22. First Hint of Wrong
22
FIRST HINT OF WRONG
T he cool night air kissed Luella’s face, and she tilted her head up to allow it to caress her cheekbones.
The marble floor gave way to stone as she exited the throneroom, revealing a beautiful, private garden. A hedge maze of tall, green shrubbery stood proudly at the far end of the garden, the entrance dark and foreboding in the night. Two small apple orchards were on either side of the maze, low-hanging, red fruit and leaves offering serene canopies. Stone benches lined the walls of the palace, with lush, green grass underfoot, broken up by little pathways of cobblestone.
She had the sudden urge to remove her slippers to feel the brush of the grass under her feet, the cool earth between her toes.
Luella sank down on one of the benches, golden hair a thick curtain over one shoulder as she bent, lifting a foot to remove her slippers. Silk slipped over her skin and pooled against the earth as she untied the delicate laces and kicked off the slippers. Her bare toes sank into the grass, and she leaned her head back against the wall and sighed. With the way she was sitting, she could see partly into the throne room, but no one could see her in the shadows—just the way she liked it.
Solitude enveloped her, the faint chattering from court carrying out from the opened doors leading to the gardens, but she paid it no mind, forcing the laughter and clinking of glasses away as her eyes slipped shut, and she breathed in a lungful of air for what felt like the first time all night.
"May I have a taste." Words hissed into the quiet around her.
Her eyes popped open. The gardens were shrouded in darkness, the light of the moon covered by wispy clouds and only the faintest rays of glowing candlelight seeping out from inside. As she searched the grounds, her fists clenched the stone of the bench. The weight of the chain in her grasp was grounding, and she focused on how the links cut into her palm from her death-like grip.
Hidden in the shifting shadows stood a large figure.
Fear made her chest seize. She was alone out here.
A male leaned against one of the apple trees closest to her, holding a ripe fruit in his palm and throwing it in the air before catching it deftly. The sound of the apple hitting his palm made her jolt, and teeth gleamed as the stranger grinned at her evident fear. He stepped out of the shadows, and the clouds that had covered the moon moved as if doing so just for her.
Features were revealed by the purest white from above as the moon and scattering of glowing stars worked to cast their light down on the gardens below, hitting her skin and turning it into a milky pale shade, making the sparkles on her skin shimmer as it caught the light.
An alluring, otherworldy thing, ripe for the taking and near-screaming with bewitching temptations and moonlit promises.
A serpent shifter with inky black hair and dark—almost black—green eyes. The male had a short beard along his jaw. Something about him felt slimy and vile. Corrupted.
Unnatural, the shadows in his eyes stood out from the pure glow around them.
Luella shifted her head, peering inside the throne room, desperate as she searched for anyone who might be paying attention. But no one looked her way. She had loved being hidden in the shadows of the night, but now, it would be to her detriment.
The male prowled, hungry eyes resting solely on her.
She jerked to her feet, not wanting to stay seated and vulnerable. A hand pressed against the rough stone behind her, fingers curling into ivy crawling up the walls; the end of her chain was fisted tightly in her hand, the links biting into her skin so hard she wondered if it would cut through her flesh.
"Get away," she warned.
A laugh. "Not so tough without the King parading you about, heirus."
The male circled Luella, herding her like sheep toward the misty beginnings of the hedge maze. She knew she wouldn’t have a chance if he forced her into the dark, isolated space.
She opened her mouth to yell for help, but he lunged, a hand pressing roughly against her lower face to stop her from speaking.
"I wouldn’t do that if I were you," he hissed. His breath smelled like fruity wine and cloying smoke.
He leaned forward, hands tangling in the ends of her golden curls and bringing her hair up to his face, inhaling her scent. The grassy color of his eyes was overcome by a thick blanket of shadows before flickering back to a mottled combination of black-hued green.
So, so unnatural. She shivered. But there was no time to wonder why, with the male’s fingers digging into her hair and pulling her toward him with punishing force. She jerked away from him, and tangles of her hair caught in his fingers, making her scalp ache. A yelp bubbled over her lips, but the pained noise was stifled by the palm against her face.
The male gripped her upper arm, pulling her into his body. Tears burned behind her lids, and her whole body shook. She squirmed in his hold, but it didn’t get her very far. It only worked to incite his ire further, causing the hands on her body to curl and press against her, indenting her flesh and leaving reminders of this moment in the shape of purple bruises.
