25. Delicate Vengeance
25
DELICATE VENGEANCE
T iny quakes rocked through Luella as she was pulled behind Tharen, the mage prowling through the crowd of revelers like an apex predator.
Though the links of her chains were delicate, that did not stop them from rubbing against her skin with every tug and pull of the mage in front of her. Red lips downturned, she stumbled after him, body buzzing with awareness from all the prying eyes on her. She felt so exposed, the halter-style cut of her gown revealing the expanse of her back and the full length of her arms.
She wished for a cover—could feel the burn of attention on her, curious stares and harsh whispers. Over the drowning waves of her fear, she couldn’t make out much of what the courtiers were saying, only a few hissed words and spat phrases stood out to her, and each one made her steps grow heavier with dread.
"Eat her up…" Luella’s palms grew clammy.
" Kill —" Her heart rate quickened.
"The heirus was made to fuck." An ashamed blush scorched her skin from the vile words.
Every word was a cut against her skin.
Every word elicited a growl from the demon protector chained to her.
Az was so close that her arm brushed against his with every step, her bare feet padding along the shimmery floor, stepping through the parted crowds of entwined bodies. Teeth bared at the insults and mocking words. Az was strong and fearsome, horns curving from his head of dark curls, bare chest tanned and gleaming under the enchanted embers. Amber eyes swept over the crowd, pinning the watchers to their spots with unmasked promises of violence.
"I won’t let anything get to you, Lu," Az whispered to her, leaning down slightly as he spoke.
Biting her lip, she nodded. "It’s not you that I don’t trust," she said.
Tharen turned his head back to her, a grin catching on his lips, holding unhinged taunts. "Just me?"
Luella pushed herself closer to Az, who leaned into her, covering half of her body with his large frame to keep her away from the revelers around them— and the threat of the male before them.
"No…" Luella softly replied. "Not just you. And you know it."
The beginnings of the mage’s grin turned to a snarled smile in full force, a large, scarred hand sweeping back one of the white braids that fell over his shoulder, tugging on the chain and leading her and Az further into the room.
The bodies parted easily around them, no one daring to get too close to the wicked Prima. Luella could spot his trio pack of white wolves at the far corners of the room, prowling about the shadowed edges in wait. One of the wolves sat back on his haunches, chewing a red chunk of some type of meat.
She hoped it was animal meat.
The serpent shifters and a few wolf shifters from the allied kingdom of Nix looked at her with blatant curiosity delivered with an undercurrent of hatred, peering at her with open interest. A male and female were wrapped around each other amid the dancing bodies, the female’s skirts rucked up her tanned thighs, and her head of rippling brown curls was thrown back in blatant ecstasy. The male caught Luella staring as she passed by, the side of his full lips curving up and a hand with pointed claws reaching out as if he wished to touch her.
Az growled so loudly it made Luella jolt. "Get your fucking eyes off of her."
The male jerked his clawed hand back. No one else reached for her.
Gratitude swelled within her for Az’s protective presence. Maybe it had been wise to have the demon accompany her.
"You’re a good guard dog, beast," Tharen said, without turning as though he could read Luella’s mind.
Az merely rumbled a low growl in his chest in response, pressing himself closer to Luella like a shield.
She bristled on Az’s behalf, but a warm finger brushing against her side made her bite her lip to stop herself from speaking. Az did his best to reassure her with how his hands were held captive in the thick manacles. His touch made her arms pebble with a stark chill of awareness.
The sights around the room caused her to blush, and she tried to keep her attention diverted. The sounds though—those were hard to ignore. Gasps and cheers and raucous calls, voyeurs delighting at the spectacles. Whistles, wolven growls, and the thundering rumbles of dragons hidden inside cages of flesh, all reveling in lechery with wanton approval.
Tharen stopped near the dais before the throne, a small collection of regal chairs were set near it, looking out over the room like spectators.
King Vale sat upon the golden throne, a leg crooked atop a knee, as he rested his chin on his hand and regarded his court with a complete lack of interest. Until his green, serpentine eyes landed on hers. King Vale straightened in his throne, head tracking her every movement as Tharen led her and Az to sit in the chairs near the throne.
At least, Luella thought she was supposed to sit…
"No, no, no, lamb. What are you doing?" Tharen crooned. He took a seat on one of the high-backed, plush chairs, waving a hand lazily to attract the attention of a passing servant for some wine.
"Sitting?" Luella gulped under the mage’s scrutiny, Az nudging his side into hers for comfort.
