Chapter 12
Leaf
The next day after lunch, Melaya, instead of Esen, collected me from the tower for the final event, his eyes burning holes through the back of my skull as I finished braiding my hair, one question spinning through my mind.
If I survived today, would Azarn let me live? Because it was clear he didn’t want me to actually marry his son. I had no doubt he’d stop at nothing to ensure my demise in the final fight. His entertainments were a ruse, an excuse to kill the one female in the realms who had influence over what he wanted most. Gold.
My stomach churned as I smoothed my tunic over my leathers and turned to face Melaya. At least I’d finished most of my plate of baked fish and fresh bread. A good meal made everything infinitely more bearable. I just prayed it wasn’t my last.
With my hands cuffed in front of me, the fire mage pulled me down the stairs, through the palace’s back corridors, then to the stables—all parts of the palace I was familiar with. Unfortunately. Other than my visit to Luna, I’d mostly been confined to my room, and that troubled me.
If I managed to escape, I had no idea in which direction to flee. I couldn’t even find my way to the palace’s storehouse and certainly had no clue where the nearest ports were located. At every opportunity, I’d driven Esen mad with endless questions, which got me nowhere, since she remained tight-lipped until she lost her temper and swore at me.
“Where’s Esen today?” I asked Melaya as he threw me on a large white horse and fastened my chain to the saddle pommel. The beast’s impressive black wings flared out from muscular shoulders, blowing my hair over my face. “And Nukala? I rarely see you two apart.”
“My brother and Esen are occupied,” the mage said, mounting behind me. “It hasn’t gone unnoticed that she was warming toward you.”
Damn. I hoped Azarn wasn’t punishing her for being nice to me.
The breath whooshed from my lungs as the winged horse leaped over an erupting fire geyser, and then soared through the air, arriving at the Fen Forest in no time.
As Melaya marched me into the arena, the Fire King silenced his courtiers with an abrupt wave of his hand before turning to greet me. “Welcome, Zali Omala, Princess of Dirt and Stone.”
I sighed and swallowed a retort. Azarn got my title wrong on purpose, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of appearing affected. Today, I’d silently tell him to go fuck himself.
“If you survive the final entertainment,” he continued, “you will marry Prince Bakhur and become a member of my family.”
“Then I’ll be your daughter,” I announced loudly, causing laughter to ripple through the courtiers. I quickly scanned the dais and the crowd, searching for Arrow, unable to find him. That was strange. If he wanted to see me fail supremely, now was likely the best time to do so.
Azarn grimaced but didn’t contradict me. If I won today and he didn’t kill me, I would soon be his relative by marriage. And as long as Bakhur found a way to impregnate me while I bore the Aldara mark, I would be the mother of the heirs to his kingdom.
Esen strode across the arena, her mouth grim as she unchained me, then handed me a long knife, and not just any knife. It was his knife—Arrow’s. The one made of Auryinnian metal that he’d thrown to me after Quin tumbled us from the Mydorian palace’s balcony. The very knife I’d used to kill my brother.
Nausea rolled through my stomach. “I’d prefer a sword, if possible,” I said, my firm voice masking a turmoil of emotions. Fear. Anger. Sadness.
Azarn laughed. “Fight with that knife or with your bare hands. I don’t care which. The choice is yours.”
I bowed my head and gripped the hilt tighter.
“Now it’s time to meet your final opponent,” said Azarn, his words rough with barely contained excitement.
The arena gates creaked open, and the entire Fire Court drew a collective, ragged breath. I spun on my heel, my neck hot and my Aldara mark prickling.
My heart stopped beating.
Arrow stood on the other side of the arena, moving closer.
I took three steps backward, bewildered. My jaw snapped shut as my gaze bounced between the Fire King’s cruel green eyes and Arrow’s lopsided smirk.
A high-pitched laugh came from the dais, and I finally noticed Nukala seated at Azarn’s feet, his chest bare, his head resting on the Fire King’s lap, and black hair spilling over his legs.
There was something very odd about Melaya’s twin. A riddle that needed solving. But not now. I had bigger problems to solve than the puzzle of a powerless fire mage.
I spun back to Arrow. “Is this a joke?” I asked, stupidly revealing my shock. It never helped to show an enemy my true feelings. Whether it be fear, surprise, or heartbreak—I locked my emotions inside me.
But this —this was too fucking much to repress.
“King Azarn has never been more serious,” said the Storm Prick, tossing and catching a bone-hilted blade with infuriating calm.
While my pulse thundered in my ears, he stalked toward me like a Mydorian forest cat, his limbs loose but strong, ready to pounce and destroy his prey in an instant. In that moment, I saw beneath the facade of the golden king. The sensual lightning god. Beautiful. Fearless. In control.
It was all a game.
He wasn’t civilized. He was a savage, reveling in violence and cruelty. Fae scum, just like I thought the day he’d thrown me in the river, and then left me to my fate in Coridon’s dungeon. Drunk on his beauty, over the weeks of my captivity, I’d let the pleasure of his lying mouth and murderer’s fingers blind and bind me to him, like those poor, feckless auron kanaras.
What a fool I’d been.
Running my thumbnail over the carvings on my knife hilt, realization struck. Azarn had just handed me an opportunity. A gift. I could try to kill Arrowyn Ramiel today. Something I’d dreamed about since the day of my arrest.
