Kennedy (Council Assassins #19)

Chapter Fifteen

Caspian

Istare at the city walls of Valoria rising before us, my heart heavy with the weight of decisions yet unmade. The morning sun casts long shadows across the path, and I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s about to change.

“You’re brooding again.”

Ariella’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Your face gets all scrunched up when you do that.”

I turn to her, drinking in the sight of her silver hair glinting in the sunlight. The past few days since leaving the Palmluvela have been…different. Quieter. More intimate in ways I never expected.

“Just thinking about my father.”

The words taste bitter on my tongue. “About what choosing you over him means.”

Shit—I should not have said that aloud.

She stops walking, her green eyes narrowing. “I never asked you to choose.”

“No, but we both know it’s coming.”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in my chest. “He’s my father, Ariella. The king. Everything I am, everything I was raised to be, ties back to him. But when I look at what he’s done—to you, to others, that person in the library…”

“Then don’t choose.”

Her voice is soft, but firm. “Walk away. Let me handle him.”

“And watch you die from his decisions?”

The mere thought sends ice through my veins. “I’d rather burn his entire kingdom down.”

Something flashes in her eyes—surprise, maybe even fear. Not of me, but of what my words mean. What I’m willing to sacrifice.

“Caspian.”

She steps closer, close enough that I can count the freckles dusting her nose. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

The truth of it is daunting. “Angel help me, I do. These past days with you…I’ve seen more humanity in one assassin than in all my father’s years of rule.”

She opens her mouth to respond, seeming defensive, but movement at the castle gates catches our attention. A crowd has gathered, their faces twisted with an anger I’ve never seen before.

Something is very wrong in Valoria.

The crowd’s shouts grow louder as we near the gates. I shift closer to Ariella, though she’s undoubtedly more capable of handling any threat than I am. Her fingers brush against mine—a warning or reassurance, I’m not quite sure.

“Death to the king! Death to the royals!”

Someone screams from within the mass of people. My jaw clenches as the cry is taken up by others, the sound echoing off Valoria’s walls.

“Well,”

Ariella mutters, “seems like your decision might be easier than you thought.”

I shoot her a look, but there’s no humor in her eyes. Just that calculated intensity she gets when she’s analyzing a situation. Her hand rests on one of her blades—not drawing it, but ready.

“What happened while we were gone? It hasn't even been two weeks?”

I ask no one in particular, scanning the faces before us. These aren’t the usual inciters or drunk idiots. I spot merchants, craftsmen, even a few nobles among them.

A rock sails through the air, striking one of the guards. He stumbles back, blood trickling from his forehead. Before his companion can react, more stones follow.

“We need to get inside,”

I say, grabbing Ariella’s arm. She doesn’t resist as I pull us toward a side entrance I used to sneak out of as a child. The guard stationed there recognizes me immediately, his eyes widening at the sight of the wraith by my side.

“Your Highness! Thank the Angel—your father has been demanding your return.”

“What’s happening?”

I question, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s not my place to say, but things have changed since you left. The king, he’s…”

The man swallows hard. “You should see for yourself.”

I feel Ariella tense beside me. Whatever is waiting inside those walls, I know one thing with absolute certainty: neither of us will face it alone. Not anymore.

I step through the side entrance, the familiar musty scent of the castle’s stone walls affecting me differently now. Each one seems to hold secrets I was too na?ve to see before.

“Your father’s in the throne room,”

the guard offers, his eyes darting between Ariella and me.

I nod, though my feet refuse to move. The wraith beside me radiates a deadly calm that makes even the guard take an unconscious step back. Her wary eyes scan our surroundings with predatory focus.

A commotion from the main hall draws our attention. The shouts from outside have penetrated the castle walls, their anger seeping through stone like poison.

“I should go to him,”

I say, though every instinct screams otherwise.

“And what if I told you no?”

Her lips quirk up in the slightest.

“You know I would, anyway.”

“Yes.”

The single word carries more weight than it should.

We move through the corridors, passing staff who flatten themselves against walls to avoid us. Their fear isn’t wholly directed at the notorious Silver Wraith for once—their eyes are fixed on me.

“They truly love reminding themselves of what I am,”

Ariella states, winking at a woman who just dropped her basket at the sight of us.

I can’t help but smile, despite everything. “As do I. But unlike them, I love your temper and murderous nature, angel.”

Her eyes narrow at the endearment, but there’s something else there, too. Something that makes my heart race faster than any blade of hers at my throat ever could.

