20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Ariella
I t seems the closer I am to my goal, the less tolerance I have for such mundane activities. I do not wish to sit upon the browning grass as I eat and listen to pointless conversation.
And yet, here I am.
Rather than claiming the prince’s—or king’s—life, I’ve been dragged into talk of the upcoming ball. One in which I would never willingly attend—but that’s the thing…I do not have a choice. The collar around my neck ensures my attendance and finest behavior.
Too many times have I considered using the ball as my final stage; delighting in the horrified faces of those in attendance as they watched me slide my blade across their king’s throat. I’ve never enjoyed—or tolerated—an audience during my assignments, but this is different. It’s the very moment I have trained for the last twenty years…the sole objective my life has revolved around, and the reason I am the best killer in this realm.
But I cannot follow-through yet .
My eyes flit to Isaiah as he tosses his head back to laugh at whatever Ally said. She bites her cheek and watches his movements with pure adoration in her gaze.
It’s possible I’ve been too harsh in my judgments of her. My opinions and desires mean little when I know my life has a quickly approaching expiration. He is the only one of us who will live, and if he wishes to spend the remainder of this competition with Ally, it is certainly not my place to tell him otherwise.
Even those thoughts are not enough to assuage the roaring hunger inside me. I want to scream at them—shake them until they grasp that dresses and dance partners are among the most trivial matters to worry over.
They still would not understand, however. I’ve never even whispered my plans for the royal family…losing my grasp on the ultimate goal will only tarnish all that I worked for.
So here I sit—under a sweltering sun as I pretend to care about the upcoming ball.
“Ariella?” I suck in a breath, focusing on the two sets of eyes waiting for my answer to something I didn’t hear.
“What?” My voice is clipped, but I do not feel like dealing with this topic any longer. Or anything else today.
Ally’s eyes flit to Isaiah before she repeats herself. “I was wondering what you plan to wear?” I lift one of the hands I am leaning back on, gesturing to the only clothes I ever wear .
They’re practical—though I’ll admit they are of little use against the heat.
“You wacky woman,” Is mutters, chuckling under his breath. “You cannot expect the king to allow such attire at the ball .”
“You seem to be under the impression that I fucking care what Thalion will allow.” We study each other, a darkness passing through his eyes. I know what his instincts demand him to say—to implore me to just follow the king’s orders, because he’ll kill me otherwise.
Then his rationale approaches, where he once more realizes that we will both not survive this, anyway, so it is pointless for him to argue. He chuffs, rolling his neck back; I salute his dismissal and slice another piece of apple with my blade, sighing when the tangy juices coat my tongue.
“Well, I personally think you should wear a dress…oh!” She waves her hands, lurching upright. “You would look so pretty in one that had silver beads woven into the fabric! Actually, in Meridian there’s a dress shop that is inspired by the Ebelan ocean! Many of the dresses are a deep blue or green, but some are even orange, like the sunsets that reflect off the water. Each dress is made of a silken fabric and stitched in a way that it looks like waves swimming over your skin. And the owner’s specialty is placing small diamonds throughout, so when the wearer moves around, the light catches the jewels in such a way that their body appears just like the sparkling waters beyond the coast! ”
My lips thin as I nod absently. “That all sounds brilliant, though I will not be buying anything of the sort.”
Silence follows, prompting my eyes to find Ally’s. She chews on her thumb, deep creases formed next to her eyes. Fuck’s sake. “What?” I bark, earning a glare from Isaiah.
“It’s just…” she hesitates, mouthing something silently to herself. “Well…don’t you want to look nice for the prince?” Is doubles over in a coughing fit, his eyes sparkling when they meet mine.
His head shakes frantically as he waves a hand at Ally. “I am not helping you with that one.” Another cough before he focuses on his food.
“Why in the Aether would I wish to look like anything for the prince ?”
I glare into her eyes, nearly at the end of my patience when she begins sputtering. “Um—I just thought…you know…I thought you two had something going on?”
“Something going on.” Not a question, though my tone is cruel enough to warrant an answer.
She looks to Isaiah for help, who pointedly ignores her—the rejection is oddly gratifying. “You can’t be serious, Ariella?” she exclaims breathlessly. I raise a brow and remain very still. “I see the way you two look at each other…”
My jaw clenches; either she’s too perceptive, or I am not avoiding him enough. “And how is it you think I look at him? ”
Her mouth forms an ‘o’ before she wets her lips, her throat bobbing. “Well, it’s how he looks at you, really…it’s sweet. His eyes find you the moment you enter a room, and it’s like he can’t blink until you’re out of sight. His focus on you is so intense it makes me blush!” She sighs dramatically. “I wish someone would look at me that way…”
So she is too perceptive, and I’m not avoiding him enough.
That must be what the king has seen—enough to prompt him to threaten me face-to-face. I had wanted Caspian’s attention originally, but I did not plan for his brand of infatuation. It’s fucking with my head.
“What do you guys think the third trial will be?” Ally’s quiet voice interrupts my silent seething. “There’s still more than a dozen of us, so I’m sure they’re planning something big.”
“Hopefully nothing with a damn griffin,” Is mutters, pushing to his feet when I do.
“You’re bleeding.” My eyes slide to Ally at the prince's unwanted voice, who is practically beaming with a not-so-casual “I told you so.” She grabs Isaiah’s arm and violently drags him toward the city, chattering about her need to find a dress immediately. He peers over his shoulder and pins me with a pleading look. I shrug and wave sweetly, chuckling when he slides a finger across his throat before relenting to Ally’s mission.
