16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Ariella
U nforgiving lights shock my eyes when they flutter open. My hand snaps up to block the sting, and I assess my body.
My chest is sore—though the gashes are nearly healed—and my clothes are stiff from the copious amount of dried blood. I am surprisingly okay, otherwise. My essence feels drained, and memories of the previous night resurface.
Facing a griffin. Challenging the king in front of his court. The prince walking me to my room. Healing my wounds—
The prince. He brought me here against his wishes, as I vaguely recall his insistence that I see a healer. I sit up too quickly, my muscles protesting such movement.
He watched me weave strands I should not have…an affinity I’ve not claimed to possess. I pause to listen for his presence; it’s just me here. He must have taken the first opportunity he had to inform the king.
My nose scrunches from an awful rotting smell, and I look around the bathroom before realizing what it is—me. I pull at my top, grimacing at the way it lifts my skin with it, and bring the material to my face. The smell is positively revolting.
Even my head objects when I stand, forcing me to grab the vanity until the wave of dizziness passes. Food. I need food.
Shower, eat, murder a king—in that order. My stomach rumbles painfully at the thought. Will I make it to the dining hall before the king’s guards descend on me? The prince could not have left too long ago, as I wasn’t attacked in my sleep.
I blindly reach for the brush when my fingers graze a rough texture I don’t recognize. I peek through my eyes and lean to switch the light off before lifting the folded paper. I open it too quickly, dismissing the flutter in my abdomen when the prince’s name for me appears. The only light is from the window in my room, but I’m still able to read the words clearly enough.
I scoff, rubbing a hand over my throat as if it will relieve the dryness inside. “I do not snore.”
Perhaps he’s waiting to tell the king until I’m already surrounded and have no chance of fighting my way out.
My head hurts too much for this.
Peeling the remainder of clothes that melted into my skin feels like a punishment, but I tear them off quickly and toss them to the side. I have never appreciated a hot shower more, and I’d kill to remain here all day, but I hurry through the motions until I’m certain no blood remains. I dress in a comfortably fitted set of shorts and a top.
I still—my reflection in the mirror shows a woman who is tired and lacks the determination that usually resides in her eyes. If I look this worn now, I’m sure I was a vision last night.
I disregard why that seems to bother me.
The urge to find Isaiah suffocates all other thoughts, and I march to my door, only to pause as my hand reaches the gilded handle. The prince said he’s had Gavriel on watch…does the man ever have a moment off? I’d think he was the prince’s shadow if it weren’t for the displeasing attire he’s made to wear.
I straighten and swing the door open, raising a brow at the guard examining something. He shoves it into his pocket before I confirm what it is and pushes off the wall with a foot, crossing his arms.
“Ah, finally the wraith awakens,” he announces with a tone that knowingly exposes his disdain for being forced to guard my door.
“Why are you here?”
A finger taps against my thigh, his eyes catching the movement. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be if the prince didn’t insist. ”
“Well, next time you can tell him I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
He throws his head back as he bellows a laugh. “You think I didn’t? I tried to tell him—even offered to take the pit for a few days. He wouldn’t hear any of it.”
I step through the threshold and saunter in his direction. He shifts, clenching his jaw. A hint of hesitation glimmers in his deep eyes when I still a mere foot away. “The prince must not care for you. He knows my proclivity to slit the throats of those who interfere with my life; and yet…he still sent you here.”
“Save your assassin shit for someone who cares. And while you’re at it, stay away from Caspian. I don’t know what the fuck you’ve done to make him so preoccupied with you, but it stops now.”
I study him for a moment, a genuine smile forming on my lips. “Is that a threat, Gavriel?”
“You’re damn right it is. You will do nothing but hurt him, and I won’t sit back and watch.” That stung.
Sunlight streams down the hall when a door opens, though I’m too focused on unsheathing my blade to hear Isaiah approach.
“What’s going on?” My hand hovers over the cool metal for a heartbeat before I tap against it once more.
“Nothing—Gavriel was just leaving to tell his prince what a good boy he is for following orders.” Something resembling a challenge crosses his face, but I’ve no desire to deal with him any longer. “Go on. I’m sure Caspian hasn’t had his ass kissed all morning in light of your absence.”
“What was that about?” Isaiah questions when the guard stomps out of sight.
I wave my hand, dismissing his concern and gesturing for us to walk. “That’s not important.” I pull out my blade and mindlessly spin it through my fingers. “Someone tried to kill me in that trial.” I don’t mention the king. Yet.
