Essence of the Throne (Shadows of the Crown #2)

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Ariella

I fasten the last buckle on my travel bag, the sound sharp in the otherwise silent room. My fingers hesitate over my father’s journal, lying half-hidden beneath a pile of maps on my desk. Its worn cover is rough against my fingertips, the edges frayed from years of handling, from the nights I clutch it too tightly. I should bring it…perhaps whatever I find in the forest will give me the context I need to understand some of the entries.

My gaze shifts to the window. The darkness outside is still thick, untouched by the exposing sun. I’ve risen early, but not just because of my restless thoughts. It’s because I have no intention of letting Caspian follow me into the Verdantia Forest. He’s been adamant about joining me, but the risk of this journey is one he doesn’t need to take. The stubborn bastard won’t understand, but I couldn’t fucking care less. He doesn’t need to understand. And after yesterday, I'm not inclined to give him my attention so that we may talk about what happened.

How would I even discuss such a thing? It's difficult to talk through something you barely remember. Pieces of it flow through my mind, but they're scrambled and confusing .

I swing my pack over my shoulder, the weight molding to my back. My steps are soft against the tile as I move toward the door, careful not to disturb the eerie silence of the castle. I need to visit the guild before heading to the forest, but I can’t think about why, not yet. There’s a heaviness inside me that feels like a promise I have yet to fulfill.

I reach for the door handle, my fingers cracking it open not an inch before a voice cuts through my sanity.

“You really thought you’d get away that easily?”

I freeze, my heart lodging itself somewhere between annoyance and reserved amusement. Caspian leans against the opposite wall, a smug smirk curling his lips, his arms folded casually across his chest, clad in fitted black leather. The material molds to his frame, emphasizing his muscular build and tapering down to a narrow waist. His pants, also dark leather, sit low on his hips and hug the same thighs I was all too happy to grind against just hours ago. Despite the unfamiliarity of the leathers, as he normally wears more formal clothing, he manages to look both lethal and impossibly attractive. The outfit only amplifies the danger in his gaze as he watches me with a knowing smirk.

“Nice try, angel,” he continues, the nickname rolling off his tongue in that infuriatingly familiar way. I like it far too much. “But I knew you’d venture to sneak out without me.”

I force my face into an expression of boredom, even as an unwelcome giddiness pricks under my skin. “Go back to bed, Caspian. You do not need to be involved in this. ”

“Actually, I do,” he states, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between us. “We’ve been over this—I go where you go.”

“Not this time.” My voice is sharp, colder than I intend. “This isn’t your mystery to solve.” But fuck do I want it to be right now.

“Isn’t it?” He steps closer, his proximity making it harder to think clearly. “I will not waste time arguing with you, Ariella. You’re not going into that damn forest alone—not a fucking chance.”

I draw my blade, the metal flashing in the dim light as I press it against his stomach, just above the scar I gave him. His smirk doesn’t falter; if anything, it deepens.

“This is not up for debate,” I growl, keeping my grip steady. “You’re staying here, Caspian.”

“Do it,” he purrs, and the heat of his breath slides down my abdomen. “But don’t you dare miss this time, angel, because that is the only way you will go alone.”

I hate how his words send a shiver into my spine. How they claw at my carefully constructed walls. I press the blade a fraction harder, cursing my mind as his eyes darken. There’s no fear there, only a glimmer of excited amusement—a dangerous kind of determination that mirrors my own.

“Fuck’s sake, prince,” I mutter, dropping the blade to my side and pressing my finger into the sharp metal. “Fine. But if you get yourself hurt—”

“I won’t,” he interrupts, the smile returning, softer this time. “I’ve got you to keep me alive, remember?” Fucking tease .

I roll my eyes but don’t argue. This battle is already lost, and we both know it. I pivot toward my door, my heart still hammering, and weave enough wards to keep out even the Angel. Overkill, but whatever. We navigate the empty halls of the castle before running into a sentry that follows us from the entrance, insisting that he was ordered to join our small party. I offer him a glare that he impressively doesn’t cower from and allow Caspian to take care of his father’s foolish meddling.

I adjust the straps of my bag, fingers moving with practiced efficiency as I attempt to suppress the frustration simmering under my skin. The sky above is still dark, the pre-dawn light peeking through the heavy mist that clings to Valoria like a damp, unwelcome cloak. It’s cold, but the chill doesn’t touch me—my mind is far too tangled to feel the temperature. I glance across the courtyard at Caspian, chuckling at the heated exchange he and the guard are having. His brow is furrowed, and his voice is low but forceful, carrying just enough urgency to lend credibility to his excuse.

