Entwined Paths (Swift Shadows Book 2)

by M. L. Greye

  They were to the estate now. They’d made it. Emry recognized the grounds of her home. Declan slowed his pace slightly and started bellowing for help. Only a few lights were lit within. Lights left on by servants for when their young sovereigns returned. Yet, no one came out before Emry and Declan reached the front door.

  Declan slid Emry off his shoulder and set her on her feet in one smooth movement without looking at her. He began pounding on the front door – his shouting shifting into something desperate.

  Emry felt like she was in a haze. She could taste the tang of blood in her mouth. Her own blood. She was swaying on her feet but couldn’t seem to steady herself. She was exhausted. Physically and mentally. She’d killed the Teal. To save Declan and herself, she’d killed him.

  Nausea rose up within her once more. Just as the door opened, Emry vomited on the front steps. And somewhere within her she knew. Ewan couldn’t survive all those attackers on his own. She and Declan had barely made it out.

  Ewan was dead. And her life would never be the same again…

  Emerald Celeste Nylles woke in a cold sweat, panting. The whirls of shadow flowing through the room were her own. It’d been a dream – a memory. One she’d had before. Many times. Her nightmare had called the shadows out of her. She winced. Her heart was pounding. With one hand, she covered it and forced herself to take deep breaths – willing herself to calm.

  Dawn was still a ways off. Moonlight shimmered in through the halfway patched holes of her room, shimmering through the darkness she’d released. No, it was no longer just her room. It was hers and Declan’s. They shared it now as equals. As a Pair. As queen and king.

  She glanced down at Declan, who was still asleep next to her. His breathing was deep, smooth, even. He had no idea she’d been having a nightmare.

  Releasing her breath in a rush, Emry shifted on the bed and snuggled into Declan, enjoying his warmth. He let out a small groan and rolled onto his side, draping an arm across her middle – holding her tight against him. Maybe he was aware after all? Emry was too tired to discover if he was listening in on her thoughts.

  She shut her eyes with a soft moan of her own and wished she could shut out her memories just as easily.

  BOOK ONE:

  COUNTERPARTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  About five years ago

  Ryde Ricardo Remington Randor hated his name. It was a symbol of his royal blood. On the continent, only those with any sort of nobility in their line were permitted three names. That coveted middle name was something parents gave their children with immense pride. Almost as if the middle name was more important than the first or even the surname. Even though it was the last name that clearly stated just how royal a person really was, as the parent with the highest rank was the one to pass on his or her surname. It was all sycophantic rubbish.

  And Ryde’s father had given him two middle names for the ridiculous reason that as a prince he was to be above everyone else, including, apparently, the other royal children of the continent who only had one middle name. It was absurd, and he loathed it. Loathed it like he loathed this Funeral Ball for Prince Jasper Ewan Nylles.

  Funeral Balls were such a strange custom. Even though both Heerth and Enlennd had them for their dead, Ryde had never understood why. In Enlennd, it was only for those of royal blood, but in Heerth these parties were for everyone – common and noble alike. For a prince, though, the Funeral Ball was a grand affair of dancing and feasting, as if that’d distract everyone from the fact that he’d been murdered. Murdered like Wyllo, Ryde’s older sister, the Crown Princess.

  Except no one else thought that she was murdered. Wyllo and her husband and tiny daughter had been burnt alive in their own home. Precious little Evangeline. It’d been more than a year now since their summer estate had went up in blazes, but her round, sweet little face still haunted him. His father had proclaimed it an accident – embers from an unattended fireplace starting the fire. Ryde should have believed the report from the investigation. He had no reason not to, except for the uneasy feeling in his gut every time he thought of it.

  Wyllo was to inherit the Quirl throne. Jasper was to inherit the Enlennd throne. Both had been killed. That couldn’t just be a coincidence, could it? Either way, Ryde’s dark thoughts were putting him in a foul mood, despite the splendor all around him.

