1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Ariella
S hadows consume me as I slip behind a bookcase and pinch my nose from the onslaught of dust that invades my senses, lest I sneeze and give away my presence. I reach into my core, locating my psionic strand to send out a pulse through the too quiet library. This strand from the ethereal affinity allows me to slip into the head of others to hear their thoughts, give my own, control their bodies, or even influence them a certain way. But weaved in this manner, it touches the mind of any living presence, offering me a count of how many others are in the vicinity. The relief I feel when my essence confirms there’s only one other being is short-lived as my target turns to walk in my direction.
I crouch, scrunching my left eye closed to better see through the infinitesimal space between two books that haven’t felt the warm touch of another since the Angel walked this realm. The loud hammering of my heart threatens my concealment, and it takes great effort to keep my breathing slow and shallow.
My target shelves the small book he was holding, his lip quirking at whatever he finds amusing on its thin spine. His hand lifts to trace his fingers across a few of the other books with reverence before he decides to return to his desk empty-handed.
I stand, only to freeze mid-step when my boot scuffs against the tile that makes up the majority of the castle floor. The resulting sound is small. Barely audible. But that is no excuse for my thoughtless behavior. This last week I spent at the guild—not only to search for answers, but to get a break from this damned castle—has coated me in a level of comfort I cannot afford to give in to. The competition may be over, but that was never the threat to begin with. I almost laugh; the embarrassing manner in which my plan to kill the king played out grates on my nerves every single day. My jaw clenches—images of unwanted sympathy flit through my head. Marek watching me with a sharp, calculated focus, more so than he ever has. Jaxon’s inability to look me in the eye. Even Isolde was in visible pain as she bit her tongue to keep from making stupid, mediocre remarks to me.
Fuck all of them.
Isaiah is gone, and there is nothing I can do to bring him back. Feeling sorry for me is the worst way to uphold his memory. Not that they understand that.
And even then, thoughts of reaching out to him haunt my every lonely moment. I haven’t attempted to call on my spectral strand in two decades, but that hasn’t ceased the bone-deep need inside me that begs to try. It would be easy—in theory—reaching out to the Aether in search of the one soul I seek. But would Isaiah be the one that answers?
I’m unsure if my hesitation is a result of my nervousness at seeing Isaiah in such a manner, or that I wouldn’t be able to call to him at all. Regularly engaging my forbidden essence has been impossible my entire life…and as much as it pains me to admit, I’m not certain I could weave most strands with confidence. I’m comfortable with my kinetic strand as I use it often, but I’ve spent more time with a blade than I have with the rest of my essence combined.
Well, aside from my umbral strand.
I’ve found a comfortability with the shadows, as they have with me. A mutually beneficial understanding.
Rustling papers snap me from the adverse thoughts I fell into. I focus my trained senses on the other side of the shelf, shuffling forward when nothing seems amiss. My feet carry me without a sound to the back of the room, darkness steadying my breathing the more it covers me. This shouldn’t be difficult. I’ve played this game a thousand times, not having lost once. I curse the unsettling feeling in my stomach and press my back against the end of the bookshelf. Peering over my right shoulder, I tense as my teeth grip my bottom lip at the sight of my target.
Foolish idiot—he hasn’t a clue that I’m here. Has he learned nothing?
My body straightens once more, and I stretch my neck in each direction. Some may call it stalling—I call it being prepared.
I am stalling, though.
I will berate myself for hesitating later; right now, I must concentrate. Not allowing any more wayward thoughts to seep through the cracks that have appeared in my mind uninvited, I step my left foot over my right and spin to stalk down the aisle that will lead to my target .
My jaw drops on a breathless gasp as a blade slides into my abdomen with a questionable force the moment I turn. If this were anyone else, their heads would already be on the ground. But the purpose of my current mission is entirely different—not to harm, but to teach. My eyes drag up the wrinkled, black shirt, pausing for a moment at the expanse of skin showing through the half that remains unbuttoned.
The prince’s face is a mirror to mine; though instead of meeting my gaze, his horror-stricken irises are fixated on the hand that still grips the blade he just impaled me with.
