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

27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Caspian

M y screams bounce around inside my head, thrashing against invisible bonds that keep my consciousness trapped while my body moves against my will. Every muscle burns from fighting my father’s control, but the essence flooding my system is too strong. All I can do is watch in mute horror as my blade slices into Ariella’s skin again.

And again.

My father’s essence twists inside me like poison, more insidious than anything I’ve ever felt. He didn’t just steal too much of it—he learned how to manipulate it, forcing it into me in a way that lets him control my every move. It’s as if his will has replaced my own, spreading through my body like a puppeteer tugging at invisible strings.

Stop. Please stop. But my arms don’t listen. They continue their deadly motions, carving shallow wounds across her flesh while she simply…stands there. Taking it. The Silver Wraith, my feared angel, isn’t even trying to defend herself.

I’m sick to my fucking stomach. This cannot be happening …

Fight back! I want to scream. Kill me and run! But my lips remain sealed, my voice and body locked away by my father’s essence. I'm unable to do anything but stare through eyes I can’t control as blood oozes from her wounds.

“Fight back, wraith, or I’ll have the prince make your death excruciating!” My father’s voice booms through the arena. The crowd’s ferocious roars grow louder, but Ariella doesn’t react. She keeps those piercing, viridescent eyes fixed on mine, searching for something.

For me.

I throw everything I have against my father’s hold, desperate to break free. To drop the blade. To tell her I’m here. That I see her. That I’m so fucking sorry. But the essence binding me tightens its grip, sending waves of burning agony through my veins. The pain in my leg is nothing compared to the torture of my mind in this moment.

“Look at me,” she whispers, her voice carrying despite the crowd’s frenzy. “Really look at me, Caspian.”

Something shifts in her eyes then—walls dropping away to reveal everything she usually keeps hidden. Fear. Rage. A bone-deep exhaustion. But underneath it all, more than that. My heart stutters at the sight, even through my father’s control.

My next strike falters for just a heartbeat. Not much, but enough that I know she noticed. A tiny crack in my father’s hold. Hope flares in my chest, giving me renewed strength to fight.

“Caspian…” Her voice cracks, and Angel help me, I’ve never heard her sound so broken—not even after my death. “If this doesn’t work, if it kills me, I’m sorry. For everything. For pushing you away, for being too afraid to admit what you already knew.” She draws a shaky breath. “For not telling you what you deserved to know.”

My blade hovers along her throat as terror flickers through the haze. I can feel her pulse fluttering against the steel. So alive. So fragile. One wrong move and she's gone.

No. I rail against my father’s essence with everything I have, and my arms begin trembling from the war. I will not be the weapon that ends her. I refuse.

The crowd’s screams crescendo as the king laughs, the horrid sound resonating off each point of the arena walls. “Finish her, my son! Show everyone the price of treason against the crown!”

I want to vomit. Want to spin and drive this blade through his black heart instead. But my body remains frozen, pressed against the woman who means everything to me.

Ariella’s eyes close briefly, and when they open again, there’s a fierce determination burning in their depths. She studies my face like she’s afraid she’ll never see it again. Then her expression hardens, resolve flooding her eyes—a decision made.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes.

Before I can process what’s happening, she twists around and sprints toward the royal box where my father watches. For a moment, blessed relief floods me—she’s fighting back. But then my legs give chase without my permission, the broken one seeming to pretend it’s fully functional even through the pain. And though I still resist it, my father’s stolen essence forces me to pursue against every bit of my will. I give everything to stopping my legs, but I cannot even determine the direction my eyes look. I’m fucking trapped in my own body.

I’ll never forgive myself if I kill her.

The arena stretches vast before us as we run. Despite her injuries, despite whatever they did to suppress her essence, she’s still impossibly fast. But my father’s enhancements force me faster still, closing the distance between us with each stride.

She glances back once, her eyes meeting mine for just a heartbeat. There’s so much emotion in them—most of all, a silent plea for understanding. I notice where she’s leading us, and I truly begin panicking.

What the fuck is she doing? Is she going to kill herself so I don’t have to? By the fucking Angel.

Then she slams herself into the arena wall and vanishes.

I stumble to a halt, my father’s control momentarily shocked into stillness as we both try to process what just happened. There’s no door there, no hidden passage that I know of.

She’s gone.

“What trickery is this?” My father stands, leaning over the edge of the royal box to peer down at the arena floor. He scans the crowd, raising a hand at his guards before screaming orders. “Find her! She cannot—”

His words cut off in a wet gurgle as a blade erupts from his chest.

