Shadows of the Crown

15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Caspian

H ard armrests press against my palms, their intricate carvings only slightly painful under my tight grip—a small discomfort amidst everything else. The vast throne room stretches for hundreds of feet before me, red tapestries and gold lighting setting the warm tone, broken up by some in the audience who chose to wear something other than the royal colors. Flashes of blue and purple are the most prominent, contrasting oddly to the unending crimson.

The tapestries along the walls flutter, their crinkling noise barely perceptible above the low murmur of the people. The audience is split into two groups—as usual—as they crowd along a blood red rug that paves the walk from the doors to the thrones.

I stretch my neck and chew on my lip, the hushed whispers and occasional clank of hands clapping or guard uniforms shifting grates on every bit of my nerves. Twelve of the competitors stand to the side of my family, all having successfully completed their trials—though I do not care about them. Two of them are still missing, one of whose absence is spinning the fuck out of my stomach .

Where is she?

I'd chosen each location and artifact for this trial, hers having been some noble in the upper district. She should have been one of the first competitors back…I swallow around rising bile.

Murmurs hush as the room's doors slide open, my mind instantly focusing on whoever is entering only to be let down for the thirteenth time. Jeth, that bastard. Grabbing her as if they're familiar—as if he's owed the privilege of even being near her. My veins heat again, and I close my eyes to remember that Ariella can handle herself…and she did. But that doesn't lessen my need to make sure he never thinks about her again.

I smirk at the blood still coloring his hands and shirt. He appears to have changed his pants after she sunk a blade into his cock and—

I bite back a groan. The glimmer in her eyes when she pinned me with a heated look, demanding me to watch—as if I'd ever look away—has forced me into quite an uncomfortable position these last hours. Attempting to hide the bulge in my pants from my father and the rest of the audience, without making it obvious…it has been a struggle.

“It doesn't appear the wraith will be joining us for the remainder of the competition,” the king breathes, his eyes flitting from the large windows to the doors. It's nearly dawn, plans to alter the rules skimming through my mind as I try to think of anything my father will listen to …

The doors burst open, though it is not the guards or another assassin on the other side this time.

Ariella.

My heart skips. She is the embodiment of rage as she stalks toward the throne, her eyes leveled on my father. Blood is the new decor choice in the castle, so it is not until horrified gasps come from every direction that I see it. Them. The gashes running from her left collarbone to her right ribs. Pieces of her fitted suit swing with her confident movements, revealing much more than just the outlines of her breasts.

“Sit down, Caspian,” my father spits, loud enough for only me to hear.

I don’t listen. I can do nothing but stare at the blood that oozes from her wounds. It’s smeared over her face and down her jaw; and as she walks closer, I can spot the difference in the deep crimson and the black trousers she wears.

So much blood. How in the fucking Aether is she alive?

I lower myself on a step when she sees me. Those striking green eyes narrow, and I’m almost certain she’s cursing me and all of my ancestors.

The thought betrays my indifference, and I smile. Just for a moment before her dire wounds snag my attention again. She rolls her eyes, but I see the exhaustion. She’s barely holding herself together, yet insists on facing the king with the level of confidence I would expect from her when she’s healthy. Not dying .

She stops before the throne, father’s guards blocking her path. I nearly trip down the steps to shove the guard away; he does not need to be so close to her. She raises a brow and watches me scrutinize the injuries. The cuts are deep and large…this was not the work of some random person.

“Who did this?” My voice is quiet, but severe.

I shouldn’t care that she’s hurt. That is the nature of these trials: kill or be killed. Win or die. The wounds our healers care for each day speak to the brutal nature of these contestants. Something like this should not be a shock, nor should it squeeze my chest so tightly.

But it does.

The moment I ensure she is safe and offers me a name, Gavriel and I will leave for the city.

“Why don’t you ask your father?” she remarks loudly enough for part of the audience to hear. My brows furrow as I turn to the king and give him a questioning look. He doesn’t acknowledge me, but he also does not appear surprised at Ariella’s pronouncement.

“What is she talking about?” That snags his attention, the rest of my family turning their eyes to me.

“You’d believe the wraith and accuse your own king of such transgressions?”

“I’ve accused you of nothing, father. However, you assigned me to coordinate all three trials. I wrote their riddles myself, and I am certain Ariella’s would not have led to such wounds.” I gesture to her chest, snatching my hand back when the warmth of her body shocks my fingers. She watches me thoughtfully, searching for an answer to whatever preconceived conclusion she held before storming in here like a vision in red.

