths wet—but he was alive.
“Sir,” Leonie said, coming to his side. She prodded at the chain on his wrist. “Can you hear me? Can you understand? We’re here to free you.” The chain remained stubborn in its place. Leonie tightened her grip and struggled to pull it apart, arms quivering with the effort. “Sir?” she gritted out.
“I hear you,” he croaked, eyelids lowering. “And I thank you.” He closed his eyes fully, face relaxing.
“Stay with me,” Leonie said quickly. “Please, stay awake, alright?”
The man opened his eyes, wincing. “Alright, I’ll do what I can.”
Adrik went to the man’s other side. Then he grabbed the chain and squeezed it, the metal groaning and withering under the strong grip. As he pulled the metal upward, it cracked apart.
Leonie smiled, a breathless chuckle filling her mouth. “I’m envious, Adrik. Truly.” Her heart stuttered when she remembered his back—his stony flesh. “How are you feeling?”
He turned around and swiped at his blackened back. His hand came away covered in ash, but he had successfully rubbed away the black, the skin beneath remained intact.
Leonie nearly wobbled on her feet, she was so relieved.
“The heat was cumbersome,” Adrik said, moving to the man’s chained feet, “but
I feel better now.”
“Thank the gods,” she said again.
“Or perhaps evolution,” Adrik said, smirking. “But to each his own.”
She rolled her eyes.
The man raised his free hand, clenching and unclenching it. The growing muscles in his arm contracted accordingly. “The gods,” he whispered.
“What?” Leonie asked, leaning closer to him as Adrik broke the chain on his ankle.
The man’s eyelids fluttered, cheeks coloring. “I…” He shook his head. “No, you must not know. You must not know about me.” He looked at her, and despite the bags under his eyes, his eyes still managed to gleam with raw fear. “Please, you cannot inform the world about what I am. It’s…Olnorma cannot know.”
“Why?”
He closed his eyes.
Adrik freed his other ankle.
“I’m sorry,” the man choked out. “I just…it’s for the best if shifters are myths. Or better yet, unknown. If our existence is revealed then our people will be in danger. Please, be merciful and keep this secret. My secret. Please.” He coughed, the sound practically silent it was so dry.
Leonie blew out a taut breath, her fingers tapping the edge of the bed. “I suppose it’s the least I can do, and I’m not certain people would believe me anyway. I already have a reputation for madness.” She glanced back at Froda’s corpse. “The real threat is gone, at least.”
“Thank you,” he breathed, a sob strangling him. “Thank you.”
Adrik frowned at her, his eyes conveying doubt, but he stayed quiet as he continued to free the poor man from his chains.
Leonie grabbed the man’s hand and squeezed. “We’ll take you to the healer, okay? No one will share your secret.”
He kept uttering his gratitude, his eyes falling closed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A few messengers were normally sent across the kingdom to shout out important news to the peasants, but King Gier felt it necessary for him to confirm the truth in the courtyard at least once. He had ordered that at least one member of each royal family in the kingdom come to the palace that day in order to hear what must be heard.
The king, swaying and grunting, climbed up to the top of a massive podium in the center of the palace courtyard—that dungeon door hidden by the tall structure. People of all kinds filled the courtyard, feet smashing foliage and elbows accidentally jabbing into ribs.
On the fourth story of the Northwest tower, Leonie stood beside an open window and stared at the King. Though she was some distance away, the anguish on his face was still clear. Her heart ached for him.
Adrik bumped her back, his chin centimeters above her head. “When will he speak? I wish to leave before the sun gets too low.”
“Give him time,” she said sharply. “He’s still grieving. Besides, why are you in such a hurry to leave? You could stay another night here, you know.”
“I prefer the wild,” Adrik huffed.
“With the bears?”
“Better bears than assassins.”
She opened her mouth to retort, only to stiffen when she heard the king loudly hack from the very top of the podium. She leaned closer to the window, her ears straining before the man even spoke a word.
“I need calm!” King Gier croaked over the whispering crowd. “Please, I need silence, I’m afraid I can’t rise above it as I once could!”
The whispers continued on for a few seconds before silence enveloped the people.