The whole garden stank of sour, rotten apples. A scent that would be forever etched into her memory.
"All alone out here, pretty, pretty Princess… Whoring yourself out to the King and his inner circle. Do you think they’d mind if I had a taste?" He licked up her neck, and Luella cringed at the slimy wetness on her skin.
She felt faint from fear.
His palm pressed harder on her lower face, the hand that gripped her arm snaking up to her chest.
Luella mumbled around the hand silencing her, feeling tears well up—she was truly and utterly trapped.
The hand against her face shifted, thick fingers slipping between her lips and pressing against her teeth. The opportunity presented itself with startling ease, and before she could think of the ramifications, she bit down. Hard.
"Fuck!" The male nearly bellowed, snapping his hand back and clutching it to his chest. Shadowed eyes narrowed into slits as blood welled up on the deep teeth marks she had made on his fingers, trails of red trickling down to his palm.
Thank the gods she had bit down hard enough.
She didn’t have long to revel in her small victory. As quick as the raspy breath that filled her lungs, a sharp hand hit the side of her face, making her head whip to the side from the force of the blow, her cheek and jaw stinging, mouth bursting with the tang of iron.
A shaking hand lifted to press delicately against her lower lip. It came away wet with blood.
He had broken her skin.
Luella stumbled back, cowering away from his raised hand, poised to strike again.
"P-please," she whispered, tongue thick as she spoke around the pulsing pain in her jaw and cheek.
Mouth cut into a vicious scowl, his hand swept forward in the air, readying for a second blow against her already bruised skin.
A sharp growl cut through the still shadows of the gardens.
"Get your fucking hands off of her." That voice that was so familiar to her—which once sparked fear, but now all she could feel was relief at the sound.
Her shoulders sagged, and the hands that were on her body began to shake.
The Prima, the one who had first captured her with a dagger to her throat, was now poised to attack one who wished to do her harm, all with the same glinting and wickedly sharp blade. She never thought she would be relieved to see it again. Could still feel the cool brush of the steel against her neck as the mage had loomed over her. But now the tip of that blade was poised to defend her…
"Tharen—" Luella whispered, but her plea for help cut off as the male holding her suddenly turned and forced her in front of him, using her as a shield.
"Stay back," the male warned, fingers digging into Luella’s neck so tightly that she knew even more bruises would be left from his touch.
She was a map of bruises and scars, lines and cuts. Haunting leftovers to remind her of all she had been forced to endure.
Tharen laughed, the noise so unhinged and purely insane even she felt scared by what the mage was capable of. He took a step closer from the shadowed corners he had emerged from near the hedge maze, dagger held loosely in his grip like he didn’t have any qualms about who would be walking away from this fight—but his posture portrayed anything but a lack of care, tight as a bowstring, shoulders tense, and muscles rippling.
"You must not be attached to those hands, Treye," Tharen remarked.
The male, Treye, tugged Luella back further. Her toes nearly dangled off the ground as he pulled her body up, cowering behind her.
"A-ah," she hiccuped, hands scrambling against the forearm latched around her neck to stop him from cutting off her airflow.
Rotten with fear, sour apples curdling in the air and turning to worm-infested, bruised flesh.
"You cannot fault me for wanting a taste, Prima. She smells divine. Strawberries and fresh cream and roses. Everything succulent and sweet. Innocent. The King has had a taste. You have had a taste… The rest of the circle, too, I’m sure. One more wouldn’t hurt." His tongue prodded at her neck, a sharp nip of teeth against her fluttering pulse. "You know he will have her eventually." Treye ran his nose along her shoulder, fingers cutting into her windpipe and forcing her head to tilt back, her face trained up at the sky.
The light of the moon seemed dimmer. As if it was mourning for her.
Luella gagged. Mind reeling. She didn’t understand what Treye was saying. The he that he spoke of…?
Fear clouded her thoughts and made her limbs heavy with a constant buzz of adrenaline, draining with every passing moment and leaving her cold and shivering.
"If it’s a taste you’re wanting, that can be arranged, Treye. Just let her go, and I’ll inform King Vale that she will be sent to your estate later." As if testing the sharpness of the blade, Tharen dug the point of his dagger into his finger as he spoke.