A force grips my wrist and tugs, my head snapping to the right just as the prince’s mouth wraps around my finger .
The unrelenting confidence this man possesses…
It’s a nauseating struggle to remain impassive as I raise my brows—another twenty years of training could not have prepared me for this moment.
My eyes narrow as he sucks, swirling his tongue around thoroughly. My abdomen clenches when his teeth graze the sensitive skin on my fingertip as he pulls it out. He smiles wickedly at whatever he sees when scorching eyes meet mine. The air shifts as he rises to his full height, examining my finger closely.
My lungs burn—a reminder that I need to breathe.
When he’s satisfied, he drops our hands, both of his still wrapped around mine. “That’s better,” he teases, his smirk one of a prince who has never been told no.
“I don’t recall granting you permission to touch me.” Ignoring how breathless I sound, I attempt to draw my hand back. He doesn’t allow it.
The air between us thins as his feet take one step—he chuckles darkly, pressing our coiled hands into his stomach as he leans forward.
“Trust me, I am painfully aware…because if you had,” he whispers, his eyes trapping me. I couldn’t move if I wanted to—do I want to? “We’d already be in my room. No one would see us for days .”
I swallow thickly around a laugh, allowing my lips to curl slightly though they beg for far more give. “You truly think so highly of yourself.” His thumbs stroke my palm as lavender and something I cannot place settles over me.
“It’s difficult not to when the Ariella Mistaire looks at me the way you do.” The fantasy—whatever this is—shrivels into nothing and exposes the reality I lost focus of. I straighten and snatch my hand back, the prince finally letting go.
“What are you doing here?”
His lips purse, eyes searching mine before he shakes his head. “Ouch,” he mutters, and I have the sense that I wasn’t meant to hear it. “Well, I was hopi—”
“Silver Wraith, how wonderful to see you again!” Bastian saunters over to where the prince and I stand too close. I step back, tilting my head toward the unwelcome visitor.
He wears cream, tailored pants that button around a muddled shirt; it’s as if he lazily tucked a few parts in and donned a navy vest before leaving the castle. His charming smile appears strained as he waits for me to speak.
“Is it?” He nods, clasping his hands behind his back.
“Her name is Ariella,” Caspian grits out, his tongue expertly curving around the final word.
Bastian’s eyes widen as he licks his lips. “Right—my apologies, Ariella. I meant no offense.”
I hum, crossing my arms. “Then what did you mean?” He shifts, clearing his throat. The sun’s light brightens momentarily, highlighting his lingering eyes .
“Actually, I had come here to ask you something.” I blink. “Yes, well…if I may speak with you privately?” His gaze flits to the prince, though his high-pitched tone tells me everything I need to know—Caspian will not like what his cousin wishes to say.
Perfect.
“He stays, or I leave. Ask your question.” The prince smirks, deciding I’ve kept him here for a very different reason.
Bastian smiles politely, bowing his head. “As you wish. I was hoping you’d allow me to accompany you to the ball.”
“What?” the prince and I speak in unison.
I study the sweating man before me, though it takes not one heartbeat before an idea invades my mind.
“Of course she wouldn’t go—”
“Yes,” I interrupt Caspian, his head snapping toward me.
“You can’t be serious?”
I face him fully and narrow my eyes. “You’d accuse me of lying?” He rears back, scoffing loudly.
“Of course not…but you truly wish for this?” His words say one thing, though his eyes maintain a different story—feelings that are not mine to care for.
“I belong to no one, prince. You’d do well to remember that.” I turn on my heel and stalk away from the dramas of men, directing my stride to the castle.
The sun sinks into my exposed skin, succeeding in overheating every part of me. I did not desire to attend this pathetic ball, though I suppose Bastian has given me an opportunity…this is what I needed to effectively push Caspian away.
So why does my stomach hurt?
A finger taps against my blade restlessly, the click of my nail providing something to focus on.
“Damn—now I know how you’ve stayed alive for so long.” I halt at the arrogant voice, willing the Angel to grant me even the semblance of patience, lest I drastically decrease the number of living contestants today.
A calm facade slides over my features as I pivot to Sivara’s smirking face. Thalia looms just behind her, arms crossed as she feigns a kind of superiority she’ll never truly experience.
“I mean, I thought it was curious how much time you and the prince spend together…but now his cousin, too?” she taunts, gesturing to the two men who stand several feet away, watching our interaction closely. From my peripheral, Caspian’s hesitance at intervening begs me to fling my blade at him. “You must know how to use your tongue well, because it’s certainly not your personality that has them falling all over you.” I smile malignantly and draw closer to her, studying her upturned eyes.
“Would you like to find out just how well I use my tongue, Sivara?” The tops of her cheeks redden, and her feet shift as her eyes barely dart to her companion.
“Why the fuck would I want to know that? ”
I shrug. “I just assumed so, considering how often you talk about me. So if that’s not what you want, then why do you care so much about who I’m fucking?”
“Because you’re getting advantages that the rest of us aren’t!” I burst out laughing, unsheathing a blade and pointing it at Caspian and Bastian before I spin it through my fingers.
“Look at them…” She does, her forehead creasing. “Do they truly look as if either of them could provide me with any sensible benefit?”
“We can hear you…” My attention slides to the prince’s cousin as he winces, running a hand through his styled hair uneasily.
“You were meant to,” I state coldly, focusing on Sivara again. “If you wish to bring him to your bed, I won’t stop you. The prince’s cousin is an idiot, but maybe he could be useful for something.” I wink before stalking away.
The king…the ball…Isaiah…the prince…my head throbs.