10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Ariella
B land walls and watchful paintings blur the more distance I gain from the throne room. Isaiah bolted after me as I left, insisting he join, but that intention was shut down instantly. He understands the frustrations that emerge when someone outsmarts me, but to have the king himself do it?
I am positively seething with a feral energy that I do not trust myself to hold in around him.
I have dedicated nearly my entire life to being the best. It’s essential. Who else would seek justice for my father? There is no one else, so it must be me. And for so many years, I had convinced myself that the retribution required for what Thalion did was to take his life, but that would be the simple answer. I want to wrench the soul out of his body, just like mine was torn from me that day.
I could take the heads of queen Seraphina or Vespera, but he does not seem very fond of them. No, it’s the prince I see by Thalion’s side. The one he confides in and guides through all the ridiculous royal politics .
His heir. That is precisely the death that will wound him the most.
And when the prince is dead, I vow to claim the life of every heir he creates thereafter. There will be nothing left of the Blackwood name. The king will fear every moment of his remaining days; continuously peering over his shoulder, aware of my eyes on his every move. Scared to let anyone in, worried that I may decide to visit.
Tracking collars.
These must be commissioned from Lumarna, as I highly doubt the king would seek out the inventors in Auroria. Both cities are famed for their proclivity to push boundaries; wordlessly competing to be at the forefront of integrating magic with the latest technology.
And once I am done with everything I need to do here, I will find whoever made these and force them to regret creating the thing that threatened Isaiah’s life.
The collar shifts as I stalk toward my room, and I reach up to feel it once more. It’s rounded, no edges along any of its length. I do not recognize the material, either…it’s cool like metal, though hard like glass—but it isn’t either of those things. I search for the hinge, or a raised point where it would lock together, but there are none. The smooth surface wraps its entirety, leaving me unsure of how I’d get it off even if I did wish to try .
My steps halt at a corner when panicked breathing reaches my ears, along with periodic whimpering. I listen for a moment, walking into the next hall when there is no scuffling or other struggles to be heard. Ally leans against the wall, pressing a dirty rag to the side of her face as she quietly sobs to herself. My lip curls.
I mean to walk past her, but she notices me as I approach, eyes lighting up. “Oh, Ariella! I am so happy to see you…I don’t know how to fix this.” She removes the rag, and I hum at the deep gash that runs from her cheek down the side of her neck. The blood running over her clavicle into her shirt is a nice contrast to her dark hair and bright eyes.
“Have you ever heard of a healer?”
“Well,” she scoffs, wincing as she presses the rag to her side once more. Disgusting—she’s just asking for an infection. “I just don’t want anyone thinking of me as weak for going to the healer…”
I blink. “Why the fuck would that matter? I’m sure they’d think you weak for dying from a healable injury, but that’s your choice.” I shrug, crossing my arms.
“Okay, fine! Will you take me? I don’t know the way there…” She uses a hand to straighten from the wall, watching me expectantly.
“No.” Do I have kind and helpful written across my forehead ?
A deep groan. “Please? I’m not sure how I’d find anyone else in time!” I nod to my left and begin walking, if only to shut her dramatics up.
“You don’t seem to know much of anything,” I mutter when she catches up, her body swiveling with her feet as she’s still holding her wound.
She giggles, sounding much brighter than she did a moment ago. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I shouldn’t even be here…I think the mentors just sent me so they didn’t lose the best of students.” I say nothing, continuing to lead our way to the guest wing. For some reason only the Angel knows, she takes my silence as an invitation. “I mean, I can barely hold a blade. I trip over everything, and there’s always bruises on my knees because of it. I’m not quick or smart. It almost feels like they wanted to get rid of me—and how lucky they are that this has become a fight to the death competition.”
I sigh deeply. “I cannot imagine why they’d wish to be rid of you.”
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” A laugh slips from me.
“Very aware.” A finger taps against my blade, my skin becoming annoyingly itchy from the drying blood.