She holds out an egg-shaped object, and I note the tremor in her arm. My eyes widen as I lean forward. It has the distinct casing of the artifacts we distributed, though I inspected each of them and this egg was not among the rest. It curiously is not the pendant I picked for Ariella’s trial, either.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty , I was sure not to harm the griffin. No laws were broken.”

“Griffin?” I exclaim loudly. My jaw slacks, and she nods imperceptibly at me before a predatory smile cracks the dried blood along her cheek.

She speaks softly, rage threaded through every word. “My sincerest apologies that your plan to kill me did not succeed, Thalion. Thanks for the challenge, though.” Vespera sucks in a breath, a hand slapping over her widened mouth. Ariella’s eyes flit to the pile of artifacts, causing her to press the egg at her side and raise an eyebrow to my father. “This will remain in my possession.”

She turns on her heel and saunters through the massive audience without being dismissed. Even after facing a griffin, she still holds herself as if it were a trivial matter .

The reality of the situation slams into me then. She stood against a fucking griffin and lived…and the egg? She must have gotten it from the griffin’s nest—

She's fucking incredible.

I watch as her form turns the corner, silver flicking through the air is the last I see of her. Why am I so shocked? Of course she survived a griffin encounter—there is nothing that wicked woman cannot do.

Except heal herself.

Does she know where to find the healers? Before I can consider the consequences, I’m running away from my father’s throne. He yells for me to return once, not embarrassing himself with a second command when I do not even acknowledge the first. I’ll likely be punished for this later.

The intrigued whispers of the audience are blurry streaks at the edge of my vision. The men stationed at the doors look to the king as I approach, standing down at the dismissal he most likely gave.

He abhors creating familial drama in the presence of his people. A quality I am currently thankful for.

Flashes of Ariella’s tired eyes, heavy breathing, and trembling arm push me faster. Perhaps it is cruel to hope she fell unconscious so that I may carry her to the healers. I’m certain she’d drive her blade into me for doing so, but the thought only makes me smile.

It would be worth having her fury directed at me .

The fire in her eyes is intoxicating on the worst of days, but when she focuses those burning intentions on me?

“Fuck.” It’s quiet, but I relax slightly at her voice.

I peek around the corner of a dark, unused hallway to where she leans against the wall with her eyes scrunched closed. It may be the lack of light, but her skin appears more pale than it was several minutes ago. She was certainly concealing the dire nature of her wounds, and they are much worse than I had thought. Something claws at my chest, imploring me to rush to her.

“Ariella.” Her name is a whisper on my lips, the taste of it warm and reassuring. She tenses but doesn’t open her eyes.

“Fuck off, prince.” I press fingers to my lips; now is not an appropriate time to tease the wraith. I pause next to her and drink in her presence.

Only one person may win this competition. I need it to be her.

It’s a relief to find the clarity I’ve been warring with.

It is also a comfort that she’s coherent enough to snap at me. “You need to see a healer—”

“No.”

“These are not mere scratches, Ariella. Please let me take you to Elowen; she is our best and—”

“I said no, prince.” Her eyes open this time, pinning me with a glare that dares me to ask again .

I nod, caught in the depths of burning emerald. It’s a strange realization to know I would do anything she asks. These feelings are too intense to think of, so instead I take a different approach.

“How can I aid you, then? Surely you do not want others finding you in the hallway struggling with your wounds?” That captures her attention. Her heavy eyes search mine as she chews on that damn lip.

“If you utter a word of this to anyone, I will kill you.” I smirk at the threat.

“You’ll kill me either way, angel.” She is not impressed with the humor. I level her with as serious a look as I can summon. “You have my word.”

I can practically see the conflict she’s struggling with. I cannot imagine she accepts the help of others very often.

“Fine. I need to get back to my room.” I open my mouth to protest, but her expression forces me to abandon the words.

“Okay, here.” I offer my hand, quietly appreciating the lack of hesitation before her fingers wrap around mine. I bend under her arm to take her weight, pausing when she winces and presses the egg harder into her side.

“I’m fine, just go.”

We’re lucky that no one sees us as we walk to her room. I should call for Elowen…she can heal Ariella in her room if the wraith refuses to go to her. She leans into me more and more as we move, her hand squeezing mine tightly over my shoulder. Her breaths sh orten, and I’m amazed she’s still standing when we’re finally at her door.

She twists a hand and pulls back slightly; the movement shifting something in the door. I fucking knew it…those were wards she unlocked a few days ago. I want to ask how, but keep the questions to myself. She’s barely conscious as we step into her room, and my forehead creases when I survey it. No, not her room, but a room. It’s so impeccably clean that I do not believe she stays here; even the air smells of fresh linens, lacking her usually sultry fragrance.