He nods, considering. The other competitors were present when I arrived—they saw just what I was put through. “Fuck, Ari, I didn’t know what to do. The prince chased after you before I could, and with the way the king seethed when he ignored commands? I figured I should keep my head, as the prince probably took you to a healer.”
I halt, blocking a woman’s path. I do not move as she mutters curses about me under her breath. I focus on my friend; he looks tired. Worn. I haven’t been as here for him as I should be…especially considering I will have him crowned victor in this competition.
“I would have beheaded you myself for doing something so mindless. You know not to worry for me, Is. I am more than capable of caring for myself.”
He pins me with a disbelieving expression. “I know, but you shouldn’t always have to. The prince—”
“The prince took me to be healed, that is all.” A half-truth. The small piece that I can offer him, lest I begin sharing my secret with the entire realm. “Isaiah, I—” I, what? The reality of our future remains unspoken, neither of us wanting to discuss what we know happens next. He will not accept my aiding him in the final trial…and that renders the conversation pointless.
I study his dark eyes before sighing. “I’m hungry. Let’s stop at the dining hall.” I’m feeling too weak to be comfortable. He gives me a disappointed smile as we continue.
It’s disturbing the amount of paintings the king has of himself and his family. It seems that Thalion’s greatest admirer is Thalion. The staff must clean these portraits daily, as not a spec of dust resides on their surfaces. I scoff—he takes better care of these than he does his own people.
“How are you doing? Do I even want to know how you managed to escape a griffin attack?”
I laugh and shove his arm. “I didn’t escape. She just stopped advancing and let me walk away.” I don’t miss the several intakes of breath from those listening to our conversation.
“She?” I meet his questioning gaze, wondering the same myself.
Shrugging, I twirl my blade in the other hand. “I didn’t examine under her feathers to confirm. It just seemed like a female.”
“And your wounds? ”
“Barely visible. The healer fell unconscious stitching them together, but they appear as just a bit of red skin now.” Another half-truth.
He questions me about the griffin as we eat, while those around us pretend to not soak up every word. The next trial is not for several days, so we do not rush through the morning. Ally joins us, and I cannot discern why I feel uneasy with how comfortable she is around Isaiah. I suppose that's my fault.
I remain aware, my eyes flitting to every guard we pass on our walk to the training grounds. I’ve yet to be attacked by the king’s men…
“What are we working on today?” Ally questions excitedly, smacking her hands together as we walk down the hill toward the sparring mats. The Angel must love her because I am unsure how she’s lived so long on her own. The woman has zero survival instincts.
“Is and I will go a few rounds, and I want you to watch the more advanced techniques we use. Assess how our movements were built from the basic skills we’ve been teaching you.”
She groans at whatever upsets her this time. I could tell her that I do not plan to train her at all today—I am not in the giving mood.
“It’s cool, Al,” Isaiah starts, sharing a pleading look with me. I roll my eyes as I trudge ahead and listen to him coddle her. He is too good for this realm. “I’ll work with you after and we can go over some more complicated steps.” My nose scrunches at the little squeal she breathes.
“Pathetic,” I mutter to myself.
The sun exits the clouds, my eyes protesting the sudden brightness. The ache in my head had improved after eating, though now it seems my efforts were wasted. I stop at the edge of the mat and face the outer wall as I stretch. My shoulders protest every movement, but I grit my teeth through the pain and force them to succumb.
I am in my head as thoughts of princes, essence, and politics fight for my attention when Isaiah and Ally’s conversation halts. My eyes snap open to a scowling best friend and a smirking Ally, both focused on something behind me.
“What?” I don’t look—I already know what they see. His essence is a beacon that warns me of his approach.
“I thought you said there was nothing going on between you and the prince?” My forehead creases at Isaiah’s shadowed tone.
“I believe I said it wasn’t important, but there isn’t anything going on .”
“Are you sure?” Ally chews on her thumb, struggling to hide a giddy smile. “Because he’s walking over here, and his eyes have not left you once.”
“He’s likely just checking on me. I was quite wounded.” They blink at me. That was a pitiful attempt at redirecting their unvoiced questions…not even I believe my excuses .
I spin when his boots sound against the mat and study him for a moment longer than necessary. He looks so…mundane. Loose, sapphire pants adorn his long legs, while a white top flaunts his broad shoulders.
I cross my arms as I clear my throat. “What do you want?” He doesn’t answer, inspecting every part of my body before he reaches me. A breeze drifts by, carrying the scent of worn books and the kind of lavender I enjoy in my tea.
“How are you feeling?” His concern means nothing.
“Aside from annoyed that your bitter guard was stalking me earlier? Perfectly fine.”