"On one of these chairs?"
Luella broke his gaze, stumbling over a quiet, "Y-yes."
"Why is it you think I would allow that?" Before she could reply, Tharen continued. "I’m neither Graves nor Bastian, Princess. You would do well to remember that. I won’t coddle you. And I certainly won’t let you have the creature comforts you fae are so fond of."
"Careful," Az warned beside her, amber eyes sparking with protective fury.
Tharen briefly looked at the demon, rolling his eyes before flicking his hard, icy stare back toward her. She shrank away.
"Kneel," the mage ordered.
King Vale watched it all silently, the corner of his lip curling up with the slightest of twitches. The rings on his hands glinted as he tapped a finger against his knee.
Tharen arched a pale brow, fingers tightening around the end of Az and Luella’s chains.
White puffs swirled from his fingertips, a lazy twirl of his finger, and before she could blink, Az was forced to his knees by some unseen thing.
The demon’s nostrils flared, and Tharen chuckled, victorious. The mage lifted a hand, swirls of air weaving around his fingertips and forming a small cyclone above his palm. She felt the rush of air sting her cheeks, a few pieces of her golden hair whipping to the side.
A tug on the bottom of her gown. Luella jolted, head jerking to find Az’s large, tanned hand fisted in her skirts, his fingers burning through the fabric and heating her thigh.
"Listen to him," the demon instructed, looking up at her from his spot kneeling on the ground. A warning simmered behind his usually soft amber eyes.
"That’s right," Tharen interjected, taking a glass of wine from a servant and swirling it idly while he leaned back against the chair. The action mimicked the vortex of air as it spun before him. Barely the size of his hand, but it radiated such power she was subdued by the mere sight of it. "Listen to him. The beast is smart." A sip of a wine. "Why was it you were thrown into the dungeons, Azgorath?"
Az’s muscles flexed as if in preparation to strike. She grew tense, but before she could talk the demon down, his lids closed, and he breathed in deeply, hand spanning out against her thigh as if he was seeking strength from simply touching her.
"This time, Lu." Az let out a harsh puff of air. "Listen to him this time." He tugged her down, her knees hitting the ground with a quiet thump.
The side of her thigh was flush against his, and she couldn’t find it in herself to be mad at how degrading it was to kneel at the mage’s feet—kneel in front of all the eyes. It brought her so close to the demon that she felt her nerves fizzle away, finding safety in his presence.
As she looked out at the crowd of revelers, she was reminded of the dungeons. Of curling closely to the unforgiving iron of the bars separating her and Az, fingertips winding through the small spaces and holding firm to his large hands while she slept.
Small moments of solace in the strangest of places…
"I’ll only listen this time, then," Luella said, emboldened by her proximity to her protector. "Next time, you won’t be so lucky to have m-my… compliance."
Az huffed a laugh, and Tharen grew rigid in his chair, taking a large swig of his wine, fingers curling around the stem so tightly she thought it may snap.
Icy eyes bore holes into the top of her head. He radiated heat, his lap so close to her face, all she would have to do was lean over slightly, and she could rest her head against him?—
A shake of her head cut off her thoughts.
Luella had to remain composed.
"One day," Tharen sighed. "One day, you will learn to tread carefully around me."
A flutter of wind breezed around her, and she flinched back, pressing herself close to Az. She waited for the mage to retaliate from her brave words, eyes squeezing shut as her muscles locked up in preparation for pain. But none came.
Only the faintest rustle of her hair around her as Tharen’s magic of Aer carded throughout her golden curls, phantom fingers brushing her hair. Her eyes popped open as she looked up at the mage. He idly sipped at his wine, a finger swirling midair as he called his magic to toy with her. A whisper against her cheek, little curious, invisible tendrils learning her shape at the behest of its wielder.
A puff of air against her mouth, prodding at the seam. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, refusing to open up.
Tharen released a deep chuckle from her side, a sound that he covered with the rim of his glass.
All at once, the magic of Aer left her.
Luella felt cold and strangely sad without the curious brush of the mage’s power against her skin.
And that was that.
Tharen called for another glass, but this one was not a mild and sweet wine but a heady amber liquid, golden fizz sparking over the rim. Beads of condensation stuck to the outside of the glass, leaving glistening drops on his long fingers.
Time passed like that.