The throne room doors loom before us, and I take a steadying breath, stretching my neck before nodding to the stationed sentry. Something in my gut tells me that whatever is waiting for us beyond this barrier is worse than I've anticipated.

The heavy doors creak open to reveal my father on his throne. The familiar crimson and gold of the room feels stifling now, the tapestries hanging limply in the still air. He sits straight-backed, his untarnished crown glinting in the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows. The emptiness of the vast chamber makes his presence even more imposing.

Ariella’s steady breathing beside me is comforting. The soft sound of her boots on the polished floor echoes as we approach the dais. Her presence radiates an impassive calm that somehow steadies my buzzing thoughts.

“So, you’ve returned.”

My father’s voice carries that same authoritative tone I’ve heard my entire life, but it's different now. Harder. “And with the wraith, I see.”

The muscles in my jaw clench. The way he says ‘wraith’ makes my skin crawl—like she’s beneath him, beneath notice. I feel rather than see Ariella’s amused reaction. She’s probably fighting back one of those cutting remarks she loves to make.

I wouldn’t mind hearing one right now. Maybe it would mask the sound of my racing heart.

“What’s happening outside?”

I ask, ignoring his obvious disapproval. “Why are the people calling for your death?”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Mere peasants who don’t understand the necessities of rule. They’ll be dealt with.”

The casual cruelty in his voice stuns me. How had I never noticed it before? Or had I simply chosen not to see it? The weight of the sword at my hip doubles, and I’m acutely aware of every guard’s position in the room. I itch to examine each one, to see if I would consider them loyal to my father, or if they would be loyal to me, but I do not dare break the king’s stare.

“Necessities of rule?”

Ariella’s voice drips with venom. “Is that what you called it when you murdered my father, too?”

The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. My father’s eyes narrow as he looks directly at her for the first time since arriving, and I resist the urge to step between them. The tension crackles like lightning before a storm.

It’s strange, hearing her speak the words aloud. We all know the truth—fucking Aether, the entire kingdom knows the truth, but it’s never spoken.

I keep my breathing steady as I watch the scene unfold, refusing to show any reaction to Ariella’s words. My father’s face darkens, his fingers tightening on the armrests of his throne.

“You dare speak to me of murder?”

His voice fills the chamber. “You, the lowest of the kingdom’s scum, who has taken countless lives?”

“At least I’m honest about what I am.”

Ariella’s tone is calm, deadly. “I don’t hide behind a crown and pretend my kills are for the good of the realm. Nor do I hire scum to do my killing for me.”

I shift my weight, aware of the guards’ hands moving to their weapons. It's hard to breathe around all this tension. Every instinct screams at me to intervene, to prevent what’s coming, but I know better. This moment has been brewing for years.

“You know nothing of ruling,”

my father spits. “Of the choices a king must make.”

“I know enough.”

Ariella takes a step forward, and several guards flinch. The air around her seems to disappear, silencing her advance. “I know you whipped an innocent man to death in front of his daughter—in front of the entire Angel-damned city. I know you murdered Isaiah because I dared to speak to your son.”

I show no reaction, though my organs flip at a rapid pace. I’d suspected, of course, but hearing it confirmed is entirely different.

“Watch yourself, wraith.”

My father rises from his throne, his voice carrying that dangerous edge I remember from childhood. “You may have my son fooled with your charms, but I see you for what you are.”

A laugh escapes Ariella’s lips—the sound sharp and cruel. “And what am I, Your Majesty?”

“A whore of a mistake I should have corrected years ago.”

He gestures to the guards. “Take her down below.”

I move without thinking, positioning myself between Ariella and the advancing guards. “Stop.”

The single word echoes through the oversized room. My father’s eyes widen—whether from surprise or rage, I no longer care.

“Step aside, Caspian.”

“No.”

The word tastes foreign on my tongue. I’ve never outwardly defied him before. But as I stand here, finding strength in Ariella’s presence behind me, I know I’ve made my choice. The glimmer of disappointment in his eyes confirms he knows it, too.

I won’t watch him take anyone else.

I sense Ariella shift behind me, her breath ghosting across my neck. “Move, Caspian.”

“No.”

I keep my eyes locked on my father, refusing to back down. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

“You foolish, noble prince.”

Her words carry an edge of frustration. “This isn’t your fight.”

“It became my fight the moment I laid eyes on you.”

The confession slips out before I can stop it, echoing through the throne room. I hear her sharp intake of breath, feel the way she struggles to even her breathing.

My father’s face contorts with rage. “You dare choose this murderer over your own blood? Over your duty to the crown?”