From the male’s strange words, one thing was made clear to her. His insinuations that she had been… intimate with King Vale and his court. And that Tharen would easily send her off to be at the whims of her attacker.
She tried to speak, but the hand on her throat robbed her of her voice, her neck straining as she tried to get away from her assailant’s touch. At this point, she would gladly run into Tharen’s arms.
Treye’s hold on her loosened, and she stood on her tiptoes, digging her elbow into his stomach to try and put some space between them.
A sharp cry expelled into the night air. The hands on her body left her, and without the support, she crumpled, plush grass cushioning her knees. Luella scrambled back, dress dirtying where it dragged on the ground. She huddled near the stone bench, hiding half of her body behind it and watching the scene that unfolded before her, something straight from a nightmare.
It was horrible.
Treye clutched a hand to his chest. The ends of his fingers were blackened to a charred crisp. Tharen stood proudly, not even touching Treye. Flames sparked in the mage’s palm, tanned and scarred hands waving in front of him as his flames suddenly went out with a cool rush of air.
The ground below her rumbled, the roots of the apple trees nearby shooting from the ground and trailing like vines to wrap around Treye’s ankles, keeping him in place. The brown roots crawled up his body, winding around his legs and torso. He yelled out as they squeezed, blood dribbling down cuts made from thorns that sprouted along the gnarled roots.
"Fucking gods," Treye garbled. He clawed at the roots, but it was no use.
Teeth gleamed, sharp face twisted up with viciousness as Tharen tightened his fist, and the roots stopped all motion, freezing at the male’s upper chest and keeping him trapped.
The Prima walked forward, kicking at the bottom of Treye’s booted foot where it was held in place by the roots.
"I believe the King would wish to mete out your punishment. As much as I would like to have the killing blow…" Tharen trailed off, icy eyes flicking to where Luella was cowering next to the bench. At whatever he saw in her expression, he grew even more furious. "But I won’t be held responsible for whatever state he finds you in." Tharen closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were a shining, bright blue—so bright and unnatural, it made Luella’s eyes water. She had to look away from him.
Treye screamed, back arching and body quaking as he tried to flee from whatever invisible blows Tharen dealt. It must have been magic of the Spirit or Body. An attack on the corporeal form of Spirit, most likely, from how the mage’s eyes were an otherwordly blue. The light of his spirit flooded through Tharen’s pupils, as red blood flowed from Treye’s nostrils and ears. Blood welled and trickled from the male’s shadowed eyes like scarlet tears.
"Make no mistake," Tharen seethed, looming over Treye’s broken, trapped form like a harbinger of death. " He will never have her."
The mage’s words fell on Luella’s unhearing ears, and she cringed from the grotesque sight, huddling deeper behind the bench, thighs scraping against the roughness of the stone. She wrapped her arms around her knees, trembling. She wished it would all be over. Her throat ached. She felt like she was in a dream. Body floating and mind hazed with waves of terror and the feel of hands on her.
She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Not just of the utter brutality and savagery she had been forced to bear witness to, but of the constant assaults and attempts to take what she would not ever offer. Threat-laced words hurled like sharpened daggers against her skin, and hands grabbing and taking and pulling … A choked sob escaped from her pale lips.
The pained screams and the blood—it was ghastly. Every part of it.
But then, it all stopped.
Treye went silent. She saw his eyes were closed, head lolling to the side; blood streaked down his cheeks and caked his neck. Iron and sour apples assaulted her senses.
Tharen walked toward the bench, taking a knee as he crouched before her. After what he had just done, the mage was surprisingly gentle with her, not coming too close and holding his palms before him in a placating manner.
"Luella." The sound of her name on his lips was her undoing.
Tears spilled over her waterline and trickled down her cheeks, vision growing cloudy with the salty dampness. "Is h-he… gone?" Luella choked out. She could not bring herself to ask if Treye was dead.
"He will not touch you anymore," Tharen said. The mage looked perturbed. The lack of lunacy that usually darkened his face was gone—it was a strange look for him. "How did you get out here alone?"
"K-King Vale let m-me go." She couldn’t stop stuttering. Her whole body shook.
