Born To Rule

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Atreus’ previous ease was replaced with the stern, commanding air of a king once more. A fierce and angry ruler. He stormed out of the solarium with me close on his heels.

“What is the meaning of this?”

I rounded the corner just as Balis squared himself on the king. He was disheveled, that forest green tunic untucked and open at the chest, and sleeves pushed past his tattooed forearms. His fists were secured to his sides as if it took everything in him not to come undone.

Atreus looked from Balis, then over his shoulder to me, noting the relief that softened the druid’s hard lines when he saw me.

“I couldn’t find you,” he said, as if the king weren’t even in the room.

My gaze flitted behind him. Those enormous wooden doors were shattered, smashed in. Splintered wood hung from its frame. A cacophony of armor clanged down the hall, mixed with the hurried voices of guards racing up the spiral staircase.

Balis, what the fuck have you done?

Heavy storm clouds hung over the easy green of his eyes as realization settled over his features. I was neither in danger nor missing, and he just made a perceivable attack on the king.

Atreus seethed. “What gives you the right to force your way into my fucking chambers!?”

His bellow echoed through my chest, punctuated by the entrance of half a dozen royal guards. Without hesitation or order, they moved on Balis, securing his arms behind him. He didn’t fight, didn’t take his eyes off me.

My jaw clenched as I forced a slow, tight breath between my teeth. I told these fucking druids to leave me alone, let me do my job. Finally, I made some semblance of progress with the king, and now… I tore through the confines of my mind, scrambling for a way to de-escalate this.

Atreus looked at me for an explanation. “Can you speak for this insolent fool’s actions?” The tone he used with me was a stark contrast to how he’d spoken to Balis.

Stone-faced, I tightened my fists until the bite of my nails threatened blood. For a moment, I thought about dropping the facade and going to his side. His actions, however infuriating, were out of concern. Concern for me. But dropping the ruse would only make things worse at this point. If I stood any chance of getting us out of this, it wouldn’t be with the pitiful dagger stuffed between my breasts.

“I’m afraid not,” I said, forcing my voice to remain even.

Everyone’s attention pulled to the clicking of heels as Vitany stepped into the room, her hands folded neatly behind her back as she surveyed the scene.

My heart quickened.

“Vitany,” Atreus greeted, “I’m glad you’re here. It seems one of our guests has found himself a bit taken with my new assassin.”

Her blue-green brows perked at this revelation and eyed me with suspicious intrigue.

Atreus sauntered over, pace slow and deliberate, his steps a muffled thud on the ornate carpet I feared Balis’ blood might soon stain. He stopped nose-to-nose with the druid, a breath’s width away from a male capable of killing him with a pulse of energy so quick he could never stop it.

“You like our women, do you?” he asked, mocking the warrior.

Balis refused to meet his eyes. They remained locked on my face.

“See that he takes a visit to the shaft, will you?”

My heart became a thunderous roar in my ears as the guards pulled Balis toward the shattered remains of the door.

“Your Majesty?” Fear drowned out reason, and the words were out before I knew what would come next. I had the good sense to keep my eyes off the Balis, focused only on the king. “I hope you will forgive me, but I ask that you reconsider this, Atreus.”

A disdainful look distorted Vitany’s expression at the use of the king’s name, but ignored it.

“This druid,” I said, turning my back to Balis and lowering my voice. “is one of the druid army’s most talented warriors. Killing him may not be in the best interest of your endeavors within the Vylandrian borders.”

The king looked up at Balis as if sizing him to the achievement I paraded.

“I also believe he is to take part in my training soon, and I would hate for this to impact things on a much larger scale.” I peered at him through my long, dark lashes, goading him with a soft smirk.

“Gorgeous and brilliant,” he purred and pinched my chin between his thumb and finger.

I fought the urge to bite them off and forced my eyes to sparkle at his approving grin.

He turned back to Balis. “You should consider yourself lucky that my new assassin thinks so highly of you. I won’t kill you, but I assure you. You won’t leave this castle without learning a lesson.”

The druid dared his first look at Atreus. “And what would that be?” Balis asked.

Something inside me stirred at the low-timbered tone he used to speak to the king, dark disdain lacing each word like reinforced steel.