“Medicinal herbs,” he mutters in explanation, as if anyone is supposed to believe that’s the real reason we’re venturing into the Verdantia Forest. But he has a way with words, and the guard seems to buy it, nodding reluctantly before stepping aside.

The king must have insisted on another sentry accompanying us when Caspian informed him that he would be gone for a few days. Why? I'm unsure of what Thalion said when they spoke, but thankfully, the prince seems to have more sway over most of the royal guards than his father does .

I tilt my head, watching as Caspian approaches with that same confident stride he always carries. The leather satchel slung over his shoulder looks heavy, its contents a mix of rations, herbs, and whatever else he deemed necessary for this excursion.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice a bit too casual for the situation. I can’t decide if it’s because he’s trying to convince me he’s ready or if it’s some self-soothing mantra he’s using to prepare for our journey.

I nod, peering over my shoulder at the guard who stands rigid, watching us. We don’t linger. I pull my cloak tighter, breathing easier at the comforting weight of my hidden blades within its folds. Caspian walks beside me as we move toward the northern gate, past the fountain, our footsteps echoing off the cobblestones.

The guild stands like an omen at the center of the city, its stone facade both inviting and memory-inducing. I hesitate at the threshold, the familiar creak of the heavy oak door scraping against my nerves. This place once felt like home—a sanctuary filled with promises of revenge, training, and the thrill of sparring with—

I pause to suppress the increasing demands of my lungs.

Now, every corner is shrouded with the pieces of Isaiah’s skin I watched float in the reddened water, as if the walls themselves are stained with his blood. I step up to the door slowly, each one a betrayal of the girl I used to be. Determined, loyal, ready to protect the two people in the world left that meant something to me .

What a fucking joke I am.

The heavy wooden door creaks open at my touch, releasing a faint hint of spices and smoke that wraps around me with such familiarity that I falter. Memories flood my mind—flashes of training, blood-stained leathers, and hundreds of injuries I had to let heal naturally.

“Are you waiting outside?” I blurt, stretching my fingers out over my thighs.

“No—but I would have you show me around. I’ve never been in one of the kingdom’s guilds before.”

I chuckle and wrench the door open fully—the same one I kicked off its hinges just a few weeks ago.

Fuck. Everything reminds me of him.

“I’m sure the students will be delighted to see their prince.” Not entirely a lie, though I won't pretend I don't anticipate the backlash I’ll receive for bringing him here.

We step into the main area, and I thank the Angel that it’s empty. Traveling early does have its perks. I lock hands behind my back and pivot to my left, watching as Caspian takes in the space. From a simple look, the guild appears as just a home for the children who do not have one. But with just a little focus, the other purpose of the guild hides in plain sight.

Schedules hang on the wall, one for those who are only students and one for those like me, who have far more blood lust than mere textbooks can satiate. Our schedule is more rigorous than the normal students—we are expected to remain at the same education level while succeeding in combat lessons .

It has always felt like two separate worlds venturing to coexist together. The regular students kept their questions to themselves and paid no mind to the bloodied clothes and skin my side would often return to the guild with. And for that, none of them ever met my blade.

Well, it was mainly at Marek’s request after I threatened Eli a few times and he ran to my mentor crying like the pathetic idiot he is.

“This…” Caspian pauses, his tone hesitant. “This is not what I was expecting.”

I blink. Of course he wasn’t—I know the stories that are told.

“Ahh, you thought that you’d walk right into a dungeon, where there was so little light that you couldn’t see the ground in front of you, but enough light that you’d see layers of bloodstains on the wall from years of us keeping and torturing prisoners.”

His brows scrunch together as he chews on his lip and hums to himself.

“Fucking Aether, you did think that,” I groan, walking through the main room toward the labyrinth that travels through the rest of the building. “Don’t worry, my innocent prince, the dungeon is downstairs. What a waste of space it would be to have it here—and quite inconvenient, as we’re right next to the street.”

“I cannot tell if you’re being truthful or sarcastic.”