“By the Angel,” Caspian whispers through a cracked voice. I tense as his hand begins to tremble, causing the tip of his blade to cut me further. “Ariella…I—I didn’t know it was you…” My hand snaps out to grab his wrist, forcing him to still so that I may focus on something other than the pain. “I mean, of course I knew it was you, I just didn’t think—oh, fuck, I’m so—”
“Prince,” I bark, effectively shutting him up, and his eyes slide to meet mine. For a moment, I forget about my potentially fatal wound as I look at him for the first time since returning to the castle.
His dark hair is disheveled and clunky, as if he hasn’t washed it in the time I’ve been gone, while also running his hands through it a hundred times a day. Dark purple shadows line the spaces under his eyes, and his lids look as if they’re struggling to remain open, even in their alarmed state. His mouth—tense and dry—is surrounded by ashen skin. I’ve the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks and ensure blood still runs through his veins .
He looks…bad. Worse than I’ve been feeling. What the fuck happened?
I grunt and clench my teeth when I release his wrist without thought to feel the temperature of his face.
Right. He stabbed me.
My eyes find the wound and roll hard. “Why must blood always be spilled on my freshly cleaned clothes? Have you any idea how long it took me to rid these leathers of Desmond’s blood?” Until this last week, I’d never spoken to Desmond at the guild before. He must be just a year or so younger than me, but Isaiah was the one person I was ever willing to give my attention to.
Unfortunate really, because Desmond is a decent fighter and made a good opponent these last few days. I’m not sure he reciprocates the feelings as it was his blood soaking the ground each time we sparred, but I do not care, nor am I surprised. No one faces me and turns away with a pleased smile on their face.
I refuse to acknowledge the one exception to that standing in front of me.
The prince didn’t seem to hear my question, as he just stares at me as if he’s seeing a spirit. I don’t have time for this. I sigh, grasping his wrist once more and rip it back before I allow myself to think twice about the decision. My breathing stalls and the prince begins to speak frantically, but I do not notice either as I tug on my vital strand and coax the essence to the oozing cut. I cover the area with a hand to dim the light beneath my skin; it’s dark enough in here that anyone would notice the healing essence before realizing there is not a healer present .
The skin stitches together and a breathy sigh escapes my mouth as the worst of the pain dissipates, along with my already lacking energy. My head tilts. I must not have noticed, but I’ve been unusually fatigued since arriving at the guild. There is no reason I should feel this tired; I’m aware of all that has happened in these last weeks, but trauma and exhaustion are two things I refuse to let coexist together.
So I ignore the dull heaviness in my muscles, and shake off the thoughts as I focus on Caspian. “You look like shit,” I mutter, crossing my arms to remove his attention from my wound, but he only rolls his eyes and scoffs.
“Yeah, so do you.” He spins to trudge back to his table without another word, or even the smile that never seems to leave his face around me. There must be something wrong. I stride forward, stopping when I reach the chair opposite the prince, yanking it in a rough manner. His forehead creases while his eyes scrunch closed, and he takes a few deep breaths before focusing on his work once more.
Interesting.
“Has Gavriel finally decided to stop worshiping you, or is your crappy mood related to your father?” It’s a genuine question. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was both the guard and king upsetting Caspian; their single talent is pissing everyone else off.
The prince’s exhausted eyes drag up my chest to my waiting glare. “And who’s to say it isn’t your presence souring my mood ?” I swallow at the sting of his words, but my face gives away nothing but amusement as I raise a brow and allow my lips to curve .
But something about the question doesn’t settle right within me. What if he’s being truthful? Has this week apart allowed him to see that I am the monster everyone believes me to be? Perhaps he no longer wants anything to do with me. I wouldn’t blame him…though that doesn’t mean I will allow it to happen.
Angel save him from me, because I am no hero. I will be his undoing and gladly introduce my blade to any who thinks they can stop me.
I do not wish to fight right now, though. I’m too tired to keep this unfeeling facade going. “Okay. Let me know when you’ve grown tired of being a dick.” I shift to march from the library like a fucking child, pausing when the prince speaks again.
“Wait—” he says in a frantic tone, reaching a hand across the table as if to stop me, though he makes no real effort to do so. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m being a dick. It’s not you, I…I just haven’t been feeling like myself the last few days.”
I shrug and cross my arms, frowning at the still-wet blood that seeps through my sleeve. “Don’t apologize. It’s not as if I’ve ever treated you,” I pause, pursing my lips before continuing, “or anyone really, with kindness before.”