  The Enlennd palace, just outside of Breccan, was lovely and nothing like his own castle back in Quirl. The ballroom here had an incredibly high ceiling with a beautiful inlaid painting of some Enlennd warrior with an armada of ships on one side in a harbor and row upon row of soldiers for as far as the eye could see on the land beside the water. Ryde wasn’t familiar enough with Enlennd history to know which past hero this was supposed to be, and he honestly didn’t care.

  He had no desire to be here. He hadn’t known Jasper – had only met the man a handful of times. Jasper had been two years younger than Ryde and had spent much of his adult life over in Anexia. They’d rarely attended the same events, usually only when forced by their fathers. Ryde felt bad he’d been murdered. That wasn’t an ideal way to go. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to feel any real sorrow. At least Jasper only had one middle name. Like a normal royal.

  Ryde’s mind kept drifting to Steffie back in Quirl. There was a woman to get a man’s heart racing. Steffie was pale and fair with the loveliest teal eyes. Her lips were soft, much like the rest of her. Ryde couldn’t stop the slow smile from tilting his mouth upward just at the thought of her. She was kind and sweet – able to brighten any room she entered. Ryde admired everything about her. Loved her, if he were being honest with himself. The problem, though, was that she was a commoner, and his father would sooner stab his only son than let his bloodline be tainted.

  Across the ballroom, Ryde’s gaze landed on the Enlennd princesses, sipping from the crystal chalices in their hands. They were obviously sisters – same black hair, same nose. That was where the similarities stopped, though. Emerald was shorter than her sister, Citrine Agatha Nylles, by a few inches and had silver eyes where Citrine was an Orange. Both were stunning in their own right, having the sort of faces sonnets were written about. Yet, there was just something about Emerald that had always made him like her a little more than her sister. Maybe it was that she wasn’t all doe-eyes and smiles – like so many other young ladies of her court, and his own.

  Right now, in a sick way, he was just happy to see that she looked just as miserable as he was. And angry. Her face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl, and anyone who had the nerve to approach her received a scalding glare. Ryde couldn’t help but smirk. Citrine was at her side, obviously telling Emerald to try smiling. He nearly laughed as Emerald turned her glare on her sister. That look alone made up his mind. Emerald could be his ticket out of this Ball.

  Abandoning his mostly full chute of whatever the fruity, bubbly, nonalcoholic drink was onto a passing servant’s tray, Ryde stalked toward Emerald. Enlennd and their laws. Ryde nearly rolled his eyes. One of their kings gets plastered once during an attack and every official event becomes banned of liquor.

  Halfway to Emerald, Ryde watched Citrine turn and head away from her sister, toward the doors to the balcony. Good. He wouldn’t have to deal with them both. Emerald didn’t watch her sister go. Instead, her gaze landed on the dancers, not on him at all. It allowed him to take in her appearance openly. She was dressed for mourning – simple clothing without any sort of adornment. Unlike in Perth, on the continent there was no such thing as a specific mourning color to wear. Just plain clothing. Although, if anyone assumed Emerald, in her short-sleeved, wine-colored gown, to be plain then they had to be half blind. She was elegant, educated, beautiful … exactly the sort of woman Ryde’s father wished him to fawn over. Too bad Ryde was partial towards blondes.

  A moment later, he sidled up alongside Emerald. “Would you like to join them?”

  Her head snapped around. When she realized who had asked, her frown only deepened. “And what if I were t
o say I’m too young to dance?”

  He snorted. “I didn’t realize we were at some commoner’s affair. You’ve been dancing at these since you were barely more than a toddler.”

  Emerald’s eyes shifted back to the dancers. “I’d rather be at a common dance than this.”

  That was quite the confession from the sister of the one dead. He blinked, surprised she’d admit something like that to him. But maybe that was why she’d said it in the first place – to shock him away. He wasn’t so easily deterred. So, he replied, “Commoners really do throw the best sort of parties.”

  Slowly, Emerald’s gaze returned to him. Her eyes took on a glazed look for a few seconds before going back to her obvious irritation. “Do you really wish to dance, Ryde?”