“Wait—I thought we were going to the healers?”
“I already told you I wouldn’t take you there,” I retort, quickening my steps. Just another minute before I’m free of her.
“Where are we going, then?” A desperate tone takes over her voice, and I have half a mind to extend her wound until she bleeds out completely. I march up to Isaiah’s room and knock my fist against the door. He answers a moment later, eyes softening when he sees me, only for his brows to furrow as he takes in Ally.
“What are you doing here?” he asks hesitantly—he knows me too well.
“It seems your presence is required, after all. Isaiah, meet Ally. She needs your help to find a healer.” He crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the door frame, eyes narrowing at me.
“And you couldn’t take her?”
“Do I look like a fucking escort?”
He smiles. “Do I?” I settle my hands on my hips and grin at him mockingly.
“Yes, you do.” My best friend barks a laugh, shaking his head. He pushes straight, entering the hallway as his door follows until it's closed.
“Hello…dying here! Could we hurry up?”
Isaiah’s eyes snap to mine, a playfulness settling in them. I give him a pointed look as if to say, “do you see what I’ve been dealing with?” He nods, shrugging agreeably.
“Yep, I got it,” he teases, patting me on the shoulder before gently pushing Ally back down the hall. Something tugs in my chest.
I wait for them to turn out of sight before moving to my door, tugging on my umbral strand—
A familiar frame comes into view. “Shit.” I lower my hand and lean against the wall; I cannot be caught weaving wards…especially not by the likes of the prince.
He and his friend have yet to notice me, so I unsheathe my blade to spin it through my fingers. The light catches on the metal and they both look up at the same time.
The guard that the prince was sparring before the initiation ceremony—and that is all it takes for me to speak.
“What business do you have in this part of the castle, prince?” I push from the wall, blocking their path. If he realizes just how thoroughly he drinks in my body, I’m not sure, but I will not stop his attention. It’ll only work in my favor.
“What business is it of yours to know?” My lips threaten to curve—I don’t let them.
“I seem to remember a certain threat I made the last time I caught you over here,” I purr, spinning my blade faster. The prince’s eyes scrunch closed, seeming as if he’s internally cursing himself. The guard next to him looks in his direction, clearly confused. Interesting.
“When were you over here?” his rough voice demands; they must be close if he can speak in such a manner without repercussions.
“It doesn’t matter, Gavriel,” the prince says swiftly, crossing his arms. “That was the training room…I am allowed to walk these halls, you know.”
I shrug. “Fuck if I care.” My attention shifts to the man I really want to know about, who is currently glaring at me with a raging hatred that could match my own. “Do you stroll through the guest wing with random sentries all the time, or am I witnessing a special occasion?” Gavriel…the name sounds familiar.
“This is my personal guard.” He still refuses to answer my question—why is he here…
My thoughts are stuck on one word. “ Personal guard? As in, he follows you around? Protecting you from…what, exactly? Women of the court?” His cheeks redden, though it’s difficult to discern how much in the dim lighting.
Gavriel speaks before his charge can. “Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth, wraith, or you and I are going to have a problem.”
I grin, feeling energized once more. “I love problems,” I croon, dragging my blade over his crimson jacket. “Especially resolving them…” I think a spark of fear flickers through his dark eyes, though it’s gone so quickly I’m not sure if that’s what I saw.
“Okay, that’s enough of that.” The prince grabs my weapon and drags it to his own chest. What kind of foolish man claims he needs a personal guard, only to point a blade to his own heart? “You can hold this to me if you wish,” he starts, holding up a finger when Gavriel moves to protest. “But only me.” I study his silver eyes. I should want his attention—be thrilled that he’s already giving so much of it to me. So why does it cause my stomach to churn?
I mutter something about how stupid he is before stalking away from them—I no longer wish to wash and sleep, with my nerves prickling wildly. Maybe I should have taken Ally to the healers, after all, and avoided that entire confrontation.