Instead of moving back to the chair across from him, I pull at the one to his right, spinning it backward and straddling its base. His truth snags my interest. I will find whoever has made him feel this way. I am his guard, after all—so of course I must ask, “You said you’re not feeling like yourself. What happened?” His hand drags through his hair, tugging at the ends before dropping to his lap .
“I don’t know. I just feel so empty and tired. And yet I can’t sleep, or focus, and it’s just— fuck . I don’t know.”
His feelings are familiar, though I press in a different direction. “What are you working on?” I take notice of the books and stacks of paper chaotically organized across the table. Trade agreements with Meridian and Lumarna sit off to the side, along with what looks to be residential plans and a budget for the upcoming bi-annual Frostwell competition. One lucky citizen will reign champion and be afforded the opportunity to serve as a royal sentry.
I’d offer up my position, but no one would find themselves worthy of protecting the man in front of me. Not even Gavriel is suitable, regardless that he’s been Caspian’s guard for years. I chuckle before yawning behind my hand—I truly look forward to the day I can end his miserable existence. I do not care for the laws prohibiting murder—I’m a fucking assassin, why would I?—so the one thing stopping me is him .
They’re friends . Or so the prince claims.
“I have been sitting in on my father’s council and shadowing his activities, looking for… things .” I’ve also been in search of these things. Answers to my father’s journal, my mother’s letter. Everything I’m tired of thinking about. Something heavy settles in my gut—the prince is more likely to find what we need, but his current state tells me his efforts have been just as fruitless. “I haven’t gathered anything I believe will help” — of course— “but there are some interesting things I’ve picked up on. I don’t know, maybe they’ll be a start and this will just take much longer than we anticipated."
"He wasn’t thrilled when I told him you’d were my new guard, by the way—not that you’d know, considering you ran off for a week. He’s probably off brooding somewhere, cursing my name for defying his orders again to remove you from the castle."
I nod as my finger taps against my other arm. I rest my chin on their crossing, ignoring the way Caspian drinks in my presence. I may have missed his lack of subtlety. It’s refreshing—not suppressing everything I am and endlessly wondering what those around me are also hiding.
My world is exhausting.
Wholly opposite of the prince’s; and yet here we sit, exchanging secrets and both looking as if the Angel itself is draining our inner essence.
“And what are these interesting things you mentioned?” I press when he doesn’t continue, choosing instead to watch me. I'm sure he's looking for a reaction about his father's displeasure at my presence in the castle, but he will not get a response.
He breaks his perusal to scan the empty library. “Not here,” he breathes, shaking his head. I know we’re alone in this massive space. The closest person to us is three hallways down, in a paralleled staff corridor.
Until another presence enters the barrier of my psionic strand that I've kept engaged, and my lip curls.
“Well, allow me to escort you to your room.” The prince perks up at my offer; those eyes make it difficult to hide my smile, but I manage. “Where you will sleep alone . It's clear you're exhausted and will be nothing of use without rest.”
He grins, clasping his hands behind his head to stretch over the back of the chair. The movement tugs at the hem of his shirt, exposing a sliver of his abdomen. His smile widens as he takes my mere curiosity as encouragement and somehow stretches even further. I have the flitting urge to push him back and leave for another week.
I cringe at the thought.
“Actually, I’m feeling a bit better. Less achy and tired…likely your doing,” he drawls with a confident energy that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. I raise a brow and offer my best disbelieving look, to which he laughs loud enough for the presence—just outside now—to hear. Perhaps he does seem lighter, though it’s near impossible to tell with how dark it is in here. “Don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
I do not bother responding as I pull back on my psionic strand and wait for the library doors to burst open with the force of an unbearable brute.
I look over my shoulder just as Gavriel throws the doors open, looking just as angry as I’d anticipated. “What the fuck did you do, wraith?”
My lips threaten to smirk, and a familiar giddiness swirls through my stomach. I swipe my blade from its sheathe and twirl it through my fingers as I face the dramatic male stalking toward me .
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I purr, stopping him in his advance when I take a step. And another. “If you’ve interrupted your prince’s working just to threaten me, get on with it.”
His jaw clenches, and I can practically see the effort it takes him to not swing one of his white-knuckled fists at me. I haven’t felt this light in days. “I know it was you—none of the other sentries would dare.”
“Dare what, Gav?” Caspian asks, stepping next to me. His arm grazes mine, and my eyes nearly roll—
What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get a hold of myself. “Yeah, Gav, what are you referring to? Has yet another woman found your bed lacking and took her frustrations out on you?” He’s seething essence, warming the space around us with his pyro strand.
