10. Damned Fate
10
DAMNED FATE
S he waited like that until the sun had fully risen. Her knees tucked closely to her chest, hands gripping her thighs and keeping them securely folded to her body; an ever-present tremble to her shoulders, a constant stutter to her heart, a stirring of nausea in her stomach…
She didn’t want to be here anymore.
Luella quivered like the taut string of a bow, poised to release. The skin of her arms felt far too cold under her palms. She was in shock, in denial.
It was daylight now, and in the light of the day, she could see the aftermath of the night.
Wet blood on the raised platform, dripping pools collecting on the sides and falling to the ground, puddling there like remnants of the lost souls that had pumped life throughout. Desolate and cold, barren and still. That blood would flow no longer in the veins of those fae. It would be washed away by the rain, soaked up by the earth. Stepped on and walked across.
She shuddered anew at the thoughts.
Would blood on the ground be all that was left of her?
There were no bodies. For that, she was grateful. She wasn’t sure where they had been taken. Sometime during the night, when she shook and prayed to the gods and hummed low tunes under her breath to drown out the sounds, the soldiers must have carted them all away. Lifeless and fleeting, dumping the bodies into the woods of the Silva Noctis—an enchanted, boundless forest along the eastern side of the castle grounds—as food for the wraiths and other beasts that lurked within.
Feet thumped against the stone pathway, a shuffling of noise that grew closer and closer to her.
She inched further back at the sound, not ready to face whoever was coming for her. She knew her time was up.
Graves appeared before Luella, hood over his head and cowl tightly wrapped around his lower face. All she could see were those eyes of lapis lazuli. The sun filtered through the apple trees behind him, mingling with the shadows and illuminating the darkness of the cloak that he wore.
The male dangled an iron key in front of him, the chain clinking like a promise.
"How was your night?" he asked as he fit the key into the lock, turning it with a resounding click.
Luella stood on shaky legs, her brain too addled to make sense of his words—the first words he had said to her directly. She wanted to accuse him of false niceties, even though he was not as harsh and overtly threatening to her, he was still her captor. No matter how peculiar and quiet he may be. No matter how strangely thoughtful or watchful his gaze was. She knew his kind; she had seen it in the hungry eyes of the few courtiers she had a chance to meet in Solis—kindness used as a mask to hide the real intent. Like a duplicitous voyeur, sitting back and plying her with soft-spoken words and graceful platitudes just to butter her up and make her sweet, supple, and ripe for the picking.
That’s what he was. With his silent persona and guarded frame, he liked to sit back and watch. Watch her, watch the world, watch everyone.
"M-my night?" Luella croaked.
He hummed under his breath in answer, opening the doors and holding out a gloved hand for her in offering. "Yes, your night. I’m sure it was quite eventful for you."
"Don’t a-act… like y-you care…" She stumbled over her words in her state of shock. She didn’t feel quite right still. She could hear the echo of screams in her head, and she averted her gaze from the blood on the grounds behind him, instead focusing on his deep eyes, wishing she could drown in them and forget everything else.
Graves placed his hands on her shoulders, casting a weighted glance over her like he was taking in every minute detail and comparing it to the female he saw yesterday. His eyes settled on the shake in her hands, the grey pallor of her skin. She saw his shoulders rise and fall sharply through his cloak as he took a steadying breath, steeling himself at whatever he saw on her face.
With a clearing of his throat, Graves turned her bodily and stood at her back as an imposing force. His hands skated against her shoulders and cascaded over her arms before he slowly took her wrists in one of his hands. He locked them together in his grip, and she felt the cool brush of silk against her rubbed raw skin as he looped the material around, keeping her hands locked tightly. His touch was gentle, tender. Almost like he was scared of frightening her.
"There," Graves mumbled. "Now he can have no qualms that I didn’t keep you tied up. Knowing him, he’ll be aggrieved that silk was used instead of rope."
Luella’s brow furrowed as Graves spun her back around. She didn’t have much else to lose besides her life, and she was already on the way to losing that, so she threw caution to the wind and asked, "Who is he ?"
Graves started like he was surprised she had questioned him instead of merely taking everything quietly as she had been.
