32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ariella
M aybe killing the king and forgetting about my father’s search is the better option—at least, it truly feels like that at the moment.
“After the harrowing losses of seventeen other competitors, I am pleased to announce Valoria’s very own Silver Wraith as the victor!” The king’s booming voice bleeds through my ears as I stand in front of his throne. His crimson, floor-length jacket sways with the dramatic movements of his arms as he speaks to the crowded audience behind me. “Today we celebrate Ariella Mistaire’s skill, adaptability, and cunning. She has proven herself worthy of the title and will be awarded fifty gold coins!”
The audience cheers as raging heat floods my veins. I want to scream and unleash the monster he created all those years ago. Isaiah’s life was worth a mere fifty gold coins? It would be so easy to kill him—and to lose my chance at the answers my father spent the last part of his life searching for.
The impression of Caspian’s pleading gaze prickles along my skin, as if he knows what I’m thinking. Feeling. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth as a finger taps against my blade .
I have waited twenty years to take what Thalion owes me. I can wait a little longer.
I need a distraction. One good enough to keep the part of me that wants to explode subdued. My eyes flick to the queen and her daughter, who both sit straight and still in their seats.
Vespera wears a deep red gown, fitted with golden lace around the bodice. Her light hair is braided down her back, hanging stiffly over a shoulder. Her blue irises scan the audience over and over, though she doesn’t seem to be looking at them, but above them.
My attention drags to Seraphina when she moves a hand; I watch as her fingers drag lightly over her silky, golden dress; their movement is nearly imperceptible, though understandable. I would hate being tied to that bastard of a king as well. She must feel my stare as her severe gaze slides to mine, her hand halting its writhing. I raise a brow at her scrutiny, a hint of a smile on my lips when hers curl. She shakes her head, tossing her hair back over a shoulder as she tucks a lighter piece behind her ear and focuses ahead once more.
“Ariella,” Thalion basically shouts, walking down the stairs to stand directly in front of me. His arrogance must be shining through his eyes as they look irritatingly brighter when he reaches to touch my collar, the wretched material snapping apart before falling into his hands. “Congratulations—do tell us what you hope to do with this new freedom!” A slight breeze of essence touches my lips as the staff member off to the side weaves to amplify my voice along with the king’s.
“Actually, father, Ariella will be staying here in the castle!” Caspian yells, nodding to the sweating man to weave his words out through the crowd. The king’s eyes narrow on me, hand twitching as if he means to strangle me right here.
I smile, speaking low enough that only he can hear. “I warned you, Thalion. Your son is mine .” He stiffens, about to reach for me when Caspian’s hand comes down on his shoulder.
“It is my great honor to proclaim that Ariella has formally agreed to join the royal sentries as my personal guard. Her skills are…exceptional, and I was pleased with her acceptance of my offer. Please join me in congratulating our victor!” He bows his head to me, stepping forward to fuss with my shirt. I watch as he places a pin of the royal crest over my breast, the sound of my heavy breathing drowned by the audience.
“Let’s go,” the prince whispers, nodding to a side door. I begin to follow, only making it a few steps when a heavy amount of essence washes over me. I pause, peering over my shoulder at the king. His expression is amused, though he hasn’t moved from his place on the floor.
What was that?
I survey the area, pushing out the suffocating noise of everyone else in this damned room. Blinking away a bout of dizziness, I look between Thalion and Seraphina, both of whom watch me with calculating eyes. A finger taps against my thigh. Whatever the fuck that was, I’ll find out—the king sees the truth of that in my gaze, spinning to dismiss me.
I hurry from the throne room, sucking in a deep breath; the musty heat of a thousand people cramped in once space will never be appealing. In fact, I may insist the prince no longer attend events so that I am not forced to suffer through such pathetic things.
Familiar hands cup my face before Caspian’s lips slam down on mine. I immediately arch into him—an embarrassment for how easily I succumb to my desires.
I pull away, missing the sweet taste of his tongue. “Are you not worried about someone finding us?”