He purses his lips before mimicking my stance. “Bitter, huh? That is exactly what he said about you.”
“It’s my room—I can behave how I please. He was there uninvited.”
“I invited him,” the prince remarks, a challenge in those playful eyes.
“Interesting, because I don’t recall inviting you, either.” Bantering is not something I usually enjoy, but I find it amusing with the prince.
“Would you like to?” I blink once and bite my cheek as if I’m truly considering such an absurd question.
Of course I wouldn’t—I’m forced to see him enough as it is.
Yet…I find myself blurting, “And if I say yes?” He steps close enough that I have to tilt my head to hold his gaze .
“Then allow me to escort you.” He sweeps a hand out, offering. “I’m quite eager for a tour—I was a bit preoccupied last night.”
I throw my head back to laugh, tensing when I lift and meet his wide eyes. I look away, finding the texture of the mat quite interesting. “Not happening, prince. I do not allow anyone into my room. Ever.”
He opens his mouth with what I’m sure is an enlightening retort, but thinks better of it, nodding. “A challenge, then.”
“You wish to challenge me? Have you no memory of the last time we sparred?”
He chuckles, snagging his lip between his teeth. “Oh, I remember.” His smile turns sinister as he clicks his tongue. “I remember how easily you had me on my knees for you. The way your thighs squeezed mine when you pinned me on my back. How warm your—”
“Fine,” I spit out, wanting nothing more than to punch his ridiculous face. “I accept. But I did go easy on you the first time—it will not be the same today.”
“You think you’ll win against me again?”
“I’ve no need to think about it; of course I will win. You, on the other hand, should start praying.”
“Pray,” he lilts. “To whom, exactly? An Angel I’m not even sure exists?”
“No,” I drawl, closing the distance between our tense bodies. I look him in the eye, a wicked smile tugging at my lips. “You’ll be praying to me by the time we’re done here. For a mercy I will never grant.”
His answering chuckle sends a shiver down my spine as he tilts his head to the clouds. He swallows heavily, and I inwardly curse myself at my body’s heated response. “I don’t see the problem, then. We both know I’m more than willing to bow at your feet. I can think of many ways to pray in that position…” He bites his lip, and I watch the movement carefully as he leans in to whisper, “Shall I skip the embarrassment of you winning and get started now?”
I narrow my eyes at the moonlit aura of his; it’s more difficult than it should be to maintain an indifferent facade.
“Choose your blade, prince.” A predatory smile pulls at his lips as his tongue swipes over them.
I walk to the center of the mat and wait with my back to him—foolish to do in any other scenario, but highly entertaining right now as his heavy footfalls stalk toward me. He likely believes he's being quiet, arrogant prick that he is. Though they are more forgiving this time…maybe he listened to my advice, after all. His steps skip just behind me, and I twist to catch the leg he swings at my waist. My blade presses over his femoral artery, Caspian freezing when he realizes my target.
“You wouldn't.” I hum at his words, pressing until my blade jerks slightly from the give of his skin. He winces .
“Would you bet your life on that theory?” His eyes bore into mine, and I will forever be haunted by the way he successfully distracts me enough to curve his leg in and twist our bodies until we stumble. I flip the blade so that the tip presses into my forearm as I fall, grunting as his weight drops on me. Before I can defend myself, he's straddling me as he presses down on my crossed arms.
He leans down until he's close enough that I can map the ridges of his irises, where different shades of silver blend together seamlessly. He glances at my lips before smiling, the heat from the sun nothing compared to the fire burning every place he leans against. “We should really start training together daily. I'm finding it very…beneficial.” My thighs clamp together at the raw desire laced in his every feature, and he smirks, having noticed the slight movement. “It's okay to admit you want me, angel. I won't tell anyone just how badly the Silver Wraith aches for the prince she claims to hate,” he breathes in my ear, the wetness pooling between my legs a traitorous reaction to his words.
“You'd do well to get off me before I make you regret it,” I say quickly, swallowing around the thickness caught in my throat. I need to remove myself from this position before I do something positively foolish like admit the truth of his claim.
“I'd love to see you try—” I slam my head into his nose, swinging my knees up to shove him over my body. By the time I'm standing, a horrified crowd has gathered as he remains on his back, laughing deeply. I step forward and stare down at the bloody mess of his face, my brows scrunching. “Fuck, you're incredible,” he breathes to himself before opening his eyes to realize dozens of people are watching him do…I'm not sure what, exactly.
He pushes himself up, and we continue like that for hours. When it turned from a challenge to me training him and correcting his many mistakes, I'm not sure, but all at once the reality of our situation soaks back into me.