"The King." Graves moved closer, the material of his cowl scratching against her cheek. "The silks were a gift from Bastian, the King’s Advisor." At Luella’s indifference, he clarified, "The vampire… He instructed me to be gentle with you." The words were an uttered secret, and Luella was surprised that Graves was sharing anything with her.
So the vampire’s name was Bastian—and he was the King’s Advisor?
What could he want with her and her simple dreams?
Just as she started to ask, the grip around her wrists grew firmer, and his eyes narrowed. "Come. We don’t want to be late."
Graves led her forward with a hand on her shoulder, and perhaps it was in her addled and traumatized state, but it was almost as if he led her as far away from the gallows as he could. He kept his body placed in front of the platform and the many tools that she knew were discarded on top of it.
He was so close to her; she couldn’t help but breathe in his luscious scent. Heady, from how his large, cloaked body nearly surrounded her chilled, shaking form. It reminded Luella of hot tea sweetened with honey, drank in a bed of clovers.
"Why did t-they leave me alone?" She didn’t extrapolate. He knew what she meant. Who she meant.
He didn’t speak for some time, and she resigned herself to never receiving an answer to the question that had been pressing upon her mind all night.
Why did the soldiers leave her alone in her cage? Why did they not come for her?
They walked by the apple orchard, the dense trees growing light with every step, tangles of tall grass and tree limbs giving way to collections of pretty, manicured flowers and a pathway made of stone. The roughness of the path hurt her sore and aching feet, and she hissed as a rock cut into her heel, Graves slowing his pace slightly as she was obviously struggling. The pathway grew broader, opening up as it stopped in front of the palace. Right where Luella had arrived last night.
With the soft, golden light of the sun, she could pick out things she hadn’t seen before: painted green statues of snakes that curled up the railing of the staircase, a dragon statue in the distance, a bubbling fount set in its maw as water trickled over the stone lips and fell into a mid-sized pond.
It was a prettier courtyard than she expected for a kingdom of sin.
Graves led her up the stairs and into the palace. Guards were standing sentinel near the entry, and the large, gate-like doors opened with a flourish. Luella’s head craned to take in the sights of the castle. It was grand and different. Very different than she had anticipated. Many more fountains littered the entryway, bubbling brooks spilling crystalline water into pools set in corner grooves of the ground. The roof was arched and high; light filtered through the painted windows that acted as the ceiling, casting rainbows against the pure, white floors.
It was so quiet that even her bare feet echoed with every step. Graves was silent as a shadow behind her. His steps didn’t make any noise with his practiced gait. He knew this place, knew exactly where and how to step.
Just as they came to a stop at towering double doors, which opened with a mere brush of Grave’s fingers against the white surface, he leaned down as he whispered into the top of her hair, "The King ordered the soldiers not to touch you, only to scare you."
And with a harsh touch, Luella was shoved into the throne room. The almost comforting weight of Graves’s gloved hands left her as he disappeared behind her to take a post with the other armed guards lining the walls.
Doors clanged shut behind her, and she was left standing alone in a dragon’s den.
It was grand, fitting for the opulence of the rest of the castle. The throne was the centerpiece of the room, a golden carpet rolled right toward it, guiding her and cushioning her feet as she took soft, hesitant steps forward. But it was empty, thank the gods—perhaps that was why Luella did not pass out and felt confident enough to walk further into the room.
Windows lined the gold-painted walls, with arched tops, standing narrow and tall. The ceiling was a dome, with windows arcing upward from where they met at a center focal point above. The throne was large, made of tall, gold-brushed marble and polished stone with a cushioned seat, backed by weaved etchings of serpents winding over the armrests and racing up the back of the chair. Tall pillars lined the golden carpet, each with a guard stood still as the snake statues in the gardens. They were cloaked in regalia, all bearing the crest of Serpentis on their armor.
Luella’s shoulders caved inward at their presence. She was a meek creature thrown into a pit of beasts. They would chew her up and spit her out, mangled, and she would have no chance of surviving it.
A smaller door was off to the side of the throne, nestled in a little nook made by the walls. A tapestry fluttered on the stone next to it, almost concealing it from view completely.
She came to a dead stop in the very center of the room, a stretch of carpet before her and a stretch behind—marking her as an unmoored castaway drifting in the belly of the beast.