“I choose what’s right.”

My voice is steadier than I feel. “Something you seem to have forgotten how to do, father.”

The guards hesitate, clearly torn between their king’s orders and my intervention. I can discern the uncertainty in their eyes—they’ve watched me grow up, trained with me, shared meals and jokes. Now I’m asking them to pick a side.

“This is treason,”

my father snarls, descending the dais steps. “You would throw away everything? Your birthright, your future—for her?”

I'm offended he knows nothing of me.

Ariella’s fingers brush against my back in a silent warning. Or perhaps a comfort. The touch sends warmth through my chest, solidifying my resolve.

“I would throw away far more.”

The words taste like truth on my tongue. “But this isn’t about her right now. This is about what you’ve done. To her father, to Isaiah, to countless others. The people outside aren’t calling for your death because of one wraith—they’re calling for it because you’ve forgotten what it means to be a true king. What have you done, father?”

My words hang in the air as memories flood through me. The pieces I’d ignored for so long finally clicking into place. Reports of missing children from the outer districts. The way certain noble families disappeared, only to have their estates seized by the crown. The increasing number of public executions, each one justified with vaguer charges of treason. The paperwork regarding the outer housing population—

“You’ve been taking them.”

My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. I thought it an unlikely assumption, but the look in his eyes confirms my reasoning. “The children from the lower districts.”

Behind me, Ariella tenses. The kind of stillness that precedes violence.

“You know nothing,”

my father spits, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of…pride? The sight makes me sick.

“I know enough. The reports crossing my desk, the ones you insisted I handle personally…they weren’t just routine paperwork, were they? You wanted me to see them. To understand what ruling really means.”

The words taste like ash in my mouth. “Those families weren’t being relocated to other cities. The children weren’t being sent to special schools.”

A cruel smile twists his lips. “Finally showing some wisdom, my son? Yes. Sacrifices must be made to maintain order. Their essence—their power—it strengthens the crown. Strengthens the kingdom.”

He rolls his shoulders, stretching his palms. “How do you think we’ve maintained our rule for so long? The Blackwood line has always understood what others refuse to see—power requires sacrifice.”

I think of all those missing children that have gone unnoticed. Of families torn apart. Of Ariella’s father, who likely discovered the truth and paid for it with his life. Of Isaiah, who simply got too close to someone the king couldn’t control.

“You’re a monster.”

The words slip out, though I do not care enough to regret them.

His face hardens. “I am a king. And you are still my son, despite your…current confusion.”

His eyes flick to Ariella. “Though perhaps it’s time I reminded you of what that truly means.”

The silence that follows is deafening. My heartbeat pounds in my chest, and the weight of every eye in the room presses down on me. The king's face is blank, but his eyes burn with an intensity that would have made me flinch just days ago.

He nods, clasping his hands before speaking once more. “If you do not make the correct choice, then you are no son of mine.”

He turns to the guards, his voice cold as ice. “Leave them. You have a week, Caspian. A week to make the decision on your own before her head decorates the front gates.”

He nods toward Ariella, not looking at her but grimacing all the same.

I draw my sword, the sound of steel against leather echoing off the stone walls. Behind me, there's the familiar whisper of Ariella’s lethal chuckle. “Do it, Your Majesty.”

He shifts his attention to her as he snarls his next words, “You have no idea the pain I could put you through, wraith.”

I clench my jaw as Ariella steps around me, her predatory grace making even my father’s guards shift uncomfortably.

“Oh, but I do know pain, Your Majesty.”

Her voice drips with mockery. She takes another step forward, and I fight the urge to grab her arm. “Tell me, Thalion, did you enjoy watching the life drain from his eyes? My father? Did it make you feel powerful to execute an innocent man?”

My father’s face contorts with rage. “Erendor was a traitor who deserved far worse than what he got.”

“He discovered your secrets, did he not?”

Ariella’s laugh is sharp and cruel. “Found out what you were doing…That’s why you had to silence him.”

“Careful, wraith.”

My father’s voice carries a dangerous, desperate edge. “You’re treading dangerous ground.”

“What will you do?”

She spreads her arms wide, a cruel smile spreading across her face. “Kill me like you killed him? Like you killed Isaiah? Go ahead—I’ve been itching for a good fight.”

The air crackles with tension as they stare each other down. I sense the essence building around Ariella, though she keeps it carefully contained. One wrong move and this whole room could erupt in violence.

“Enough.”

I grab Ariella’s arm, surprised when she doesn’t move to break my grip. “We’re leaving.”