I set the egg on her bed and lead her to the bathroom, pulling her toward the shower. Warm water should help while I fetch Elowen.

“No, stop,” she commands weakly. I reluctantly allow her to pull from my hold, but hover closely as she leans against the vanity.

Her face is contorted as if she’s in much more pain than she’s willing to show. Blood still seeps from her wounds. She must truly be the Angel, because the amount of blood she has lost and yet lives? Impossible. Her skin is nearly gray, and I shake my head, stepping from the room. I do not fucking care if she doesn’t want a healer. I’ll deal with her wrath when she’s no longer in death’s grip.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” I could act as if I did not hear her near-silent words, but I pause and look over my shoulder. She leans against her hands, smearing blood along the stone. Her head falls back, and it takes everything in me to not bolt from the room.

“You’re dying, Ariella, let me get Elowen!” The hint of a smirk graces her face.

“Shut the fuck up, Caspian. I need to concentrate.” I step back into the room; the warm, metallic scent evidence of her draining life. I will give her one minute before I go for the healer. I shouldn’t even wait that long, but the tinge of worry in her voice is enough to keep me here.

Her arm lifts, and she stumbles. I reach out, my hands far too eager to have her in them again. She rights herself only to begin weaving. Her fingers tug on invisible strands as I watch her carefully. Those movements…she couldn’t be…

“By the Angel,” I breathe when warm light glows from the gashes across her torso. I watch as her skin stitches itself back together and color slowly returns to her face. This is unheard of. To possess essence for all affinities…I feel uneasy. Not from her secrets, but understanding why she keeps them. She would be targeted for her essence. Exploited or killed—because that is the law. Enforced by the king.

My eyes snap to her face, which thankfully looks better with each passing minute. Is that why she hates my father so much? Does he know her secret, and she was right to accuse him of attempting to end her life ?

What the fuck is going on? Clearly, I have been willfully ignorant of the greater happenings within the castle. I will cease with blindly trusting others and pay more attention to the things that occur when I turn around.

Ariella groans. My body reacts, jerking forward to help, but she doesn’t need it. I want to give it to her regardless and will hungrily accept whatever punishment she sees fit for the misbehavior.

I am captivated by the woman in front of me—blood and all. Not even Elowen could have closed her wounds in just one session…but Ariella has healed them to meager scratches. She slumps, her body completely giving out. I rush to catch her, ignoring the heat that spreads from each place our skin touches.

She sighs when her cheek touches the cool tile, and I briefly wonder if I should try to wash some blood from her. But my lip curls and closes that path of thinking. I am not interested in violating unconscious women.

When she awakens is a different matter entirely, however.

I scan her face as if I’ve not yet memorized every piece of it before releasing her and sliding to the wall behind me. It takes just one breath for me to rationalize staying with her. She seems healed enough, though I cannot be sure. If she won’t allow Elowen here, then I must watch over her. I’d also worry about another entering her room, as she didn’t replace her wards—whatever she risks using them for must be important .

I chuckle at how ridiculous this is. I know she will be okay; I also know she will be pissed if she finds me here. When was the last time someone sat with her who didn’t want to use or kill her?

The drying blood on her hands smudges against the tile when she shifts.

A reminder.

Of things I shouldn’t care about, but do. I haven’t fought this curious fascination that keeps tugging me toward the wraith. But…I do not want to. Who she pretends to be, or what she does outside of this castle—none of it matters. I want to know her. Be near her and soak in the confidence she exudes. And if all she’ll ever give me are harsh words and blades to my throat? I want that, too.

I cross my arms and swipe a hand over my mouth, watching the even rise and fall of her breathing. I do not have the nerve to question my father outright, but he must know something. The memory of his cold, azure eyes haunts me. I know that if I fuck up again, he will see it as a threat to the king rather than disobeying my father.

I need to be careful, but this is too important to overlook.

Someone had sent her to a griffin…never mind that she was brilliant enough to be the only person I’ve heard of to survive such an encounter, but what was the purpose? Had someone truly intended to kill her, or perhaps they assumed she just wouldn’t complete the trial ?

I chew on my lip, the corners of my mouth tugging upward. Stubborn woman.

If she were anyone else, she wouldn’t have even attempted to search for the griffin.

But she’s not anyone else. An unusual warmth grows from my chest, and I take a steadying breath.

I’ll begin with Varrick—aside from me, he is the only other person with access to my design space. Where I keep the valuable pieces of the trials hidden until it is time to deploy them. My head throbs, and the exhaustion I’ve ignored catches up to me.

I look once more at Ariella’s sleeping form, deciding she will not be waking any time soon. My head falls back against the wall, filled with thoughts of messy politics. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.