The small door opened in a creak, and her fingers fluttered up to the hollow of her throat, resting there in trepidation.
The King…
A soft puff of air escaped her lips at the sight of him.
The King swept into the room like the mighty ruler he was. Steps unfaltering, head held high, and shoulders regal and broad. He was an unwavering source of power and might, rippling from him like waves. Morning rays of light filtered in through the dome of glass above, and it illuminated his golden hair and the golden crown perched atop his head, jewels shining like the purest of twinkling lights. With his unfettered regality and the slightly feral sort of beauty that wrapped him in a predator’s pose, he was even more magnificent in the day. And even more terrifying.
A cape flowed behind him and brushed against the carpet as he came to take his seat on the throne. The many rings on his fingers caught the light as he gripped the armrests, and the green jewels in his crown sparkled just like his eyes.
The entire room was already hushed, but if it was even possible, it grew even more so. So silent, in fact, Luella feared the King could have heard the thumping of her heart from where he sat. His lips quirked up in a cruel smirk as though he heard her thoughts, and a tanned, perfect hand tapped once against his chin in thought.
"Come closer," the King beckoned. His voice boomed across the room, brooking no arguments. One of his fingers crooked as he called her forward, and the many jewels on his hands glinted in the light.
Luella felt a phantom’s brush against her shoulder blade, and she started, turning her head to see Graves, once more, standing silently behind her. She had never even heard him. Graves urged her onward; a strange look fell over his eyes—the only visible part of his face, peaking out through the recesses of his covering—before he drifted back to stand watch against the wall.
The King arched a brow as if in a challenge, and she wasn’t willing to risk stoking his impatience any longer. The cold- blooded shifters were not known for their kindness or patience. Her steps were hesitant and as quick as she could muster.
She came to stand just before him, her toes sinking into the plushness of the carpet underfoot. The light was startling and warm against her skin as it fell from the dome above. The King shifted, leaning up, and rested his elbows on his knees as he judged me with those cruel eyes of his; green glinted. The strong muscles in his neck rippled, a testament to the powerful beast lying under the guise of flesh and bone—a dragon, laying in wait and clawing against the bars of its corporeal cage and prowling along the edges.
He steepled his fingers as he peered down at her from his throne. A few steps led to the raised dais on which he sat. A paltry distance that separated them.
From a distance, Luella could trick herself into thinking it was all a dream, or that she was watching from above as everything was happening, a detached sort of coping. Now, this close, she couldn’t fool herself any longer. She could see everything in vivid detail. The veins along his hands, the rings adorning his fingers, the shifting of his pupils and the slight slant at the corner of his eyes, the slope of his nose, and the strong curve of his jaw. It all came together for a cutting visage of an imposing ruler.
From the shadows of the alcove, the door opened once more, revealing the male she now knew as Bastian, the King’s… Advisor . And the male of her dreams.
The vampire halted on the right-hand side of the throne, a sword attached to his hip. He rested his hand on it as his red-tinged eyes tracked her. The King turned his head, eyeing the Advisor, before quickly looking back to Luella. Like he couldn’t stand to look away from her for long. She knew the feeling. She was utterly ensnared by him, and even though she felt some invisible weight on her shoulders, urging her to kneel and protect herself in the presence of this apex predator, she couldn’t move. Trapped under the startling intensity held within his gaze. This room was a sordid temptation crafted just for her. Filled with glittering jewels and alluring voices and beckoning aromas.
Luella’s chest rose as she inhaled, her toes curling in the lush carpet.
"And the Prima?" the King asked.
"He’s coming," Bastian replied. His eyes flit to her before he looked away—the opposite of the King, like he was repelled by the pull between them instead of drawn by it. "He was preoccupied below with the… beast." He flipped open a pocket watch, which appeared nearly out of thin air; he counted down from five, the words a low mumble as his finger tapped absentmindedly against the golden rim of the watch. "Two… one."
And on the heels of the last number, the grand entry door banged open behind her.
She was torn from her stillness, turning with a start, only to see Tharen striding into the room in a flurry, three white wolves trailing closely behind him.
Those aren’t shifters , Luella thought, but normal wolves .
Their size was a bit too average to be a shifter. Their eyes, a tad too animalistic.