  He watched her, taking in a breath. On paper, she was everything his father wanted for him. Probably everything he should want for himself. In person, she stood out in a crowd of bland, vapid courtiers, and Ryde really did like her. Yet, he wasn’t drawn to her. There was no spark. From the glare she kept extending him, he assumed she felt nothing for him, either. She’d never once thrown herself at him. As a princess, she had no need for his throne. Perhaps that was one reason he’d never minded her presence. They were equals. And they were both clearly equally unhappy with being at this ridiculous Funeral Ball.

  He let his smile fade. “I’d like you to throw your drink in my face.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened.

  “I mean it.”

  She stared at him. “Why?”

  “You look bored,” he drawled, even though she looked nothing of the sort. She looked resentful.

  “My father would be furious if I were to throw anything in your face,” she said quietly, her brow lowered.

  Ryde blew his breath out in a rush. He was failing at convincing her. “Look, Emerald, you’d be helping me out. I need to escape from all these pasted-on smiles and scheming mothers. I have no desire to dance with one more simpering little fool any more than I-”

  An icy wave of pink punch splashed across his face – into his eyes and open mouth, all the way to the back of his throat. Emerald had done it. She’d tossed her drink into his face in middle of his rant, startling him completely. Ryde sputtered, coughing as he choked on the sweet liquid. He bent over, covering his mouth with a hand. He was legitimately struggling for air.

  Emerald merely smiled smugly. “Serves you right.”

  He couldn’t respond so instead his eyes found his father’s, and he nearly flinched at the fury within them. His father knew Ryde hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place. He’d most likely figured out that Ryde had provoked Emerald into ruining his clothes to give him a reason to leave. His father would probably see to it personally that Ryde regretted making this choice, but, for now, his ivory tunic and dove gray trousers – the colors of Quirl – were stained pink. It couldn’t be helped.

  The princess set her chalice on the tray of a nearby servant – frozen in place – before turning back to Ryde. “You’re welcome,” she said simply.

  He didn’t get the chance to thank her. She spun on her heels and headed out the doors to the balcony, not glancing back once on her way out.

  “Dear prince?” A servant girl appeared at his elbow, offering Ryde a steaming towel.

  Ryde took the towel and wiped his face with it, watching as Emerald disappeared outside. He handed back the used cloth and muttered, “Thank you.”

  He’d meant the words for Emerald, even though he knew she couldn’t hear them. Either way, he was grateful she’d been willing to humiliate him and subject herself to gossip. As he exited the ballroom, sauntering through it at the most casual pace he could endure, he felt the eyes of many on his back. But it was his own father’s that seemed the strongest.

  :::::

  Trezim Azure Niroz, third prince of Heerth, was bored. Enlennd parties were stuffy in general, but on this particular occasion it seemed worse than usual. The problem was that it was a Funeral Ball. Yes, it was a custom Enlennd had taken from Heerth, but they had contorted it into something all wrong.

  In Heerth, Funeral Balls were lively affairs full of music and rich food – a true celebration of the deceased’s life. Not this subdued soiree of plain clothing and long faces, that also just happened to have some dancing. The music was quiet. The smiles were forced. Dismal was the best way to describe it.

  So, after his second dance – one dance per grieving princess, as was respectful – he’d slipped out. Eventually, he wandered out into the palace gardens, if they could be called that. They were more like just a lawn with various shrubs and trees. These gardens paled in comparison to the ones surrounding his father’s palace in Zyntar. Well, truthfully the Enlennd palace itself paled in comparison to any of the palaces in Heerth.

  At least there was a maze. A short one, but a maze nonetheless. Even though the shorn bushes didn’t reach half of his own six feet two inches, it was more interesting than the gravel paths between the roses. He spotted a bench in the center of the maze and decided it was as good as any other destination. It didn’t take him long to twine through the bushes – hard to get lost when he could see the whole map from where he towered over it.