My attention snaps to the royal box just as my father’s body pitches forward, tipping over the ornate railing. I watch him fall in slow motion, ignoring the prickling under my skin as my body becomes my own again. The blade protruding from his back glints in the afternoon sun as he descends, the external pieces of his royal jacket billowing around him like broken wings. He hits the ground with a sickening thud that sends vibrations through my bones.

My eyes flick up. Standing in the exact spot where he’d just been is Ariella, her silver hair whipping in the wind as she stares down at his crumpled form, her face unreadable. Relief floods through me at the conspicuous absence of my mother and sister. At least they were spared witnessing this.

I find myself walking toward my father’s body, each step feeling both hollow and weighted. The crowd’s screams—no longer cheerful in nature—fade to a dull roar in my ears as drop to my knees beside him. Blood pools beneath his chest, staining the sand a deep crimson.

It’s almost picturesque, the way his blood matches the fabric he wears. It extends the color to the point that he appears to be flying, though he lies still on his side.

I rear back when his eyes flutter open and focus on me. “Son…” he wheezes, blood bubbling, leaking at the corners of his mouth. “Take me to Elowen…quickly. Before it becomes fatal.” A wet laugh escapes him. It sounds agonizing—good. “The wraith couldn’t even…properly hit my heart.” His breaths rasp in a strange pattern, as if he’s trying to breathe around the liquid filling his lung .

I glance up at Ariella, who is already watching me with knowing eyes. We both understand the truth of his words—if she’d wanted him dead instantly, that blade would have pierced his heart with precision. She deliberately missed, offering me this moment. This choice.

But the only choice I consider is how painful to make his last breaths.

“Why?” I ask my father, my voice but a whisper. “All of this…for what? Just to die from your own arrogance?”

“Everything I did…” he coughs out, more blood and snot spattering his chin, “was to make our kingdom stronger. To ensure your reign would be absolute.” I huff a breath and watch his body struggle to survive.

This—my father dying—should bother me. It should scare me enough that I rush to find any healer that can save him. He’s my father, for Angel’s sake. The man who gave me life.

But now I sit here eager to take his, and all I feel is vindication.

I shake my head, disgusted by his words. “No. You tortured and murdered so many people. Children , Thalion. You betrayed everything a king should stand for.” I shift to kneel, wrapping my hand around the hilt of the blade in his back. “And you tried to force me to kill the woman I love.”

His eyes widen at the last of my words, but I don’t give him time to respond. He deserves nothing more than his end. With one sharp twist, I drive the blade deeper to the right, angling it into his heart. His body jerks once before going still, cruel eyes glazing over as the last breath leaves him .

The silence that follows is deafening.

A soft thud before me announces Ariella’s arrival. I look over my shoulder to find her standing a few feet away, her face tired and neutral as she studies me. Realizing I’m still holding the blade, I release the weapon and clench my jaw as I push to my aching feet.

“How did you?” I gesture at where she’d appeared in the royal box. I have a guess, but I want to hear her say it.

“Temporal strand,” she confirms with a slight shrug, her mouth threatening to lift as she inspects every part of my body. “I’d always planned to use it when I killed him. I’ve dreamed of watching the bastard die over and over, both of us experiencing his last moments repeatedly until I got bored.” Her lips twist into something between a smirk and a grimace. “Though I didn’t think his death would feel so disappointing .”

Temporal strand. I want to ask her how it works—how she shifts time, bending it to her will. Will halting it for a few minutes have a lasting impact on the realm? Does it matter?

I peer at my blood-stained hands, somehow understanding exactly what she means. Years of fear and hatred building to this moment, and now…nothing. Everything we went through because of him, everything we did to stop him, all comes down to a quick, mundane death.

“Are you okay?” I ask, remembering the numerous cuts and bruises marking her skin. The ones I put there.

She huffs a laugh, tilting her head. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who just killed your father. ”

“I’ll live.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you explained what just happened. How did you manipulate his control over me?”

“I didn’t.” She saunters closer, carefully stepping around the growing pool of blood as if she wouldn’t be caught walking through it. “You did that yourself when you hesitated. It showed me there was still a part of you fighting.” Her eyes soften, and I get the feeling she wants nothing more than to touch me—I feel the same. My fingers ache to hold her. “I just needed to give you something worth fighting harder for.”

“By making me think you were going to die?” I probe, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

She shrugs again, but I catch the slight shaking in her hands. “It worked, didn’t it?”