Tharen’s white hair was still adorned with many braids, and the chains that wove throughout the strands were greater in number than they were yesterday. His arched ears poked out from his hair, and a faint sheen of sweat was on his chest, visible by the incredibly low-cut shirt he wore. He donned no armor today but still had his swords strapped over his back and another, smaller dagger on his thigh.
"Sit," the mage commanded the pack of wolves, and they did.
Luella eyed the trio of beasts with apprehension and curiosity as Tharen strode right past her, breezing a hand over her bound wrists as he swept by. He came to stand behind Bastian, clapping a hand against the vampire’s shoulder.
With the two standing so close together, it was clear that Bastian was the slightest in stature, a few inches shorter than Tharen. But the Prima was taller than normal, a towering height of well over six and a half feet, if she had to guess. From the King’s seated position, it was hard for me to gauge his size, but his proud shoulders strained against his silken shirt, and she remembered how imposing he had appeared as he swept into the throne room.
All of these males were large. And all predators.
She distantly wondered why Graves wasn’t standing with them. She thought he was within the King’s circle, but maybe she had been wrong in her assumption.
Tharen lowered his head to whisper something to Bastian, eyes on Luella as he spoke. She made out only one word—said a bit louder than the others as if he wanted her to hear.
"…dungeons."
The King cleared his throat, waving to Bastian with a lazy hand. "Call them in," he demanded.
"Open the doors!" Bastian’s voice echoed throughout the room.
The soldiers standing near the front doors of the throne room quickly hurried to obey, opening the doors in a flourish.
Curious eyes tracked her as the room filled with subjects, all dressed in revealing clothing and glittering silks. Luella fiddled with her torn gown, fingers gripping the fabric so tightly that it was a wonder it didn’t tear.
"I didn’t expect my death to be such a public affair," Luella mumbled. Bastian flicked his eyes toward her, a curve to his mouth as the vampire ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and she could see a sharp fang peeking out, a reminder of what he had promised.
In a wave of quiet mumbles, the shifters fell into place behind her, and Luella could almost envision pitchforks waving in their hands, fingers pointing her way, and hisses of violence reverberating throughout.
The spot where Graves had stood along the wall was now hidden from her view by the throng of subjects, and something about that made her throat feel tight with raw emotion. She knew he was still watching her, could feel hot pricks on her exposed skin from his eyes—attention that was more palpable than that of the watching eyes of the many subjects around her.
"King Vale Halston Arsalan," Bastian proclaimed, and the room grew silent in a mere instant.
Vale. It was a regal name , Luella thought.
The King stood, cloak falling to the floor and pooling around his feet. He towered over her, and she knew even if it weren’t for the steps adding to his height, he would still dwarf her. She stumbled back a step but was stopped quickly, a telltale brush against her lower back as Graves passed. His eyes met hers, and he surreptitiously shook his head, eyes narrowing as he stood on the opposite side of the King—his left.
"Kneel," King Vale ordered Luella, one hand stretched out with his palm facing down. So close, she could reach out and brush her fingers against his.
She wondered if his skin would be warm. Or cold like the scales of the dragon.
She lowered her head, suddenly all too aware of her scant clothing and haggard appearance. The blood was itchy where it had dried against her flesh, and her skin tingled with the desire to scrub herself raw and scour the memory of everything she had endured under piping-hot water.
" Kneel ," he seethed the order, voice like ice.
Her wide eyes met Bastian’s, and though the vampire didn’t move, she was grounded by him.
And so she knelt.
Her knees hit the carpet before the throne, and she wished her hands were free to cover where the material of the nightgown shifted to the side, torn almost to the junction where her thighs met her hips.
A small wave of victory crested over her from behind as the crowd let out little cheers and noises of satisfaction. Her heart was still beating much too swiftly. She could feel her pulse pounding through the thin skin under her wrist as she clasped her hands together. Pulling on the silken ties keeping her hostage, she tried to find some last saving grace against her impending fate.
But if her hands were free, what would she even do? What could she do?
Nothing.