In a haze of liquor and smoke, as the mage drank and drank—with his heightened senses, he did not have a normal tolerance for alcohol. His eyes seemed as sharp and as vigilant as ever, even after what must have been ten glasses. And the mass of bodies grew louder, the light filtering in through the glass dome of windows above, letting in pale rays of moonlight, wispy clouds dotting the inky night sky, blotting out the few stars twinkling above.
Throughout it all, Az was a constant and quiet presence by her side.
Luella let out a deep breath, neck aching from where it had been craning back as she watched the sky. Because she could not bear to watch the crowd.
Rolling her shoulders back, she lowered her chin, the muscles in her neck stiff. She must have held that position longer than she thought. Her head swam as she blinked the room back into focus, taking in the entwined bodies and outstretched arms, all dusted with shimmers of gold—it floated about the room, tickling her nose and settling in her hair.
The enchanted dust clung to her lashes. She swiped it away with a delicate brush of her hand, the chains clinking from the motion. She blinked again, looking to the males by her side, only to find Tharen and Az already were already watching her with rapt attention.
"What?" Her voice was breathy, barely audible over the reveling court.
"Nothing," Tharen hummed. He took a sip from a glass that dangled between his fingertips. This liquid was purple and cloudy, the sparkling gold dust from the chandelier above fell to the surface. Was it safe to consume?
The amber in Az’s eyes was soft as he whispered, "You’re breathtaking, and you don’t even know it."
Luella started from his words, chains on her wrist growing taut as her fingers fluttered to her mouth. She was unused to compliments. Had never received anything of the sort at home—the few servants and tutors she had been allowed to be around chose their words carefully, and her parents acted as though she did not even exist. No one wanted to be associated with a magicless, disgraced princess.
"She is," said a new voice from her other side.
Luella turned, only to find King Vale, himself, standing behind Tharen’s chair, hands braced on the high back as he surveyed the trio, taking in where Luella knelt at the mage’s feet, her side pressing snugly into the horned, bare-chested demon tethered to her.
"I will admit, you look good in chains, kneeling at my feet. We should make this a regular occurrence," Tharen taunted.
Luella blushed at his words—it seemed to be the barest nicety the mage could muster.
The King’s nostrils flared, thin wisps of smoke blowing from his nose as he roughly let out a breath. "Prima, why isn’t she in one of the chairs?"
"Oh, chairs…" Tharen jerked forward, grabbing the seat of the chair next to him and pulling it closer, kicking his boots up on it. "I don’t see any other chairs. Do you?"
The King pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why do I bother," he mumbled under his breath. He rounded the back of Tharen’s chair, coming to stand before Luella. Her nose was right in front of his thighs, and her neck craned as she peered up at him. "Come with me." The King held out a hand.
Luella stood, looking toward the mage who held the end of her shared chain. Her arm stretched out uncomfortably as King Vale ushered her a bit further away from Tharen and Az.
"Tharen," King Vale demanded. When the Prima made no move to release the end of the chain, the King said once more, "She’ll be safe. Azgorath, come."
The demon stood, veins in his neck pulsing as the collar tugged against him, the length taut as Tharen took his sweet time handing over his end of the chains.
"Fine. I’ll have to find some other way to occupy my time," Tharen sighed dramatically. "The highlight of my night to have such a sweet little lamb pliantly on her knees at my feet." He stood, roughly slapping the chain in the King’s palm before he disappeared into the crowd. To find some fun, no doubt. And fun was all around if the high sounds of pleasure and laughs that rippled through the throne room were anything to go by.
King Vale held the chains loosely between his jeweled, tanned fingers, leading Luella and Az up the few remaining steps to the throne. With a flourish of his cape, he lounged back on the throne, golden crown gleaming under the luminescent candlelight.
He patted his thigh. "Sit."
"Do I have to?" Luella hedged, hands fumbling before her with hesitancy. She did not want to sit on his… on his lap . "I can kneel."
"Sit. Do not make me tell you again, Princess," King Vale ordered, tugging the chain and making her come to a stop between his parted legs.
Her throat bobbed with a swallow, and she looked to Az, who gave a short nod from where he stood to the side of the throne and watched her. Strengthened by the demon, she acquiesced, knowing he had her best interests in mind. She perched warily on the King’s knee. King Vale huffed a sigh, wrapping a hand around her waist and pulling her closer against him. Her back was along the length of his chest, and she felt every rumbled breath he took, could feel hot puffs of air against the styled curls of her hair. She shivered.
"Azgorath," King Vale said.