I shift on my feet—well, try to, but my bad leg barely holds me up—my body aching from the essence-enhanced fight. “You’re fucking insane, you know that?” But there’s no heat to my words. How can there be when she risked everything to save me from becoming my father’s puppet? I know there was a point she’d accepted her death, but that did not dissolve her fight for me.

This woman. This angel . And every piece of her is all mine. I smile to myself—as if she could deny that truth now.

“So I’ve been told.” Her eyes scan the arena, always assessing, as guards begin flooding in. “We should probably deal with them.”

I turn to face the approaching sentries, many of whom look uncertain whether to attack or kneel. “Stand down,” I command, pushing every ounce of royal authority into my voice. “Your king is dead. You no longer answer to him.”

Most of the guards drop to one knee without question, but a few hesitate, glancing between me and Ariella. I raise a brow as one steps forward, his hand on his sword. “My prince, she must answer for her crimes. The king named her a traitor—”

“The king was wrong.” I cut him off, my tone sharp. “He was a sick man. Anyone who moves against her moves against me . Is that understood?”

A tense moment passes before the remaining guards follow the rest and kneel. I dismiss them before turning back to Ariella, finding her watching me with an inquisitive, though unreadable, expression.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. Just—” She pauses, considering her words. “You’re different when you embrace your authority. It’s…not entirely unpleasant to witness.”

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. The chill from the last several hours is beginning to melt at her presence, something only she’s capable of accomplishing. “Was that a compliment, angel?”

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the slight upward tilt of her mouth. “Don’t let it go to your big fucking head.” I enjoy this banter between us, and as much as I want to keep it going, to forget why the fuck we’re here, her expression grows serious again. So I wait until she’s ready to speak. “Now that your father so kindly announced my abilities to the entire realm, there’ s something I want to try. If you’ll let me.” She fusses with her hands, her fingers tapping together.

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re asking permission?”

“Don’t get used to it, prince.” She steps closer, grabbing hold of my wrist to pull me toward the reappeared tunnel. How the king hid it is beyond me. I'd guess the terra strand, using the sand to create a wall in the opening, but it didn't feel like his essence was abiding by any of the normal laws. It felt raw and untamed. Plus, he didn't possess the terra strand.

The cool stone against my back provides little relief from my aching body as I slide down the tunnel wall. Ariella helps lower me to the ground, her touch more gentle than I’ve ever felt from her. I wince as my leg screams in protest at even that careful movement.

“Fuck,” I mutter, leaning my head back. Though we’re far enough in that no one can see us from the arena, enough light still filters through to illuminate her concerned features as she kneels beside me. “I'm pretty sure it’s broken.”

She nods, her eyes scanning my leg with an intensity that makes me wonder if she can see through to the bone itself. “I want to try something.” Her voice is uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’ve never really attempted healing anyone else before—except for Meridian, but that was different.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve never healed anyone? With all the essence you have?”

“No need to sound so shocked,” she mutters, though there’s no real bite to her words. “Why would I have ever healed someone other than myself? I’ve watched other healers work plenty of times. I understand the theory—they need physical contact with whoever they’re healing. The connection allows essence to flow between bodies.” She pauses, chewing on that damn bottom lip. “I think. I’m just not certain if it matters where we touch, or if I might accidentally hurt you more.”

“I don’t care either way.” And I mean it. After everything that’s happened—after what my father made me do to her—I'd trust her with anything she asked for. Even if she does somehow make it worse, I know it won’t be intentional.

She huffs but doesn’t argue, instead reaching for my hands. Her fingers are soft and warm against my skin as she positions her palms above mine. “Close your eyes,” she instructs in a soft voice. “I need to focus.”

I do as she asks, though I can’t resist peeking through my lashes to watch her when I’m sure she’s no longer paying attention. Her face settles into deep concentration as her nose scrunches in the slightest, reminding me of how she looks when she’s about to strike a killing blow. But her expression is softer now, almost vulnerable.

I feel the moment she begins drawing on her vital strand. Not because she’s using it on me…no, deep inside I can feel her tugging on the strand. It's not a perplexing aspect of our relationship at this point. The surrounding air thickens with essence, making my skin tingle with its familiarity, as if in greeting. Through our joined hands, I sense her coaxing it toward her fingertips, silently urging it to bridge the gap between our bodies. There’s a strange resistance at first, as if her essence is reluctant to leave her body for mine.

“Come on,” she whispers, more to her essence than to me.

The connection snaps into place so suddenly that we both gasp, and I jolt forward from the force of it. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, as if our essence shares one body. Her umbral strand was incredible, but they never sunk into my skin this deep—though I had a suspicion that they wanted to.

