Chapter 4 #2
When Silas had been asked to hand over mere records of the sentinels’ schedule, he’d pouted and stomped his bulging feet for an entire week. Even though that was the only responsibility he had in his life, other than gorging himself and sticking his nose in musty books.
I was sick and fucking tired of it.
Problems didn’t solve themselves.
A louse like Fabrian didn’t deserve my anger, but his careless words picked at a scab I’d had to face for too long–especially after my father had offered Evie the crown.
“Best hold your tongue before I cut it out, Fabrian,” I muttered, smile not wavering for a moment.
“Nobody was allowed to bring a weapon today, Huntress ,” he hissed.
I clicked my heels. “I’m Protectorate. I can make do with anything.”
He scoffed. “Trying to steal the attention at your cousin’s wedding is low, even for you.”
“Only you would mistake concern for conceit.”
“This wedding is happening. Or–” The louse had the gall to turn to me with a leering grin. “Is this jealousy I hear?”
Of all the stupid, ignorant–“Fabrian, I’d rather set fire to myself, reheal every time I almost pass out, and endure the flames for all eternity than to ever be jealous of someone who has the misfortune of marrying you.”
“Jealous because someone else is getting married. Weren’t you such a proponent of love conquering all not that long ago?”
For the love of Xamor, did everyone know what a fool in love I’d been?
“Seeing as I’m standing here scowling at you, we both know I was wrong.”
My father sent me a withering look. He pursed his lips against the words he couldn’t speak, but his fingers moved in the secret code only the Protectorate knew.
Don’t interfere. Trust the plan .
I’m just talking to him , I signed back, even as a strange sting crawled up my spine, settling at the back of my neck.
A wretched emotion I knew too well.
Doubt.
If people found out the First Daughter doubted her every decision, my entire reign could be threatened.
And all those doubts had started because of him .
My former fucking fiance.
The heartbreak had passed–more slowly than my pride would have liked and a worm like him deserved. But in the depths of my despair, I hadn’t even noticed my confidence had dissipated along with all those naive thoughts of a happy future, leaving only uncertainty in its wake.
My gaze travelled up the aisle, past the Serpent guests waiting for their show and the Protectorate side bracing for the disaster. Sure, nobody looked particularly happy about this blessed union between our Clans, but their gazes were hungry for how it would all play out, fixed on the altar.
The grimaces, whispers, and head shakes were useless to stop this calamity.
But was it a calamity, though? Or was I worrying too much?
My cousins scowled from the front row. Dax even stared at Fabrian and ran his thumb across his neck in an obvious threat.
Yet none of them rose to stop the wedding.
Neither did Uncle Maksim.
Or my father, whose cautioning gaze didn’t let me go.
Hundreds of experienced Clan members were sitting on their behinds and letting this happen.
I was the only one who wanted to meddle.
Was I doing the right thing?
If I was wrong and intervened, Evie might suffer.
If I was right and didn’t do something, the same thing would happen.
I released a long breath, my muscles tensing painfully.
I needed a sign.
Any sign.
Until then, the mighty Huntress was held back by her own racing thoughts.
My father must have seen the change on my face, because his own almighty stare relaxed as he sighed and leaned back in his chair. It felt like another betrayal, though I didn’t know why.
“Don’t hurt Evie,” I muttered.
“I don’t intend to,” Fabrian said.
We both knew he was lying.
“Why are you marrying her?”
“Because I can.” That wretched grin of his grew. “I know how to protect my hide better than you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Fabrian shrugged. “History has a strange way of circling back. The Serpents will stand on the victor’s side now.”
My brows furrowed. Fabrian was horrid, but he was no fool. The sweet wine might have loosened his tongue and reddened his eyes, but there was still that vicious, calculated spark in them.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Evie, despite being a Vegheara, didn’t have any political power–unless she took the throne.
“Can’t tell you all my secrets, you might steal the opportunity straight from under me.” He shrugged again, this time with less grace. “Though you’d never do that, would you? Those self-righteous principles of yours are going to get you killed.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning,” he said, sounding serious for the first time. “Your face is pretty enough to keep around.”
“You are the worst specimen of a man I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.” I rolled my shoulders back. “May your worst enemies live long enough to witness everything you love crumble in front of you.”
Fabrian huffed a laugh through his nose. “Always had a thing for spearing a man with words, didn’t you, Huntress?”
“Thank your gods it’s only words this time.”
“You know what? I actually believe you.”