I could do it now.
End the Storm King.
Stab the smug smirk from his lips.
I faced Azarn, and let my gaze skim the silent members of his family, motionless in the seats around him, as if they’d been painted into the scene. A glamorous but depressing family portrait, only their lips twitching like hungry ghouls, impatient to feast on my soul.
“Remind me of the rules again,” I said.
“Arrowyn Ramiel may do anything he likes to you, even kill you. In return, you can wound him, but not fatally. If you murder the King of Storms and Feathers, your life is forfeit.”
Ah, what a neat little plan to finish us off. No matter who won, the two greatest pains in Azarn’s ass would be neatly dealt with.
Instead of protesting, I nodded as if the rules were fair, but everyone present knew they weren’t. Even Arrow, who stared at me with such raw intensity that for a single foolish moment, I remembered how it had felt when he looked at me that way while buried deep inside me.
I spun the knife in my hand, clicked the bones on each side of my neck, then started toward him.
“Wait,” said Azarn, stroking Nukala’s hair. “I have more instructions. If you make it out of the gate into the Fen Forest, good luck to you. But know this: two greivon dragons will fly above you at all times, eager to sink their talons into your flesh if you attempt to escape.”
What in the realms was a greivon dragon? Regardless, if they decided to burn me to a crisp, all I could do was wave my knife around and shout a lot. I’d be dead before I even tried to run.
“Well then, shall we begin, Princess?” said the Storm bastard, circling me slowly.
I held my nerve, spinning on my heel as the words he’d spoken the day he left the Mydorian forest weeks ago whispered through my mind.
“ Remember who you are—my winged gift, forever my Aldara ,” he had said. He’d also sworn to always come for me when I needed him. To raze realms to save me. Pay any cost to keep me safe. No matter what. And, now, here he was—about to try to kill me.
What a rotten liar.
“No armor?” I asked, raising a brow as my gaze slid down his body. Bare-chested, he was dressed only in black leather pants with metal kneecaps and heavy, calf-hugging black boots, his wings hidden. “Not even your famed breastplate.”
“Surprised? You should be used to seeing me half-naked or just… naked.” He licked his lips and scanned my body. “You’ve grown thinner since we last met. Aren’t they feeding you properly?”
Something dark flickered in his gaze. It looked like anger, perhaps sparked by a memory of our shared past. Or a desire to rip my heart out through my ribs.
I clutched my dagger tighter, its hilt cold in my palm. A warm wind howled, blowing my braid over my eyes, obscuring Arrow momentarily. When I flicked my hair away, he’d moved closer, his weapon raised into a strike position.
Once, he said he loved no one and nothing and never would, and those were the words I would cling to during the fight. For it was Arrowyn Ramiel’s truth. Back in Coridon, he’d stated it clearly. I just hadn’t been listening properly at the time.
As we circled each other, I inched in the direction of the Ashen Souls’ gates. If I made it into the forest and found the serpent fae, Vyprin, perhaps he would help me for a price.
“Are we going to dance like this all day?” Arrow asked, keeping pace with my slow-weaving movements.
“If you like. You always professed to despise the activity, so I’m more than happy to oblige.”
He barked out a laugh. “Oh, I never despised doing anything with you, Leaf.”
“Shut up and fight me,” I hissed, furious at his repeated use of the stupid slave name he’d given me.
Without warning, Arrow moved swiftly, deliberately, his blade glinting in the sunlight. I skipped back and to the side, slipping behind him. My heart pounded as he whirled around, a wild storm raging in his eyes.
He was stronger, but I was nimbler.
Arrow lunged forward, his strikes powerful. I moved out of their force with speed, destabilizing his balance, our grunts and curses causing roars of delight from the Fire Court.
We moved close again, then broke away. It was a game, and he loved toying with me, prolonging his fun.
The smell of the desert still clung to his clothes, and his own scent—warm skin and sandalwood—made me dizzy. I shook my head and gritted my teeth. No swooning allowed today. This was a battle, not a lovers’ reunion.
I whispered the Mydorian battle chant under my breath. By branch and root, soil and stone, lend strength to muscle, heart, and bone. Crush all to live. Conquer and prevail—
“Mydor blood will never fail,” finished Arrow.
“What?”
Our blades slid and entwined in a furious clash of steel until he twisted his wrist and locked the hilts together, his warm breath ghosting over my lips. My own breath snagged in my throat as Arrow clenched his teeth and tugged me closer. “I never wanted this.”
I parted my lips and pretended to fall into him, as if I were about to kiss him. The risky tactic worked, and in confusion, he frowned, loosening his grip on the blade. I whipped my long knife in a figure-eight pattern and stepped slightly back, releasing the bind.
“Didn’t you?” I asked. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have sold me to the Sun Realm, then.”
He advanced again. “You’re a fool. You’ve never been able to see what’s right in front of your face. Never seen me clearly.”
“You’re right. I’ll always regret that I didn’t see beyond your fake smiles and sweet lies to the conniving demon beneath them.”
Arrow’s eyes darkened, and he relaxed his forearm, pointing his blade toward the ground.
The crowd roared out taunts and gave the Storm King bloodthirsty instructions.
Kill her. Kill the human. Remove her guts and throw us the tender entrails. Show us who you really are .