"We are here today in victory of conquering the kingdom of Solis and the Solis fae." The King sat back on his throne, a crooked leg resting over his knee before he gestured to her with a hand. "Princess Luella Ilis Eritrais, the last of the Eritrais line," he all but sneered, and Luella startled at the faint scent of smoke permeating the room; grey wisps of it trailed along the carpet. "The last living fae of the Solis monarchy! We took her as a captive. As a reminder . Serpentis is victor today, victor yesterday, and tomorrow, we will prove victor again!"
The subjects cheered, but she didn’t raise her head, keeping her eyes trained firmly on the golden carpet below.
The King fisted a hand and roughly thumped it against his heart. "Hear me! This heirus ," he pointed toward her, eyes like sharp daggers as they dug into her skin. "Is nothing more than a trophy. We will keep her to remember what the kingdom of Serpentis can accomplish. She will not die this day."
Something in the pits of her chest unraveled at the words, coils of tension let loose. She wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not—would it be better to die or to live as a prisoner?
Clamoring howls sounded from behind her. Rebuttals to the King’s proclamation.
" No !"
"Kill her!"
"Hang her in the gallows like the rest."
The words were a storm of war cries, and her skin tingled in fear. She looked up from under her lashes, eyes falling on the King as he sat before her. He met her gaze with a look of triumph, and she could do nothing but cower under the force of it.
Luella watched the other males standing behind him. Imposing forces, shoulders strong and proud, three additional sets of eyes that never left her.
Graves rested a hand on his chest, gloves fingers tapping against his sternum, almost as if it were some odd habit… or act of comfort. Tharen’s icy blue eyes were trained on her; she knew from the short time she had been around him that he was well-versed in combat, and with his powers of the Mind and Body, he probably could pick up on her feelings better than she could, herself—the rate of her pulse, the labored sound of her breath. He likely knew it all.
And Bastian. He was proud and seductively beckoning, red-tinted eyes unflinching as they bore into her. Almost smug, in a way, with the curve of his plush upper lip. Like he was taunting her with a silent, I told you so, weighing between them like a secret. He promised she wouldn’t die. He had followed through thus far. But the vampire had also promised she would be his. Luella would rather die than have that come to fruition.
King Vale raised his hand to temper the uproar ringing throughout the room. "Silence!"
The room fell into a hush so quickly that it made her dizzy.
"You dare to question me?" King Vale stood, forearms resting on the armrests of his throne, fingers curling around the snake statues woven around the golden-brushed marble.
Luella sat back, heart stuttering as the King took a step down…. closer to her.
Wished she could move away from him, but she knew if she tried, she would be stopped. Graves would somehow know, somehow catch it, even if it were an infinitesimal movement. He seemed utterly in tune with every little move that she made.
The King stopped right before her, now on level ground where she was kneeling. A firm hand twisted in her hair, and he roughly tugged her head back. She let out a sound in protest as she felt his fingers dig into her scalp and tangle with her golden curls—unkempt and frizzy, dirty and blood-matted. The pads of his fingers brushed throughout them, and she was loathe to admit how good it felt to have someone touch her. Even under the guise of a blatant threat.
One sharp twist, and he could snap her neck.
For years, she had been starved of touch, starved of affection. And captivity, it seemed, would be the first time she would be touched like she meant something. Even if that something was filled with loathing. Hate and love walked alongside each other. It was apathy she could not stand. The absence of all feeling.
The strap of her torn slip fell off her shoulder as the King tugged her to stand. Before him, on equal footing, with no raised dais to separate them, he towered over her. He was easily over a foot taller than her. Her shoulders came to his stomach.
The velvet of his cape brushed along her bare arms from how close he was standing to her, and she shuddered at the heat radiating from him. She never would have expected a dragon shifter to feel so warm. Perhaps it was the fire simmering under his skin, held within the beast caged inside him.
A warm hand spanned the scant space between them as he enclosed her upper arm, fingers encircling it completely. He was warm, enticingly so. And as he pulled her flush to his side, the crown of her head was tucked under his shoulder. Though she couldn’t see them from her position, she felt the other males shift behind her, a surge of energy like they were affronted by the King’s handling of her.
The subjects before her were like faceless beings. In her shock, she couldn’t focus on anything, only feelings and sensations.