He bites his cheek as his fingers slide to massage the back of my head. “I do not fucking care who sees—in fact, I have half a mind to drag you back in there so the entire kingdom can watch just how good I’m about to make you feel.” He leans to kiss me, stopped by a single finger as I press his lips until he backs away.
“As much as I’m intrigued by the idea of making your father hate me even more, you are not to touch me in public.” His jaw drops, somehow offended by the idea.
“Yeah, keep that shit to yourselves. It’s bad enough she has to be around at all—” Gavriel screeches like a child when my blade sinks into the wall he leans on. He heaves, likely thankful that the blade didn’t sink into his cock, but just below it. “You missed, wraith.”
I smile wickedly. “Hm, I don’t believe I did.” His forehead scrunches as he looks down, yanking the blade from the wall, only to expose the gaping hole I created in his pants. He tosses it and cups every small bit of manhood that drops through the opening, cutting his gaze to me. “You were saying?” I chuckle, ignoring the curses he shouts my way as I push a still gaping prince toward our rooms. Which are now across from each other—whether that’s convenient or annoying, I’ve yet to decide.
“You know, one of these days he’s going to retaliate,” Caspian mutters as we navigate dimly lit hallways. I tug on my umbral strand and undo the wards at my door, pushing it open. I don’t look back as I enter the large space—far more than I’ll ever need—and frown.
“I’m counting on it,” I say, knowing the prince followed me in here.
I rest my hands on my hips and sigh. Everything in here is far too opulent for my taste…I suppose I normally do not have a taste, but the excessive amounts of red and gold are sickening. If I wanted crimson bedding, I’d have a little fun with my blade as I rode the prince.
The bed frame, desk, all the knobs and hinges—gold. Shiny, revolting gold. Every fabric is coated in the deep, royal red that I cannot seem to escape from. It’s as if the king himself vomited on every surface in here.
I will change every bit of it.
Caspian drops the pouch of gold coins on the desk and saunters to me, blocking my view from everything except the expanse of his chest. I look up at him, ignoring the rippling over my skin when I find him smiling warmly at me. He snatches my hands, and I allow him to pull me forward until his legs touch the bed.
He drops ungracefully, sliding the tips of his fingers over my abdomen, tracing the curve of my waist. His tongue wets those curved lips when my abdomen clenches under his touch. “So sensitive,” he breathes so low I doubt he meant for me to hear.
“If you invited yourself in here thinking I’m going to fuck you, I’m afraid you still think too highly of yourself.”
A shrug. “How could I not when you look at me the way you do?” He peers up at me, a clear challenge in his gaze.
“Like I wish to slit your throat? Because that’s how I feel when I see you.” He hums, yanking my thighs so I’m forced to straddle him.
I leave my arms at my sides, biting my cheek as he leans to press a whisper of a kiss to my throat. “Exactly like that.” Instinct pleads for me to retreat—that his words, this position, they’re far too intimate.
I don’t want to feel the sinking in my gut whenever he’s near, nor do I wish for my skin to pebble when he touches me. The warmth that’s always present inside my face when he’s in the same room, because there isn’t one moment that I do not feel his eyes on me. I don’t want to desire him and his ridiculous fucking words…and yet I’m addicted. To all of it.
I grasp his hair and tug his head back, running my tongue along his lips—he opens for me immediately. I groan and devour his taste, basking in the hint of lavender that clings to his skin. I grind into his hard length, desperately searching for any sort of friction.
I lose all will when he moans into my mouth, pushing him back to the bed. The hand that catches me lands on a cool, supple object; I blindly toss it away, arching my neck to give Caspian more access. My eyes flit open and land on what I had thrown—my father’s journal.
But there’s something sticking out from the back…
“Hold on,” I murmur, stretching over the prince’s head to pinch the jutting paper between two fingers. I sit back, noting his questioning look before twisting the paper, breathing out every spec of air when I find the words To Ariella written on one side.
“What is it?” Caspian sits up on his elbows, his voice laced with concern.
After so many years, I still recognize the handwriting. I unfold the paper as I attempt to hide the shaking in my fingers—the effort useless when the inside confirms my fear.
“It’s a letter,” I breathe, searching Caspian’s curious eyes. “From my mother.”