And the demon went to his knees, taking up an identical pose to how he had knelt at Tharen’s feet, thighs tucked under him as he faced out toward the crowd. The chain of his manacles stretched up to Luella’s wrist, where she held her arm out over the armrest of the throne so it wouldn’t tug on his collar and cause him discomfort.
A brown curl flopped over Az’s forehead as he shifted, and she itched to reach down and fix it for him. Her exposed position on the dais made her hesitate. She didn’t want to show weakness or vulnerability here in this court. These predators would jump on it in a heartbeat.
King Vale stroked an idle hand along her side, and she quaked from his touch. "They’re right. You are ethereal. And your beauty is even more enticing knowing that you’re mine."
"I belong to no one save myself. No matter how you try to break me, King Vale, I won’t allow you to possess any more of me. You have my… freedom." She swallowed roughly. "Is that not enough for you?"
"Wrong," the King hissed. "I own you. You’re already breaking. You just can’t see it."
She wanted to scream. Wanted to tell him that she did not break easily. But he could smell lies, would know every word she whispered was only for her benefit, only to save her fragile mind.
She had been broken, and everyone could see the shattered pieces of her.
Luella curled her fingers into a fist, jaw aching from the force in which she ground her teeth. "If you want me to be a perfectly polished and pliant trophy, maybe you shouldn’t have thrown me into the dungeons…" Luella trailed off, her bravado leaving her as the King’s fingers dug into her side.
"How else could I have broken you? You’re my trophy of war, Princess Luella. And trophies must first be molded and polished before they can be shown off. If anyone dares to go against me, you’re a warning of what will happen if they do. What I am capable of."
"I hate you." Luella gritted her teeth. Vitriol clouded her thoughts; though, her body shook and shook, not allowing her to play pretend at bravery.
"No, you don’t. You only think you should," the King whispered over the shell of her pointed ear, breath ghosting over her flushed skin and leaving small shivers in the wake of him. He pulled away, and something inside her uncoiled, a heated awareness leaving her while a part of her wanted to follow after him and chase after the feelings he evoked.
Fingers smoothed over her ribcage, pulling her back to rest flush against him. "I have a present for you." King Vale held up a hand, and Graves materialized from the shadows of the little alcove to the side like he had been waiting beyond the door for the King’s command.
Bastian appeared from the other side of the throne, a golden scepter in his hands, held reverently. The vampire took a knee, presenting the golden rod to King Vale as he bowed his head. A strand of silky black hair fell over Bastian’s pale forehead, the silver rings in his ears glinting. "My King."
King Vale took the scepter, tanned, jeweled fingers elegantly wrapping around the rod. Bastian rose, the vampire coming to stand on the other side in front of Graves. Luella watched curiously, but that quiet curiosity soon disappeared as the blood drained from her face.
From the shadows of the alcove in which Graves stood, a chained male was dragged from the depths. A male who had haunted Luella’s dreams last night.
Treye.
She grew rigid on the King’s lap, and his hot breath puffed over her nape as he whispered, "He will not hurt you."
Luella didn’t believe him. Why else would he be here, if not to torment her?
Her attacker looked nothing like the regal courtier from the evening prior. Treye was haggard and broken, blood dried on his face and crusted on his neck. Mottled purple and black bruises were littered over his cheeks and jaw. His eyes were still an unnatural shade of black, the green she had briefly seen last night completely blotted out by inky shadows, and the whites were shot through with red veins; the tips of his inky black hair were matted with blood and dirt.
He looked like he had been tortured …
A gasp tore through her.
King Vale banged the end of the scepter against the marble of the dais, calling to attention his court. The revelers grew silent in the span of a breath, awaiting what the King would do. Graves nearly dragged Treye to the bottom of the dais, the raven shifter’s usual hood and cowl concealing his face from her. She would do anything to see his deep blue eyes—anything for reassurance from her silent captor.
But Luella was forced to meet her attacker’s black eyes, and she whimpered, Az growling a feracious noise from deep in his chest like a guard dog, poised to attack.
Throughout the quiet of the throne room, one noise could be heard above all else: her thundering heart.
"This male threatened what was mine," King Vale yelled, voice booming throughout the room, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end from how close she was to the violent heat radiating from him. Her ears rang from the sound of his voice, and she shrank back against his chest, feeling his rumbling declarations sink into her skin and bones. "He tried to take what was mine! Do you all not remember what I decreed: any attempt on Princess Luella Ilis Eritrais’s life would be taken as one on mine. To harm her is an act punishable by death."