"Luella Eritrais is under my protection," the King decreed. "Anyone who dares to lay a hand on her will receive punishment as though they have attempted an act of violence against me. Her life is my life now. Harm her, and you’re harming me. Punishment will be a far worse fate than death."
Bastian stood on her other side, and she felt trapped between the two males. His cool hands ghosted along her back and came to a stop at her bound wrists, a finger hooking on her pinky. The touch was hidden from the masses in front of them. But not from Graves and Tharen, standing behind her. The touch would be clearly visible to them, and she knew they both would see the counterfeit familiarity held within such a touch.
Luella desperately wanted to remove his touch, yet clasp their fingers tighter at the same time.
"Dismissed," Bastian stated, and with that, everyone left.
A trickle of scathing glares and hissed words as they exited through the grand double doors, which gave a resounding bang as they closed behind the last trailing courtier.
Immediately, Luella felt her shoulders start to shake, which she had desperately tried to ward off in the face of the vicious crowd. Now, with only the stoic guards keeping watch along the walls, the strange triad of wolves, and the four males before her, she felt her legs weaken.
Bastian wrapped a hand around her arm, gently pulling her away from where she was tucked to the King’s side.
"I told you, you would live, pet. Let this be a lesson, do not ever doubt me again." His warm mouth pressed to the top of her hair as he whispered the words, a hand quickly undoing the knot in the silk material that kept her wrists bound.
The feel of the vampire’s breath against her made her shiver. How could someone so cold have such warmth?
Free of the bindings, she pushed against his lower stomach, shoving him off of her. He was hard and unyielding—like a marble statue. As he stepped away from her, Luella knew it only because he let her push him. She rubbed at her aching wrists, feeling the heavy presence of King Vale against her back.
"Just because you live does not mean you are not a prisoner. Know your place," the King seethed, spinning her around to face him. She felt Bastian tense behind her, warily watching the King as he spoke. "You are to be a mere spoil of this war, a reminder of what Serpentis is capable of. Of what I am capable of. Do well to remember these words because Serpentis is not the enemy that you think we are, heirus." King Vale forced her back a step, green eyes glinting as he waved over Tharen and Graves. "Prima, Graves, take our captive to the dungeons. I’ve already had a place prepared for her. You’ll know it when you see it." He said the final words with a low chuckle—some private joke amongst them.
"You said she would live," Bastian hissed, pulling her back flush to his chest.
"You’re right. I did say she would live. But make no mistake. I did not say how she would live. Just that she would not die. Remember your fucking place, Advisor. There’s a spot in the dungeons with your name on it. You should know by now I have no hesitations about damning one of my own to a life within a cage."
The few bits of hope that had bloomed from the King’s proclamation died out. She was so, so naive. Condemned down below in a dark, musty, cold cell. She shivered.
While something else gnawed at her… There appeared to be dissension within the King’s ranks. His Advisor was not privy to all of King Vale’s whims. Bastian had been slighted. It sounded as though he had taken up for her life, saving it but condemning her simultaneously.
As Graves stepped forward to take Luella away, King Vale gave her one last look. Eyes perusing her, taking note of her ragged appearance, before coming to rest on her face. The King met her eyes with a flicker of interest. A clash of emerald and sapphire. Not a peaceful union—but a discordant symphony, like a concerto with all the wrong notes, slightly out of tune, yet something about it alluded to a manner of rightness, if only a few things were shifted.
"We are destined. Etched into the very marrow of the world’s bones, so too is our meeting. You’re mine."
With a sweep of his cape and the words ringing between them, King Vale left.
Bastian’s dark brow pinched as he looked over his shoulder at her before trailing after his King, his fangs peeking out in a lethal promise.
"Let’s go, Princess." Tharen stood behind her, a hand settling on her shoulder. Frigid ice melted against her skin. From this close, she caught a whiff of soft vanilla underneath the harsh bite of his scent. It brought a subtle allure to his harsher edges. Incongruous with his near rabid demeanor.
Graves wrapped his gloved hand around her wrist, leading her to the door nestled in the alcove. The warmth filtering in through the skylight left her, and the cold embrace of the shadows enveloped her. The small door clanged behind her as Graves led her from the front, and Tharen urged her on from behind—held prisoner from either side by her captors.
Trapped and unable to escape, Luella walked toward her fate.