“Listen to him,”

my father sneers. “Run away while you still can. But remember my warning, son—one week.”

Ariella’s muscles coil under my hand, and I know she’s about to do something we’ll all regret. Before she can move, I drag her toward the door, ignoring her attempts to break free.

“Get your fucking hands off me,”

she hisses as we exit the throne room.

“Not until we’re far enough away that you won’t go back in there and get yourself killed.”

I continue pulling her down the corridor, my heart pounding. “I know you want revenge, but not like this. Not when he’s expecting it.”

She could break free if she wanted to. We both know that. But she allows me to lead her away from my father and his sentries, though her entire body vibrates with barely contained rage.

I don’t stop until we’re several hallways away, releasing her arm and hating as she immediately puts distance between us.

I watch as Ariella paces the empty hallway, several fingers tapping the blade on her thigh. The afternoon light streams through tall windows, casting her silver hair in a beautiful glow. Any other time, I’d be mesmerized by the sight. Right now, I’m too focused on keeping her from storming back to kill my father.

“You should have let me end him,”

she snarls, her green eyes flashing threats.

“And what? Let you die in the process?”

I run a hand through my hair, fighting back my own anger. “Ariella—he was waiting for you to attack. He wanted you to give him an excuse.”

She pauses her pacing to glare at me. “I don’t need your protection.”

“Angel’s sake, I know that.”

I step closer, pleased when she doesn’t back away. “But this isn’t about protection. This is about being smart. You heard what he admitted in there—about the children and what he’s planning to do to the people outside. We need proof before we can move against him.”

Her lips curl into a cruel smile. “I don’t need proof of anything to put a blade through his heart.”

“No, but the kingdom does.”

I close the distance between us, desperately wanting to touch her but knowing better with the way she watches me. “If we kill him without exposing what he’s done, nothing changes. Varrick will rally the noble families to enthrone a puppet king and continue everything he’s doing.”

She freezes, that eerie calm washing over her features that makes her look more wraith than human. I'd read about wraiths once, though have refrained from doing so again. The creatures are terrifying—much like the woman in front of me. Whoever gave Ariella her title knew her too well. “Then I’ll kill all of them.”

The words tumble through my stomach. Not from fear—never from fear with her—but from the raw truth in them. She will be my father’s death, one way or another. I chuckle. She’ll likely be my death, too. The thought should horrify me. Instead, I find myself fighting back a smile.

“Give me time,”

I plead. “One week. Let’s gather evidence and build support among the royal guards. Then we can make him pay for everything he's done.”

Her eyes search mine, looking for any trace of deception. I steady my emotions and hold her gaze, letting her see the truth of my words. Finally, she gives a sharp nod.

“One week,”

she agrees, though her tone suggests it’s against her better judgment. “But I do not dabble in patience, so if he makes one move against me or anyone else, I won’t wait.”

I lean against the stone wall, enjoying its cool surface as my mind races. My fingers absently trace the pommel of my sword, finding comfort in its familiar weight.

Everything I thought I knew about my family, about ruling, has been shattered. The memories assault me—all those reports crossing my desk, the disappearances I’d written off as routine matters. How many children had I unknowingly condemned by signing those papers? The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

My father’s words repeat in my head: Power requires sacrifice. Is that what being king means? Sacrificing innocents to maintain control? If so, I want no part of it. The crown suddenly feels like a noose around my neck, threatening to strangle everything good and right from my soul.

But then there’s Ariella. She paces before me like a caged beast, all lethal grace and simmering fury. My breath catches. Even in her rage—or perhaps because of it—she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

She represents everything I was taught to hate, to fear. An assassin, a wraith, someone who kills without mercy. Yet watching her, I see the truth my father missed. Her kills may not always be justified or right, but she’s never shied away from the truth. She’s been irritatingly clear about who she is since the day I met her.

In her own way, she’s more noble than any of the preening lords and ladies who fill my father’s court. Far more than my father himself.

I know I should let her go, should focus on gathering evidence against my father so that she can take the day before we resume our attempt to stop his shifting of the balance. But the sight of her prowling the hallway sets my blood on fire. Without thinking, I reach out and grab her arm, needing to touch her, to ground myself in something real.

She whirls on me. “Touch me again without permission, and you’ll die before your father does.”

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Then kill me, I don’t care. But I’m going to fuck you first.”

She sputters, her resistance loosening, and I use the hesitation to drag her toward my room. I’m tempted to take her back and claim her in front of the king, but I selfishly want the week he’s given me. We both know I will not bow to his demands, so I’ll play his game for now.