"Godsdamn it all to the Below," Tharen spat and stood, strong knees forcing his body up. He loomed over her, but instead of feeling scared, she merely felt protected. A part of her hated it. Hated how she had been conditioned to feel for her captors. Slotting his dagger back into the sheath, the mage ran a hand through his white braids, ruffling a few of the woven strands. "He never should have..."
A flurry of movement made Luella hunch back further into the safety of the bench; her spine pressed into the unforgiving stone, and she relished in the grounding feeling of it—anything to break up the waves of fear that threatened to drown her.
Bastian tore into the gardens, stumbling out of the throne room and into the thick night.
"Tharen, I can’t find—" His words cut off when his eyes fell on her, right where she was curled up on the ground. A breath blew out from sensually plump lips. She could see the fear that had gripped him leave with the soft woosh, tense shoulders slumping. A strand of silky black hair fell over his forehead, and a pale hand shoved it back. "Luella," Bastian exhaled.
She was far too addled to note how he had used her name and not the term he seemed to find much enjoyment in using— pet .
The vampire drew closer, taking in the male with blood on his face, held captive by the tree roots; Tharen’s set jaw and clenched fists; and Luella huddled in the shadows, trembling with tears drying on her pale cheeks.
"Fuck," Bastian cursed. "What happened?"
"You know what," Tharen seethed. An accusing finger pointed at her as he spoke. "She never should have been allowed to go off by herself."
"Blame Vale. Not me." Bastian didn’t use a title as he said the King’s name. The familiarity of the term was a distant, fleeting thought ricocheting off the jumbled mass of fear clouding her mind. He came closer, kneeling on the ground just as Tharen had. "Luella," he coaxed. She looked up, lip quivering as she met his reddened eyes. His voice was far too soft, but his expression was anything but. He looked furious. More so than she had ever seen. It made the soft planes of his inviting features cold and detached. "Come out, pet. You’re safe now."
A hand stretched out toward her.
Scooting forward, she placed her fingers in the vampire’s cold palm. His hand enveloped hers, and the difference in size did something to ease the panic welling within her. It made her feel protected and small.
Safe.
She ignored the implications of that. Ignored how everything in her called to him. That vacuous pit of her soul singing with feeling. Little pieces she thought would be forever broken, melding back together.
The healing of her soul was so infinitesimal she wondered if it was imagined.
Wondered if it even mattered.
With how many horrors she had been forced to withstand, could the pieces even be put back together the way they were meant to? Or would the edges forever be corroded, misshapen lines forced into place?
Luella felt as though she was teetering on the edge of some grand revelation, strung up by her wrists, threads of fate cutting bloody lines into her skin.
Too broken to fix… Too tainted to mend. Ruination had become her.
Bastian pulled her to her feet, cradling her against him as she leaned her weight on him. Her legs were wobbly. He passed a firm hand down her hair, undoing some of the curls that had been pinned in place.
"Call the others," Tharen ordered Bastian.
The vampire merely nodded in reply, one hand steadying Luella as his other pressed to his temple as if he were in deep thought.
Mind magic.
So quickly that it made her even more dizzy, Graves appeared, landing light on his feet.
Dazed, she glanced up. She had almost missed it in the darkness of night, but a small alcove above the double doors leading to the gardens jutted out from one of the many rooms of the castle. Graves didn’t even stumble as he fell, landing perfectly on his feet, not a wrinkle in his clothes or a sound to announce his presence. His hood stayed perfectly fixed upon his head, concealing him from view and shrouding him in secrets and shadow. A few black, silky feathers floated around him, fluttering in whispers of the cool wind before they rested on the grass.
Keen, deep blue eyes took in the male stuck in the roots before sharply landing on Luella. Still as a predator, the raven shifter did not speak. A rustle of fabric as his head cocked to the side, gloved hands flexing.
A shaky breath tore through Luella’s lungs, and though she could not see his face, she knew he caught the noise, knew it pleased him to hear her rattled.
The King was last. Sweeping into the gardens with heavy footsteps, there was a sway to his gait, a little stumble, so slight she barely noticed it—from the wine or many drug-imbued cigars he indulged in, no doubt.
"What is the meaning of this?" Sprinkles of glitter were still on King Vale’s cheekbones, and in the darkness of the gardens, it shimmered like enchanting sunbeams.