Intentional or not, his control over the affinity is impressive. Though I’d offer myself as griffin meat before ever considering uttering such words aloud.
“You’re lucky that fucker,” he spits, shoving a finger into the prince’s chest, “has forbidden me to lay a hand on you. I’ll relish the day he tires of your blackened heart, so that I may cut it out with that blade you seem so fond of.” A wide grin spreads across my face.
Not one heartbeat later am I in front of the brute holding said blade against his cock while the one from my left thigh grazes the sharp line of his jaw. “Oh, don’t tease me, Gav. Perhaps the prince will allow you to spar with me.” I pull my hands back and step around Gavriel, kicking the backs of his legs and forcing him to his knees. Both of my blades cross against the taut skin of his throat before he has a chance to process what just happened. “Be a good boy and ask him nicely.” Heat prickles the back of my neck, and not the kind I feel when I’m about to take a life.
I swallow around the tightness in my throat before my eyes focus on the figure standing just ahead. Where I expect Caspian to be glaring at the blades threatening his other guard’s life, he instead watches me.
No, not me—my eyes.
There is some heat within the depths of his, but his stare is so focused that it feels as if he’s searching for something inside my head. My skin prickles while my mind begs me to look away from his intensity. It’s far too knowing and intimate.
I don’t, though. I remain so still that only the beat of my heart could give away my discomfort. I want so badly to shift on my feet, or even for Gavriel to speak, just to give me an excuse to break Caspian’s stare. But it’s as if I am stuck in a trance—like I could give every bit of my essence in attempting to move, only to remain unsuccessful until the prince finds what he’s seeking.
He finally severs the hold, allowing air to fill my burning lungs.
“—and go find a fucking room. I do not want to watch this.” Gavriel’s voice startles me, and he hisses as I nick his throat. At least I wasn’t caught unaware. The blood seeping from his skin only serves my purpose.
I want to respond and tell him every detail of what I’ll do to his prince if I go find a room, but I cannot summon the words .
The man himself rubs a hand over his face as he scoffs. “As long as you don’t kill each other, I do not care.” He turns to drop back into his seat and rubs the sides of his head.
Ah, yes. He’s referring to the sparring Gavriel was supposed to ask about.
All previous conversation since arriving at the castle is pushed to the back of my mind. I release the brute and sheathe my blades while I saunter back to the table, reaching to gather the mess of materials. My arms are ungraceful as they shovel the books and paper together, making a less than appealing pile of everything.
“What are you doing?”
I’d think it was obvious, so I don’t respond. I lift the materials and spin to stalk from the library.
It’s dark in here; the lamps fixed to various places along the walls barely illuminate the space. I suspect that is the purpose of the three-story windows that span the back wall, but it is dreary and stormy outside the castle, the clouds dark enough to mask most light from the sun.
I don't mind it, though, creepy as it is. Ornate, gold-filled shelves seem to stretch endlessly through the space, each one overfilled with books that wait for their time to be read. I can barely make out four stories as each side of the library rises further than I thought the castle could accommodate. There are no stairs in sight, located in the back, where the space is conveniently covered by limitless shadows.
Despite the eeriness, there’s something comforting about this place. The way each shelf seems to embrace me, offering me safety amongst the ancient wisdom. The heavy scent of aged literature that is an intrinsic part of the atmosphere and reminds me of a certain prince.
It takes me a few moments as I consider my comfortability in this space before I realize why it feels so natural to be here—it reminds me of home.
I do not possess the capacity to think further about it, and I quickly shove at the thoughts before they hold hostage my mind.
They’re too much.
I pause my steps when a slight tremor radiates through my feet. I curse before dropping everything in my hands and spinning to reach Caspian before the shaking intensifies. It’s relieving to find him just behind me. The panic in his eyes as he reaches for me stings, but I do not have time to acknowledge his feelings. I snatch the front of his shirt and yank him into me as the vibrations in the ground become so loud I can no longer hear my own thoughts. I chuckle when Caspian bends me so that his body covers my head.
He can be sweet sometimes.
