Chapter 45
Caelan
Caelan watched as the blood drained from Elara’s beautiful face, her eyes wide and glassy.
He followed her gaze once more to the illusions of her family.
Her sister, Thalia, watched from the sidelines as the king and queen swirled around the dance floor—as was Serendithian tradition.
Caelan’s gut clenched. Was this what Elara had seen in her vision?
How horrifying it must have been when she found out they were really gone, he thought, wrapping his arm around her and rubbing her arm to soothe them both.
“Excuse me for a minute,” she said, wiping at her eyes.
“Of course,” Caelan said as Sera rounded the corner and reached out to Elara.
“Come now, let’s get you cleaned up.” Sera offered Elara a handkerchief. “You might have to delay the first dance for a few minutes while we fix her makeup,” Sera said to Caelan.
“Take all the time you need. They can wait,” he said. Caelan scanned the room for Silas. He signaled for him to join them. “Watch over them,” he ordered. With a curt nod, Silas escorted the women out of the tent.
As the dance finished, the king presented the queen to the crowd amidst a roar of applause.
Caelan took a deep breath, steeling himself for one final performance.
He plastered a smile onto his face and tried to focus on how gorgeous Elara looked and the fact that she was his, now and forever.
Even if I don’t deserve her. Tonight, I will make it up to her and set things right.
Together, we will save Serendith from my father.
“I believe the father of the lucky groom would like to make a toast.” Caelan’s voice boomed out over the crowd as he raised his goblet high and nodded to his father across the room.
The crowd tittered with excitement and turned their attention to Lord Stormrider.
He raised a brow at his son, a movement unnoticeable by anyone else, then beamed, raising a glass of his own and diving into a speech.
Caelan heard none of it, anxiously monitoring the entryway for Elara and Sera’s return.
Within a few minutes, Elara and Sera reappeared in the tent, calm and collected. Caelan would never have guessed that she’d been upset if he hadn’t seen her tears himself.
Lord Stormrider concluded his toast as Elara glided onto the dance floor out in front of Caelan. With one hand holding hers and the other behind his back, his fingers itched to wrap around the hilt of his sword. Soon, he thought.
Music swelled over them, the melody sweet and slow and romantic. The crowd murmured and shuffled inward, closing the circle around the couple, eager to watch their first dance.
Elara followed his lead, matching him step for step and twirling gracefully as he nudged her waist or lifted her hand to maneuver her into a turn.
The finale of the dance involved them stepping in a circle, facing each other with hands raised, but not touching.
The tension in the small space between them was electric and more agonizing than when his fingertips brushed her skin.
The blur of the crowd and the flickering lanterns came into sharp focus.
Caelan’s muscles tensed as adrenaline pulsed through his veins.
This dance was just a warm-up. He restrained himself, managing his strength with effort so as not to squeeze Elara too hard when he grasped her waist again.
With one last twirl, he slightly dipped Elara, indulging in one last delicious look at her flushed cheeks and chest before his eyes searched the crowd.
He clocked his father, holding his gaze.
The elder Stormrider clapped along with the rest of the onlookers, bobbing his head once in approval.
Bastard, Caelan thought. The gesture felt like a slap. Now that he had his father’s approval, it was the one thing that he despised the most, and he no longer needed it.
The crowd roared in applause as Caelan lifted Elara out of the dip and kissed her. Her lips were warm and soft, adding fuel to the growing fire in his belly. As they parted, she reached up to his face and dragged her thumb across his lips. It came away red.
“There,” she said, smiling up at him. “It’s time.” Her eyes glistened in the flickering candlelight.
He nodded, then guided her off of the dance floor to face his father. Sera wove her way through the crowd, flanking Lord Stormrider as Caelan and Elara approached.
“You know what to do,” Elara whispered to the little servant girl at her heel. The girl nodded and scampered over to Iris at the edge of the dance floor.
Lord Stormrider held his arms out to his sides.
“Marvelous, my son. And daughter,” he said, taking Elara’s hand.
Caelan resisted the urge to chop his father’s hand off in front of the entire crowd right then and there.
He scanned the room and recognized his men conducting crowd control, nudging guests onto the dance floor, distancing them from the quiet corner Lord Stormrider was now in.
All the staff encircled the dance floor, gilded goblets in hand.
With a nod, Iris dropped a tiny pearl into her cup, the others following suit.
As each pearl hit liquid, columns of Sera’s signature purple smoke billowed to the top of the tent, creating a wall of illusions.
Cheers of delight sounded from within the smokescreen at whatever spectacle she had prepared for them with her potion.
“Indeed, a truly joyous occasion, Father.” Caelan’s skin crawled at the sound of his own voice, dripping with false appreciation.
“Congratulations to you both. Let us raise a glass once more to the future of Serendith.” Lord Stormrider’s glass halted halfway up as he tried to toast them. The sudden stop jolted the liquid within, causing it to slosh onto the ground. His eyes widened, then turned white—unseeing.
Sera walked forward and placed a hand on Lord Stormrider’s shoulder, making his body go limp but still stay upright. The glass tumbled to the ground, landing with a thud against the carpet. “I can’t hold him like this for long,” Sera said, teeth gritted.
Caelan nodded, heart hammering. “Let’s move.”
As soon as Caelan tugged at his father’s sleeve, a glint of gold encircling the man’s finger caught his attention, and painful cold wrapped around Caelan’s wrist. Ice rose from the ground, encasing his wrist and immobilizing him.
No. Panic clouded his vision and stole his already-shallow breath. “Elara, run!”
A dark chuckle sounded, echoing in Caelan’s mind. Lord Stormrider’s eyes shifted back to normal—the same golden brown as Caelan’s. A crooked grin spread across his face as he shoved Sera to the ground and stalked over to her.
“Did you really think you could best me with your illusions, child?” he asked her.
“I practically raised you. I taught you everything you know. You didn’t think I’d have a fail-safe for this?
” He leaned over Sera and tugged at her glowing amulet.
A knife appeared in his hand from beneath his cobalt cape.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but I can’t let your betrayal go unpunished. ”
Sera’s eyes widened as Lord Stormrider held the tip of the dagger to her chest. Caelan lunged toward them, clawing at the ice holding him in place.
He summoned a blast of water and aimed it at his father.
But it was useless. The elder Stormrider blocked the blow as if he were brushing away an annoying insect.
“Please! Stop!” Caelan cried, trying now to coax the ice back into its liquid form to no avail.
Sera was his oldest friend—they’d survived so much together at the hands of his father.
Hot tears rolled onto Caelan’s cheeks. His throat tightened, and fear like nothing he’d ever known swallowed him whole.
He should have said his goodbyes to Sera, to Elara.
They were all going to die at his father’s hand, because of his failure.
This was what his life amounted to—his last moments, his final breaths—losing all the women he’d ever loved.
Fury, pure and fiery, coursed through Caelan’s veins. Elara had looked upon their situation with hope—that they would survive this and rule together. He looked at his father with nothing but hatred. And he knew in his heart which one of them was stronger.
Lord Stormrider pressed the tip of the knife into Sera’s chest, drawing blood.
“You must really think me a fool, child,” he murmured, shaking his head.
In a flash, he threw the knife. The world around Caelan slowed to a halt as he watched helplessly.
He tried to stop the blade with another blast of water, but he was too late.
The blade shimmered, flying end over end until it embedded itself in its target.
His father’s knife was nearly hilt-deep in Elara’s stomach.