"Your little war prize was almost taken. It would do you well to keep your trophies locked away." Tharen kicked at the gnarled tree roots around Treye as he spoke, the veins in his neck pulsing with barely controlled anger. But his voice was calm. Too calm and detached. Deranged deadliness. Some feral entity masquerading as a male.
A harsh shiver wracked through her, but not from the cold.
King Vale staggered back as he finally saw Treye, head whipping toward her. Ordinarily, she would feel flustered to be the center of such attention, but she could only feel the sharp bite of shock rushing through her chilled veins. Green eyes roved over her, taking in her red-rimmed eyes and still quivering bottom lip. His head hung low, and suddenly, his golden crown looked like it was weighing him down with the weight of the entire universe. At that moment, he didn’t look like the King but a shell of a male.
"You made a mistake, Vale," Bastian growled, pulling Luella closer to him. "You let her go. Too ruled by your stubborn dragon pride, and look what happens. It’s always the same with you."
Like he was donning an iron-willed persona, the King’s head snapped up, shoulders rolling back, as he sobered up in an instant.
" You misstep." King Vale walked closer to where Luella was curled into the vampire, a warm hand landing heavily on her trembling shoulder. He was slightly taller than Bastian, and with how close they were standing, it was evident. The King used their difference in height to his advantage, holding his chin up high with feral regality as he looked down his nose at the Advisor. "Do not speak against me, Bastian. Remember your place. I was… No matter." He paused as if to collect himself, and she almost missed the strange flicker of regret that flashed over his features. "It will not happen again. But do not ever question me or my decisions."
King Vale forcibly removed Bastian’s hold from around Luella’s shoulders, pulling her snug under the crook of his arm. She tried not to flinch back while another part of her sang at the warmth radiating from him. The scent of crackling, burning wood and crisp cedar enveloped her. She breathed in deep, a tiny part of her missing Bastian’s cool embrace.
The King took the end of the chain from where she was clutching it to her chest. She had almost forgotten about it—but not quite. Not with the constant weight of it around her wrist.
"Oh," she mumbled, still dazed. It was like a fog had settled over her. Even her hands felt cold and numb.
Graves, who had been silent the whole time, spoke. The gruff sound of his voice startled her. "It was my fault as well." He kicked off from where he had been leaning against the side of the stone wall, expression grim. "She was in my care, and I let her out of my sight."
From where she was pressed close to him, she felt King Vale let out a heavy sigh, the silk of his shirt rubbing up against her bare, chill-pebbled arms. "Do better next time. As will I," he said, weary. "This will not happen again." It took her a moment to realize the King was speaking to her.
"Why should I believe you? Isn’t this what you want? Me, broken and suffering." Luella whispered into the night, words as fractured as she felt.
She wondered why they weren’t angry with her. After all, it was she who had left King Vale.
With a white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his dagger, Tharen spat out, "I only enjoy your suffering when I’m the one causing it."
Lingering vestiges of fear escaped her, and she was left bereft and unmoored in the wake of it. She felt parched, mouth too dry and limbs heavy with lethargy. Shock pressed upon her like storm clouds, rippling with thunder and streaked with bolts of lightning.
She just wanted to sleep.
"We’re trying to keep you safe." Bastian gestured to the golden links of the chain, the end held loosely in the King’s grip. "The chain was for your protection, pet. Not so we could lead you around like a—well, a pet."
Her cheek rubbed against the King’s chest. Not a nod, but it must have been as close to acquiescence as they desired, for the attention was turned away from her. She melted as the weight of their stares left her.
"What of him?" Graves jerked his head to Treye, who had fallen into pained unconsciousness, held firmly in a cage made with the magic of Terra.
King Vale passed her off to Bastian, who took her almost too eagerly if the King’s warning look was anything to go by. "Take her to her rooms. Use the hidden halls. Don’t let anyone see her." Cold fingers gripped her upper arms, and she barely registered his commands to the others. "Let’s go show the masses what the consequences of disobedience are. They could do with a spectacle. Fucking and liquor can’t entertain forever." At his harsh words, she peeked up at him, thick lashes a dark fan over her bloodless cheeks as she took in the male who had stolen her freedom.
A wicked smirk was carved into King Vale’s lips, turning the dragon shifter’s visage into one that fit his reputation—cruel and unjust.
Luella turned her head away from him, unable to look any longer.