I don’t resist him, needing to concentrate on my essence. I reach with my inner awareness to the surrounding environment and tug on my aero strand, but lose control when the prince and I fall to our knees from the violent quaking. I try once more with a frantic urgency that is never useful in these situations, successfully crushing the air above us together until it forms an impenetrable barrier. I’d feel far more comfortable weaving my umbral strand for this, but I will not risk Gavriel seeing that essence .
My arms tighten around the prince’s stiff body. I release a thin breath when the first objects reach us, thudding against my barrier before sliding to crash into the ground. Caspian winces at the sounds, lifting his head before his chest bounces under mine.
“You’re incredible,” he says with enough force that I can make out his words. If he’s expecting a response, he will be disappointed. I’m too focused on maintaining my essence to have attention for much else.
I have practiced with most of my strands for years, but never to such a degree. My shadows are the only essence I have held for long periods of time and used to ward against things. My aero strand? Never had I considered needing to use it in such a manner, so I find my body trembling after just a few minutes.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Caspian whispers in my ear, likely thinking I’m shaking from fear.
Maybe I am.
I’ve never struggled with my essence like this before. It’s pathetic.
The prince’s hold does not waver as the ground sways in various directions, feeling as thought it's throwing us from one side of the library to the other. Too many objects continue to slam into my barrier—a vexation of the highest degree.
If this lasts much longer, my grip on my aero strand may falter…but I would first drain the entirety of my essence, emptying my body of its life source, before allowing this weakening Accord to claim Caspian’s life .
Because that’s all this is. It must be. This is the second time the ground has shaken this week, but if I consider all the strange weather over the last few months…it is too coincidental to be anything but the Accord. I’ve yet to discern just what it means and how it is affected by a sort of balance, though I have no doubt that this incessant fucking quaking is connected.
It feels as if I’ve aged years by the time the ground levels out and the tremors slow to nothing once more. “Fuck’s sake, finally ,” I mumble as I push from Caspian and stand on wobbling legs.
The library looks just as dreadful as I’d expected. Books cover the floor as far as I can see, along with chairs and tables that are far from their normal resting places. A few taller plants lay strewn across the ground, their soil smeared over open pages and previously clean tile. I look over my shoulder at a loud pattering to find one of the windows cracked, with a large piece missing. Chilled rain and wind welcome themselves into the space, ruining decades-old texts and wooden furniture.
My eyes scan the prince before focusing on an object under the broken window. I walk toward it, ignoring Gavriel when he scoffs from my lack of awareness of what I am stepping on.
I’m aware—I just don’t fucking care.
He scoots from under a table as I walk by, mumbling something to himself about how I’m the worst kind of human. It’s too easy to ignore his taunts, especially when a large wooden object is laying propped against a shelf—none of which seem to have fallen. They must be fused to the tile in some manner .
My steps halt me just beside the aged wood, twice my height if I’m seeing correctly. There’s a salty air surrounding it, and the grooves along it seem almost mushy. Disgusting.
This is certainly what came through the window, as shards of glass surround the immediate area. Against every rational instinct I have, I press against the wood, testing its weight.
Curious.
Something I couldn’t lift without aid had managed to fly several stories up at such a rate that it smashed through a window…when the ground was shaking. I cannot make sense of the logic, but I’m far too tired to think about it any longer. I used more essence than I’ll ever admit holding that barrier up. I need to train my stamina.
After I sleep.
My chin remains high as I walk back through the library, grabbing the prince’s hand and pulling him from whatever he and Gavriel were discussing.
“Excuse you, I was talking with my guard.” He sounds just as frustrated as I am.
“Is that so?” He exhales, the noise loud. “Because, as I recall, I’m your guard.”
“I’m not in the mood for this, Ariella,” he mutters as he pulls his hand from mine, though he continues to walk next to me.
I don’t answer, instead leading us down the unaffected hallways aside from a few dropped portraits. How satisfying it is that each of them is torn, ridding the castle of some of the king’s ego .
We make it to our rooms, and before Caspian can speak I nod to his and walk into mine, shutting the door loud enough that he thankfully doesn’t come knocking. I shed my bloody clothes and drop to the bed, scrunching my eyes closed. It feels like the first time in weeks that I can allow myself to relax.
Though that’s a false hope.
This quake was far more violent than the first, filling me with a sense of urgency I didn’t feel before.
I thought I’d have more time to figure this out. But it's clear I need to increase my efforts and accelerate my timeline. This is no longer just about some nonsense words I discovered in my father’s journal—there’s so much more at risk than I realized.