King Gier visibly shuddered, his head bowed. “It is with great sorrow that I announce to you that Princess Froda has died. She was discovered, torturing and killing in an effort to ascend to the throne before my time had ended. She betrayed our kingdom, our people! She planned to murder me, and to murder royal guests!”
Gasps burst out of some of the attendees, the silence growing even thicker seconds afterward.
Leonie swallowed, pressing both hands to her heart.
“She was killed in self-defense by those who found her plotting against us,” the king yelled, voice cracking. “I have exiled her husband, Prince Almund, in case he had conspired with her. Their children—my grandchildren—are under my care and protection now!”
He panted, blinking hard as his dulled eyes went blank. He wobbled a little and coughed. “I—I must also say that the Mad Duchess of Asawiss is not mad! She is a prophetess of the god Mathsus, and without her, I would’ve never realized my daughter wished to betray this land! Young Duchess of Asawiss, Leonie Dupont, is a prophetess! Not a madwoman! She saved our kingdom, and thus, she saved our people from the depths of war and death!”
Leonie’s cheeks burned. She backed away from the window a little—shadow falling over her face and her back pressing against Adrik’s chest. She jumped, but otherwise, she remained where she was. “I…I can’t believe he said that.”
King Gier ended his announcement, and then he made his way down the podium. The people below him and around him whispered frantically. Some hurried out of the palace while others remained stock still.
Leonie pressed her knuckles to her chin, mind racing. “I know it’s true, but what will people think?” She inhaled sharply. “My gods, what will my family think?”
“I don’t understand,” Adrik said. “Doesn’t this validate you?”
She stepped forward and turned to face him. “Well, yes, but…it also kind of makes it more known. This isn’t just a rumor anymore.” She bit her lip, eyes shifting to the window. “And I don’t feel like a ‘prophetess’. I don’t know if Mathsus will ever reveal himself to me again. What if he doesn’t? What if people expect me to be a medium for the gods?”
“They’ll probably treat you with well-deserved respect,” Adrik said, smiling softly. “Be honest with them, as you always have been. If they can’t handle it, then they’re the ones who’re mad.”
Her lips curled upward on their own accord, something akin to giddiness buzzing through her veins. She fought against another blush and glanced away from his kind gaze. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Why would I say something that I don’t mean?”
“I don’t know. To be nice?”
He snorted. “I’m not a nice Gargan, Leonie. But I am honest. You’re one of the most honorable people I have known, and I’m sure that people will recognize you without the title of madness attached to your name now that this has come to pass.”
That blush did overtake her face, her smile widening, and her heart fluttering. She forced herself to look back at him, and she swore she saw adoration glinting in his imploring eyes. She reached for his arm. “I wouldn’t have made it if not for you, thank you for accompanying a mad duchess on her journey.”
His eyes widened a bit, joy sparkling in them now.
She touched his arm.
His attention snapped to her fingers, his face going slack.
Leonie winced and pulled her hand back. She was being presumptuous again—seeing romantic affection where there wasn’t any. Her chest tightened. Shaking her head, she walked away before he could read anything in her tensed expression. “I should be going then. My parents are probably worried sick.” She glanced back. “I’m really glad I met you, Adrik. I wish you all the best. Truly.” She headed for the stairs.
“Wait,” Adrik said.
She stopped and turned to him.
He glared like one did against blinding sunlight, confusion bright in his eyes. “That’s it? You're simply leaving and will say nothing more?”
She clenched her teeth, hot anger squeezing her breastbone. “Nothing more? Adrik, I must return home, and I can’t ask you to accompany me just for that. You have your own life to live, do you not? Your own family? What more can I say to you?”
Adrik opened and closed his mouth, shoulders falling.
Leonie sighed. “I need to be going.”
“I wish to accompany you further.”
Her eyebrows shot up, fragile heart lightening. “I…oh. But why? I don’t understand.”
“Must there be a reason?”
She nearly laughed, her brow lowering. “Under this context? Yes, I think there does need to be a reason.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “What aren’t you telling me? Is there something you wish to escape?”
“No.”
“Are you in some sort of trouble and need my help?”
“No.”
“Do you simply enjoy my company more than you wish to admit?”
Adrik’s cheeks turned a shade darker, and he scowled at the wall beside him.