Graves kicked the back of Treye’s legs, forcing him to his knees. The male was rigid as he met the King’s stare, unfaltering as he faced him. The shadows in his eyes swirled with hate.
Unnatural, unnatural . She hated it. Couldn’t handle looking into the deep shadows for longer than a moment.
Her attacker knew what awaited him as surely as he knew he had gone against the King’s decree. He would die—an irrefutable fact.
Tharen materialized from the crowd, his arrival precipitated by the parting of bodies and hushed, fearful whispers. His grin was a wicked and cruel thing, the glint in his eyes even more so. She never wanted to be on the receiving end of that stare. Even when he had stolen into her room and taken her away in the night, he did not look at her quite that savagely. This stare promised a fate worse than death.
In the time Tharen had been away from her, the mage had donned his twin broadswords, fastened at his back in a cross shape. With a whisper of sharpened metal, he unsheathed them both, holding them before his body with a warrior’s prowess.
Booted feet thudding as he came up behind Treye, Tharen licked his lips, the sharp edges of his features more pronounced under the flickering glimmer of candlelight.
"I waited for this," the mage crooned.
Bastian was silent at the King’s side, and Graves still held the end of the thick, rusted chain tethered to Treye. The raven shifter’s expression was grim, and when his dark blue eyes found hers, they seemed to whisper, I’m sorry.
Icy water rippled throughout her, and her hands fisted into the King’s shirt.
No, she tried to speak, but her voice was frozen.
I don’t want to see this.
Please don’t make me.
Her cheek brushed against the King’s chest, but he turned her face back out to the crowd with a soft tutting sound.
"Look," he whispered against her cheek lowly; the word was only for the two of them.
"How do you want it?" Tharen called to King Vale.
The King waited for a beat, and even Luella, with her dulled fae senses, could hear the thudding of Treye’s heart as he awaited his fate.
"However you want," King Vale paused, the crowd leaning forward with the anticipation of violence. "But make it messy." His voice projected throughout the room, doing nothing to hide the order from the listening ears of the shifters.
He wanted them to know, wanted them to hear. And their fear was a tangible thing in the wake of his order.
King Vale’s aim was clear to her, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
This could be them —the revelers watching… One slip-up, one misstep, and they could be at the end of the Prima’s blade, at the mercy of their King.
Her father had done the same thing a few times before, Luella recalled. All it took to quell the will of a crowd was one punishment. Memory was often short in a species long-lived but not of violence and anguish.
And if they needed a reminder… Well, there was always someone desperate enough to test the law.
"Gladly." Tharen’s ice-blue eyes glinted with intent. He ran a finger down the edge of one of his blades, contemplating. "Bare his neck," the Prima instructed Graves, who quietly forced down Treye’s head.
She was watching Graves so closely she noted the slight shake to his gloved hands, but he did not show any other sign of weakness.
Her attacker did not beg as he stared at the marble floor. The next moments passed by with a tense and weighted edge. The crowd was so quiet that she could almost hear the soft fall of enchanted dust as it fell from the chandeliers above, coating the floor like snow. Crystalline tears dropped to the floor, mixing with the red flakes of crusted blood that had fallen from Treye’s face, mingling with the golden shimmers about the room.
She was going to be sick.
King Vale spread his fingers over her side, fully enveloping her waist as if in comfort. As if he knew. He likely did. Her heart was loud to her own ears, and with how close she was pressed to him, she wouldn’t doubt if he could feel it thudding through the cage of her ribs. Az strained as his shackled hands came up to rest against her knee—a touch she felt more steadied by.
She met the demon’s amber eyes, chest heaving with short and shallow breaths as she tried to look away from the scene in front of her, the horror that was unfolding.
"It’s okay," Az mouthed. She placed her hand on top of his, his skin warm against her cold, clammy palms.
King Vale tucked a strand of golden hair behind her arched ear, leaning forward to ghost a soft kiss against the shell. "This is what happens when someone touches you, Princess."
"I d-don’t want to look." Her breath hitched as she stifled a sob.
"If that is what you wish," King Vale mumbled. He sounded perplexed at her rejecting his… gift .
She gave a trembling nod and felt him sigh behind her, a warm palm coming up to press against her eyes, enveloping her in darkness. Even with her sight taken from her, she still couldn’t get a full breath in her lungs—everything felt too small, too constricting. Like the chains around her wrist had migrated to wrap around her waist, squeezing, squeezing.