“You will lay no claim to anything that is mine.” With a wave of his hand, the guards pulled Balis from the room.

After spending the evening painstakingly behaving as if there was nothing wrong, it was becoming difficult to force my smile. I drained every avenue, aside from fucking him or sucking his cock, to lower his guard enough to speak of poachers or ash weapons. Not a word on either topic left that silver tongue of his.

It was clear I made an impression on him, and once I witnessed him have a laugh at Balis’ expense when he was dragged out, I decided I would beat him at that same serpent’s game.

He wove a tapestry with his talk of the lavish lifestyle we could have, a king and an assassin. A brilliant future, he called it. But all I saw when he spoke was druid blood running through the streets of Port Carlisle. His faux charm didn’t fool me a second time, not like it did in the solarium. I craved his death now more than ever.

I was grateful when he concluded the evening with nothing more than a kiss and an invitation to see him again. With my energy drained, both mental and physical, all I wanted was to go home—to Vylandria.

All of us, safe.

I descended the stairs ahead of Atreus toward Eurok, who waited at the bottom step. I locked my severe stare on his and mouthed, ‘Balis. Dungeons.’

He peeled his gaze to the king. “It seems I’m a male short, Your Majesty. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?” Eurok cleverly edged his tone in a way that melded his carefree energy with that no-bullshit flare. By now, it was easy for me to hear the, ‘Fuck you, give him back.’ he layered within the words.

As if on cue, a door opened with an echoing bang. The unhurried click of heels filled the foyer as Vitany approached with two guards in tow, dragging a bloody, broken Balis. His legs moved listlessly, shuffling beneath him, until they gave out and dropped. I jolted as if to catch him, but steadied myself, realizing my mistake as Eurok swooped in.

Beads of red splashed against the gray stone behind him from what I assumed were injuries to his back, and I fought to conceal my searing pang of guilt. This was the second time he bled for me.

I couldn’t take my eyes off his bruised face. Dark splotches marred his skin, his lips were split and bleeding. He was unrecognizable—a swollen mass of flesh. My own lips trembled, and I tightened them against my teeth, fighting an impulse to reach for a dagger that was no longer there. They beat him beyond his mana’s ability to heal himself. My gods, how much would that have taken?

Eurok started at the sight of him. “What the fuck is this?”

There was a familiar tremor of power beneath my feet, and I wished he’d unleash it on them all. I wanted him to kill every last one of them, even if it meant getting caught in the crossfire. I refrained from glaring at the bastard king by trying to find Sidelle, but saw no sign of her.

“Calm yourself, Captain,” Atreus said. Resistance flickered over Eurok’s face. “It seems your soldier needed a lesson in manners while he is a guest in my home.”

He descended the rest of the stairs and approached Balis. I stood idly on the last step, gripping the banister, until my knuckles blanched.

“I have no patience for riddles, King. What is the meaning of this?” Eurok demanded.

He shoved off the other guard, bracing Balis’ full weight. Balis let out a hiss of pain, and it took everything in me not to run to his side.

“Your soldier attacked my chambers for reasons unknown. Though, it seems to me that he believes he has some claim on our lovely Mira, here,” Atreus mused. “Either way, it deserved correction.” He inclined his head, speaking as if Balis were nothing more than a misbehaving canine.

“And what does our lovely Mira have to say about this?” Eurok asked.

I knew what he was doing, using me as a springboard to gauge how we should proceed.

“It was a rather unnecessary display of unrequited feelings.” My voice was cold, guided only by my exhaustion. “But if you don’t mind, I’m quite tired, and ready to leave.”

“Oh well, by all fucking means, let us not hold you any longer.” Eurok’s sarcasm was laced with the perfect amount of venom to sell it.

“It’s been a pleasure, Your Majesty, truly.” I lifted onto my toes, placing a kiss on his cheek.

He gave a tight nod, eyes locked with the captain in a challenging glare, as I strode away. I fought hard to focus on the hollow echo of my heels and not the blood of my friend pooling in the hall.

They’d pay for that later.

Erezos, a god of immense influence, embodied both good and evil. He manifested in various forms, each tailored to specific roles and realms. In alternate dimensions, he played the role of a visitor or a constituent, while in our realm, he was revered as our creator. The native beings of Westryelle, predating human arrival during the Drak War, were his first creations. This realm was Erezos’ home, and we were his people.