“Why haven’t you told anyone?” His eyes flit to our audience for a moment before he snatches the opportunity my line of questioning has presented. He takes one step in my direction—and another—until the heat of his chest warms my own.
He smirks when I lose my focus in the near touch of our bodies. “And convince my father to take you from me?” He drags his blade lightly over my abdomen, delicately curving it around my breast until the tip presses into the base of my throat. “I don’t think so.” I cannot let him inside my head. I have things to do here, and he is not one of them.
But the longer I’m in his presence, the more illogical my resolve seems.
“He couldn’t take me from you—I’m not yours to steal.” That is precisely what he hoped I would say.
“We can change that,” he whispers, his tongue clicking on the final word as his eyes slide to my lips. Lavender breath kisses my skin, and I realize one of us has leaned in further. “I wouldn’t wish to be deemed a liar, after all. ”
“I’ll pass. I’ve had enough disappointing partners to last the Angel’s lifetime.” His gaze hardens as he purses his lips. I remain still when the blade nicks the skin above my pounding heart.
“Clearly those partners ,” he spits, giving me the sense that he wouldn’t mind knowing their names, “did not understand how to tend to such treasures.”
“And you do?” A flare of wild hunger appears in his intense eyes.
“Why don’t we go find out? I’ll let you decide.” There’s amusement laced in each purposeful word. I smirk and press into the blade.
“I have a better idea,” I purr, delighting in the way he clings to my unspoken proposal.
The prince waits eagerly, barely inclining his head toward me before I drive my knee into his cock and slide the blade from his hand. Breath hisses through his teeth as I step to his side and kick the backs of his knees, sending him to the mat. My hand grips his hair and jerks him back until his wild eyes find mine.
The sharp steel presses under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head until it rests against my lower abdomen. I ignore the thrill that travels down my spine when he laughs and my blade yields to the movement.
“This was quite the effort just to get me on my knees, angel. I believe I told you earlier I would do so willingly.”
I hold his gaze, neither of us daring to be the first that looks away.
“What the fuck is this?” The connection remains a moment longer before my eyes track up, landing on an exasperated looking man.
Curly, dark hair bounces over rich skin as he jogs in my direction. He wears tailored pants with a white, half-buttoned shirt, and a black vest adorned in red and gold jewels.
He halts several feet away, holding his hands up as if to placate me. “Please do not hurt the prince. Name your price—anything you wish for—and it’s yours.”
The blade in my hand bounces. “Anything?”
“Yes!” His dark eyes dart around wildly as he silently questions why no one else is helping the prince. “Whatever you want, just don’t do this.”
A smile tugs at my mouth, and I study the man before me. My left hand strokes Caspian’s lush hair—a warning and a comfort—as I press the blade harder into his skin. “And what if the only thing I wish for is to kill your prince?”
The man’s jaw drops, garbled noises falling from his gaping mouth. “Fuck off, Bastian, she’s fine.”
Bastian. The name doesn’t suit the sputtering mess before me.
“Fine? Caspian, she has a fucking blade to your throat! ”
I drag the tip lightly over his skin, faltering when he shudders. “So observant, Bastian,” I taunt, flattening the blade again. “Shall I demonstrate how to use it?”
His eyes fly over my features, widening when they notice the thing that makes every cowardly man piss his pants.
“You’re the Silver Wraith.” I chuckle, enjoying the way Caspian hisses when I tighten my grip on him.
“Amazing…nothing gets past you, does it?” I crouch, my knees surrounding the prince as I rest my chin on his shoulder. “Who is that?” I speak for only us to hear while glaring at Bastian.
His body relaxes into mine slightly, and I allow him to turn his head enough to look at me. The close proximity I’ve put us in hits me hard.
“That would be my cousin.” I hum, pursing my lips.
“Should I slide the blade across your throat just to see his reaction? He’s quite interesting—it’s pitiful.” I look over when he doesn’t answer, only to find him smiling at me. “What?”
I should be the one making him uncomfortable, not the other way around.
“You are very beautiful.” The words dance from his tongue and settle heavily in my stomach.
His confession means nothing.
So why does it hurt? Why does every memory of someone telling me I’m beautiful resurface, and why does my chest feel like it’s suffocating when I realize there’s only one ?
Two, now.
He watches my reaction, and his brows furrow as his eyes whisper things I cannot accept. He moves to speak, but I release him and stand before my next heartbeat.
“We’re done here,” I state coldly. Sheathing my blade and stalking away amidst the call of my name.