King Vale’s chin brushed against the crown of her head as he nodded, and Luella heard a soft whoosh of air as Tharen obeyed the King’s silent command. She imagined the swords sweeping downward in a graceful arc of gleaming silver, crossing perfectly against the back of Treye’s neck.
A dull thud.
The sound of liquid spurting, a few splatters painting the skin of her cheeks and splashing the shimmery material of her gown. Iron tanged against her lips. Her skin was wet with the spray of warmth.
She couldn’t do it anymore.
Luella shook her head, turning to fit her face fully into King Vale’s shoulder. Her body shook, and he grew stiff as her nose pressed into his neck, breathing in his cedar scent and finding solace in it—in him. He was so warm.
Az’s grip on her knee tightened, but still, she did not look. Did not turn away from her hiding spot nestled in the arms of her captor.
Not even when there was an odd squelching noise, the crowd cheering and Tharen yelling in triumph. The sound of the mage’s wolf pack snarling and howling as they feasted, tearing into sawed-off limbs and pieces she imagined Tharen threw to them.
She really was going to throw up. The scant amount of food in her stomach roiled.
King Vale cupped her chin, forcing her head from where she had hidden. "Enough," he commanded. "Look."
She opened her eyes, wary. Blood pooled against the white marble, but there was no sight of Treye. Just the snarls of the wolves as they feasted. The blood streaked from where they had lunged forward and dragged bits off to the shadows of the room.
The court was silent, hands that had been gripping flesh with pleasure now white-knuckled as they fisted their gowns and pressed trembling palms to their mouths.
"Why?" Luella’s voice trembled. "Why would you… do that?"
"You know why, Princess. To remind them all what happens if they mess with what is mine." King Vale stroked his thumb against her cheek, smearing the blood on her skin.
Sparkling embers were uninterrupted as they fell from the chandelier above, mingling with the blood on the floor and turning it into an iridescent maroon. Some caught in her cheeks as she peered up at the King, and her lower lip jutted out.
He was golden as she looked up at him. Not one flaw or mark on his handsome face. Not one emotion that made her think he felt guilt for the violence he called for.
"You’ve had chances to prove me wrong in my assumptions of you, King Vale, but every time, you only confirm what I know. All of Serpentis, all shifters… are vile and wicked. You are the evil that must be defeated. And I fear we may never win against you."
"If only you knew that the evil we must fight is much worse than me. Far, far worse. And closer than you would imagine." King Vale snapped his jaw shut, gesturing for Graves. Tharen had disappeared into the depths of the crowd, and Bastian stood solemnly behind the King. "Take her," the King demanded. He didn’t even look at her.
Az was silent beside her as Graves took their chains from the King. His hood shifted as he turned, and Luella saw a hint of his jeweled eyes, pinched with seriousness. He caught her looking and quickly turned away, unreadable as he tugged on the chain and pulled Luella and Az along. The crowd parted for the raven shifter, whispers following after him like shadowed secrets.
Fury radiated off of Az in waves; he didn’t try to avoid the blood splatters on the ground, bare feet storming right through the gore and tracking prints of deep scarlet across the pure marble floors. His shackled hands brushed against her spine as he nudged her to the side—away from the blood, keeping her away from the taint of it as much as he could.
Bastian found her eyes where he stood stiffly by the throne, his red-tinted gaze locking onto hers. His plush lips were downturned at the corners, expression severe. He blinked, and Luella’s feet tripped over each other, and she caught herself before she stumbled into Az.
A hazy memory suddenly danced along the edges of her mind. Voices speaking. Graves’s gruff tone and Bastian’s silky tenor, both hissing whispers that spoke of some… evil?
The Umbra?—
Bits and pieces of the memory slipped through her fingers like sand. She tried to grasp it, but it was fuzzy along the edges. She recalled the feel of hands gently soothing her and a finger against her temple, forcing her back to sleep.
And sweeping away the memory of her ever having woken up.
Her brow furrowed as she put it all together. She had woken up last night and overheard something . And Bastian, with his Mind magic, had made her forget.
There was something going on here… Something more .
As she was led away, the mass of bodies parting around them like wispy smoke, she mulled over the King’s words and her murky memories, recalling the clues scattered around.
Luella was reminded of the game of latrunculi one of her tutors had instructed her on—likening the world of politics to the game itself. A game of strategy and thinking ahead, reading your opponent, and knowing the board. Knowing when to play your strengths and when to concede.
Unbeknownst to her, the King had been engaging in a very strategic game of latrunculi, moving his pieces across the board in the grandest of games.
But it seemed King Vale had had enough of games.