I shook my head, unable to keep from curling and uncurling my fists, trying to stifle the rage building in my chest. Gods never allowed a single fraction of their capacity to be contained, and for good reason. Doing so meant enabling a vessel from which others could wield that power. Once someone had that, what would they need a god for?

That’s what made Annorah so special. She was the first manifestation of our god’s abilities outside of himself. I suspected that was why Atreus possessed no inherent gifts beyond his eternal life. Aethier had denied him such power. Well, he can’t have this power either.

I had to get this out of here. My mind whirled, plotting how I might smuggle it out of the castle. I’d figure out what to do with it back in Raven Ridge.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Someone pounded on the door. My heart launched into a frenzy and I ducked beneath the stone table, heaving in air like there suddenly wasn’t enough.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Whoever it was, they didn’t try to enter. Perhaps they searched for the king, which meant Mira was still with him in his bedchamber.

I waited another few breaths. The knocking stopped, and irritated footsteps stalked away.

I crawled out, my attention falling on the book I dropped. Splayed open, its faded, browning pages were brittle like autumn leaves, hardly readable. Still, something seemed off about the way they sat. I flipped the odd-looking cluster of paper over.

Beneath them, a journal lay weathered and worn. The leather binding bore marks of age, as though it basked in the sun for centuries. As I reached for it from the hidden compartment within the second half of the book, my fingers brushed against the black numbers stamped on the cover. They were faded, nearly illegible, inviting a closer examination.

Atreus

Year of the Light God: 1023

It was one of Atreus’ journals, though not the one I was looking for. I traced the words again, making sure I read them right. The year of Annorah’s sacrifice. My breath left my lungs in a surreal, elated exhale.

This was everything I could have ever dreamed of finding. Within this journal, we could uncover every answer we sought for centuries. Running my fingers over the words one more time, making sure I read them right, I flipped it open and savored the faint scent of aged paper.

A warm caress against my mana at the door said it was time to go. Eurok. My gaze snapped to the manastone, and a seed of contempt took root. Atreus, using my god’s power in any capacity, soured and pained me to my very core.

I removed a ribbon from my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders. My scalp thanked me for the release of tension as I fastened the journal to my thigh. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. As I returned the large tome onto the shelf, I hesitated, eyes locked on the manastone.

Twenty-three years since I last heard his voice, and I couldn’t shake this feeling. Erezos had always been a reclusive god, one that rarely tolerated questioning. This whole time I believed this was some sort of test–

But could this have been the reason he went quiet?

The idea of leaving it behind created a void where the joy of discovering the journal should have been. If he discovers it’s missing, then we’ll figure something out. Even in my own mind, the thought lacked conviction. My decision wavered. Pausing mid-grasp, my hand hovered over it, as if preparing to swat a fly, struggling to reach a conclusion.

Another brush against that mana at the door brought me back to the present. I swallowed hard.

I shouldn’t be doing this—Atreus will surely notice. But this might be the reason for his silence. Though, with the stone gone, he’d be more likely to search for the journal. But what if Erezos is truly trapped? This could be the key to bringing him back.

‘Leave, Sidelle.’

The last words weren’t of my own mind. They were… a command. Erezos.

My instinct to obey that dark, steel voice flooded every inch of my body. I cloaked myself in smoke, slipped through the door, and replaced the lead lock. I hurried along, dispersing the shadows in a natural manner to avoid drawing attention from any observers. As I approached Eurok, who stood at the room’s center, I ensured my movements were inconspicuous.

“We have to leave—now,” he said, his hand resting on my lower back as he moved me along.

His energy entwined with mine in a hard, protectively sturdy way, and I knew something was wrong.

“What is it? Where is–”

“Mira’s fine. She’s at the Market Square Inn. We’re rendezvousing there.”

As we crossed the foyer, I peered over my shoulder, trying to figure out what had him so riled. At the staircase to the second floor, blood smeared the tiles like paint on a canvas. Two servants, on hands and knees, scrubbed at the shining crimson pools. He tugged me along, his pace strained and far from natural.

“Who–”

“Balis.”

My stomach sank like a heavy stone to a river’s bottom.