I whirl on him, not needing to feign my outrage. “Why would I lie about that? I need somewhere that will hide the screams of those I’m seeking answers from—the main floor is not soundproof and there would be fucking riots if people heard the torture.” I must be in a mood this morning as I continue, my voice sounding as disgusted as I feel. “They may know what this place is, Caspian, but they are not privy to what happens inside its walls. They’re able to sit comfortable in their willful ignorance because they’ve never been forced to witness the truth of what they already know. Until they see it with their own eyes, it doesn’t exist to them and they have no moral obligation to do anything about it.”

I suck in a deep breath before nodding behind me. “Back to our tour.”

I point to the various rooms as we walk, keeping my pace slow so he can take in the details as if there is anything but plain walls and basic decor. Caspian’s gaze lingers on the weapons mounted along the walls of the training room—swords, different sized blades, and spears, each one worn from use.

The prince speaks to me, but my ability to hear is muddled by the heavy weight on my chest when I stare at the mat in the center of the room. When I was here the last week, I refused to spar Desmond in this room. I certainly would not divulge that coming in here would break me just as much as where I’m about to go, so I would make excuses: I need fresh air, we can spar outside. It’s too cramped in there, the common area would suit our needs better.

But seeing it now—it hurts.

I must get weaker by the day. I have not allowed any of the recent events to cloud my thoughts or goals up until the last few days. It’s as if the block I spent years building is crumbling, falling apart one grain at a time, letting in fragments of things I would kill to never think about again.

And here? There are far too many memories clinging to each of the walls. The weapons. The fucking mat. My fingers twitch with the urge to grab a weapon, to relive the motions that are instinctive at this point.

As a child, this room was my entire world. This was the place where I’d learn everything I needed to get justice for my father. This is where I would look into the eyes of each person that I fought and imagine they were the king’s. My rage built this into what it is today as I spent more time in here than I did elsewhere. Years of marks and chips line every surface of the room, where they will remain long after I have left the realm.

This was what kept my mind from falling apart—it may have been fractured, but everything that happened in here was the glue holding those pieces together, offering me a purpose in this life.

This is where Isaiah and I had our happiest memories.

And I never want to see it again.

I spin to stalk back through the door with the prince on my heels, barking out places we pass but allowing him no time to discern all the minute pieces of the past that created who I am now. Before I realize, I’m standing in front of a bedroom.

Not mine. The one next to it.

“You will wait here.” My instruction to the prince is barely audible, but harsh enough that he doesn’t question as I push open the door to my best friend’s room and step inside. There’s a faint click as the door closes, leaving me alone in the space I forbid anyone from entering—including Marek.

I wasn’t planning to ever see the walls of Isaiah’s room again, but he had always kept our hunting gear— as we’d call it—and I need the supplies for my trip through the forest.

Our trip , I remind myself. Stubborn fool of a prince.

My chest tightens, but I force myself forward. This is not a time to be weak. Not now, not here.

The room feels colder than I remember, and I shiver as bumps raise along my arms. I take a slow, deliberate step forward, my eyes skimming over the familiar chaos Isaiah never bothered to tidy. Books are scattered across the floor, some still open to pages marked with smudges of ink—likely from nights we spent scrawling notes when Marek insisted we complete our assigned schoolwork.

My gaze drifts to the corner of the room, where a faded towel hangs over the back of an old wooden chair. It’s streaked a dull, muddy brown, the color uneven as if someone had tried to wash out a stubborn stain but gave up halfway. I chuckle—he was always so messy.

I move past the bed and step toward the far wall, where a chest rests beneath a faded tapestry that’s filled with a crimson forest under a starry sky, the trees seeming to flow impossibly together. Bending to open the chest, the wood creaks before revealing the contents within.

Just what I needed .

I pull out a weathered tent, compact but reliable, with iron stakes that could use refreshing. After stuffing the tent and two water packs into my bag, my fingers reach for the cloak folded at the bottom. Its ratty fabric is enough to disorient me as Isaiah’s scent drifts into the air, stronger than the rest of the room. My eyes burn, and I bite my inner cheek until my teeth jerk from the tear of the sensitive skin.

My mind has been far too unfocused, but with every breath I take in this moment, the desperate rage that consumed me when I found Isaiah’s body builds once more. Thalion has taken everyone from me that he can—not his son, of course, lest he lose his heir and give the throne to a woman when his daughter reaches the proper age.

I have a king to kill, family to avenge, and answers to find.

With that reminder, I set the cloak back in the chest and stalk toward the door, ready to find the Palmluvela and get this fucking trip over with.

The king has a date with my blade, so I best not keep him waiting much longer.