  When he neared the bench, though, he realized it’d be much too easy for someone inside the palace to spot him, and he preferred to be alone for the time being. Off to the side of the bench, there was a nice dark corner that if he put his back up against it, he’d be hidden well enough. Trezim slowly lowered himself onto the ground, caring very little if his clothes became wrinkled or stained. Really, he cared very little about most things.

  As the third prince of an obscenely rich country, Trezim could do as he pleased. He had few duties – just stewardship over a city in the desert that essentially ran itself. His father had sent him here, though. Trezim was to send his condolences from all of Heerth, as a representative for the royal family. He’d brought his younger brother Nakomis and a whole drove of courtiers, along with gifts, of course. But even as the highest ranking Heerth in Enlennd, Trezim found himself with plenty of free time and not too many obligations, especially in a country that was fast approaching an unstable mess with all of its Rioter and Royal nonsense. Enlennd was engrossed with itself, mostly ignoring the presence of members of other royal families.

  This suited Trezim just fine. It allowed him time to sit in the dark in the middle of a maze meant for dwarves, gazing up at the stars. It really was quite peaceful. Or, rather, it should have been.

  A growl loosed through the maze. Or was it more of a snarl? Trezim shifted his attention away from the stars just as a petite figure stormed into the open area with the bench – her skirts swishing with each step. He didn’t worry about the woman discovering him as it was too dark to find him, lurking in the shadows. There was no moon tonight.

  He froze, hoping she’d move on quickly. Maybe once she finished hissing oaths under her breath. But then she stilled, muttering through what sounded like a clenched jaw, “Why are you hiding in a corner, Trezim?”

  She could see him? Trezim felt his own jaw drop. Her voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. Had the woman actually seen him, or had she seen him leave the palace and followed after him?

  Apparently he’d taken too long to answer, because she snarled again and tossed a ball of silvery light from her palm up into the air above her head. The light stayed there, floating like a tiny sun. It lit up her face and their small room of the maze, including himself.

  He blinked. “Emerald?”

  “Did you say my name as a question because you’re not sure if it was correct?” She asked dryly.

  “Your accent is different.” He realized a second too late that he probably sounded like an idiot.

  “This is my accent,” she snapped back. “The other accent is the one I’m forced to use at Court.”

  That was right. Emerald and her sister had lived with their exiled mother in Anexia. Up until a few years ago, before their mother had died. �
��My apologies.” Trezim dipped his head, unsure if he’d truly offended the girl.

  Emerald rolled her eyes and released an exasperated groan. “What are you even apologizing for?”

  Trezim should have stood and exited right then and there, leaving her to stew and stomp as she seemed thus inclined to do, but something made him pause. The pain that had been linked in with her frustration. Was it because of her brother’s death? He found himself asking, “What ails you?”

  “What ails–” A startled bark of laughter burst out of her. “My brother was murdered and we’re here dancing like it’s some sort of sick celebration.”

  So she didn’t approve of it. He wondered if she would approve of the Heerth affairs this Ball was modeled after.

  “My dearest princess.”

  Emerald whirled. One of her palace guards had approached them without their notice. He stood at the edge of the maze just beyond the outside of the short hedge, stiff and formal.

  When he saw he had Emerald’s attention, he bowed at the waist and said, “Your father wishes to know if you have calmed, and if you have, he wishes you to return to the Ball.”

  The look the princess gave her guard was so icy that even Trezim felt unsettled. “Tell my father that I have not calmed,” she replied evenly. “Tell him I am too riled up and emotional that I won’t be returning to the Ball at all.”

  The guard had the intelligence to merely nod, bow, and depart.

  Once he was gone, Emerald growled again. Tendrils of darkness seeped out of her. From her rage and sorrow, he realized. That was why she’d come here. She couldn’t contain it, so she’d left the party. The curse of being a Silver.

  “Why are you still here?” She was glaring in the direction the guard had left, but she’d meant it for him.

  He had been there first, but Trezim chose not to mention that. Not when darkness oozed from her and her silver eyes were frosty, putting him on edge. Instead, he said softly, as if dealing with an injured, skittish animal, “I could ask you to same thing, Emerald.”