Every part of her essence flows through me, warm and devoted in a way that doesn’t make sense. This isn’t how it feels when other healers work on me. This feels right. Natural. Like her essence belongs inside me as much as my own does.

“Angel,” I breathe, unable to form more coherent words.

She doesn’t respond, but I sense the shift in intentions as her strand explores my body with purpose now, seeking out injuries. When it reaches my broken leg, the sensation intensifies. I grit my teeth against the strange pressure building in the bone, forcing myself to remain still against every instinct I have to pull away.

This is going to be painful.

“This will hurt,” she warns, echoing my thoughts, a heartbeat before my leg explodes in agony.

I bite back a scream as the bone snaps back into place. Her essence wraps around the break, knitting the pieces back together with meticulous care. It’s so strange, feeling it work as though it were my own—something I’ve also never experienced with other healers. Aside from a small prickle of heat at times, a healer’s essence should not be felt in any capacity .

The pain slowly fades to a dull ache, then disappears all at once, sweet fucking relief settling in my tense muscles.

But she doesn’t stop there—of course she doesn’t. Her essence continues its journey through my body, detecting and healing injuries I hadn’t even noticed. A cracked rib. Torn muscles in my shoulder. Countless bruises and small cuts. Each repair sends wave after wave of warmth through me until I feel more alive than I have in weeks.

Finally, the actual healing seems to stop, but her essence lingers. It swirls through me almost playfully, as if it’s found a new home and refuses to leave. I admit that I don’t want this connection to end, either.

Through our link, I notice Ariella’s similar reluctance. Her essence hums with contentment, like it’s discovered what it’s been searching for. The hint of a smile curves her lips before reality seems to startle her, and she yanks her essence back so violently that she sways.

“Careful, angel,” I assert, leaning to catch her shoulders as she starts to topple sideways. “Are you alright?”

Her eyes blink several times. “Fine. Did it work?”

“Yes, but…” I trail off, distracted by what I’m seeing. I tilt my head. Maybe it’s a trick of the light filtering in from the arena, but her hair seems to be illuminated. She adjusts, but the glow doesn’t change. No, it’s not just reflecting the light—it’s emitting a soft, silvery radiance. So similar to the brief moments after we’ve been intimate… “How did you do t hat?”

“Do what?”

“Your hair—it’s glowing. I’ve never seen a healer’s essence manifest visibly like that. Essence works inside the body, not out.”

She shrugs, though I notice she won’t quite meet my eyes. “No one else has silver hair or universal essence, either. It’s probably just that I have more essence than most people.”

I nod, though I’m not convinced. Everything in me screams to keep digging, that there’s something more to it…but she’s already pushing to her feet, ending the conversation.

“We should go,” she breathes, holding out a hand in offering. I grasp it, though bear no weight on her as I stand. “Your father may be dead, but we have a lot of shit to deal with.”

I hold her tighter, testing my healed leg. It feels perfect—better than before it was broken, even. “Thank you,” I say in a soft tone. “Not just for healing me, but for everything you did back there.” For saving me from becoming my father’s puppet. For giving me the strength to break free. For trusting me enough to try healing me when you’ve never done it before. “And for being you.”

She waves away the words with her hand, but I catch the softening in her eyes. “Don’t get sentimental on me now, prince. We have work to do.”

“I would never,” I tease, and can’t help but smile. Even after everything that’s happened, she’s still the same fierce, stubborn woman I fell for. “Lead the way, angel.”

Her eyes roll as she chuckles, spinning to walk through the tunnel while she practically drags me close behind. As we walk, I find myself watching the way her hair catches the dim light. There’s no trace now of that strange glow …

But I know what I saw.

Just like I know there was something different about the way her essence felt inside me. An instinct that went beyond simple healing. The memory of that connection makes me shiver, and I wonder if she feels it too—

Another thought slams to the forefront of my mind like a beacon of light. Is that related to what happened in my room when she bit me?

Even as I think it, I know it is.

I am desperate to know what it means, but she’s right—we have more pressing concerns. The Accord is priority, and we’re the only ones who know the truth about what’s happening. Whatever this thing is between us, it will have to wait.

My chest aches.

Still, as we emerge from the tunnel into the late afternoon sun, I hope we’ll have a chance to explore that connection again soon. I have a theory that we’ve only scratched the surface of what’s possible when our essence combines.

Ariella pauses at the tunnel entrance, her eyes scanning the area. Most of the crowd has dispersed, though guards still mill about, unsure of what to do now that their king is dead. My father has already been removed from the arena, and I feel absolutely fucking nothing as the staff carry his covered body toward the castle.