It was a pitiful day indeed when a louse like Fabrian had more faith in my abilities than I did.
We both shut up as the priest appeared behind us. He was the most gilded of all, his saintly hat rising at least three feet in the air, his white robe trimmed with silver leaves, just like the heavy book he carried.
A stillness brimming with anticipation settled on the entire courtyard as the storm inside me raged. I placed a hand on my stomach to settle the sudden knots, the only show of weakness I’d allow myself.
A strange fog overtook my mind. It lingered, no matter how much I tried to blink through it.
Something wasn’t right.
Tense moments had never dulled my thoughts, they’d only sharpened them.
Before I could figure out why my body and mind spun out of my control, the music rose.
Evie’s small frame speared the end of the aisle, all eyes darting toward her.
All concerns for my own being vanished as I took in each one of her hesitant steps, face shrouded behind that Elysian veil Fabrian had made a show of buying.
A ripple of palpable unease rushed through the Protectorate side of the garden. Too many members of my Clan were still sipping from their glasses, trying to give Fabrian a run for his drunken ways, as if they too needed some help to get through this day.
Meanwhile, the Serpents murmured among themselves, parvenu noses stuck high in the air.
As if she wasn’t Evie “Evelina” Vegheara, who’d been born to lead our entire Clan.
As if their little reptile-wrangling powers would stand a chance against a Protectorate First Family magic wielder.
As if their Clan could have even remained standing if not for those overflowing vaults of theirs.
They acted like Fabrian was the catch of a generation, not the waste of space he actually was.
Yet here they were, having the absolute gall to whisper about our Evie.
I growled as a Serpent member–who looked one moon away from dying–had the nerve to curl his thin lip at my cousin. He had the good sense to avert his gaze and pretend to be checking his jewel-encrusted watch instead.
Fabrian, meanwhile, didn’t notice any of it.
The fast gulps of alcohol had finally caught up with his arrogance. The groom was blinking fast, his cheeks turning a pitiful shade of overheated red.
I could swear there was a hint of fear in his eyes as he tracked Evie’s approach, like he was terrified of her .
Or what she represented.
I frowned, ignoring the restlessness flowing through my veins, and watched Evie.
Sweet, scared Evie, who stopped at the altar, next to Fabrian, like she was getting ready to be slaughtered.
The priest began to recite nonsense about the moon and stars and blessed unions.
I didn’t listen. I focused on Evie.
The way her fingers held onto the bouquet as if she could wring her nerves into the crisp leaves and the plump roses.
How her shoulders tensed like she was being ambushed.
The little puffs of air swaying her veil. It could conceal her face, but not her emotions, not fully.
My power swelled inside my veins, a warning I couldn’t–and wouldn’t–ignore.
My gaze slashed toward my family.
They could see it, too.
The fear radiating off her.
My father’s grimace had reached depths I’d never seen.
Uncle Maksim was gripping his chair as if he was ready to splinter it and use the shards to enact justice.
My cousins exchanged deadly glares.
Only Silas looked on with a dispassionate stare, already half-dozing off.
I was right–she didn’t want to marry Fabrian.
“Should anyone oppose this union,” the priest went on, oblivious that the bride almost vibrated with angst, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. “Then–”
My hand shot out toward Evie’s neck.
Before she or my family had a chance to protest, my fingers touched her pulse point.
Her heart was beating out of control, like a trapped bird hitting my palm.
These weren’t nerves.
This was pure dread, rushing through my sweet Evie’s veins.
She jerked away from my touch, but it was too late.
Nothing and no one could stop me now.
“I knew it,” I whispered.
“It’s just wedding jitters,” Evie tried to trill, but her voice was choked with tears.
I locked eyes with Uncle Maksim, ignoring my father’s deathly stare, and twisted my fingers into an urgent message.
Lock the port. Now.
Uncle Maksim barely gave me a grim nod before he rushed out of the garden, disappearing down the steps leading to the dock.
Closing it had been part of my father’s plan, after all. I was simply expediting the process. Even so, I still couldn’t look at him, knowing I’d only find disappointment there.
Fine .
I could live with it.
“Leave it to The Huntress to cause a scene,” Fabrian slurred, the fast alcohol finally slowing his words.
I barely slashed a look his way before focusing all my attention on Evie. I still doubted every move and every word, but I couldn’t stop now.
“Stop this,” Evie pleaded as whispers erupted from the crowd, her voice desperate.
Not angry.
Not surprised.
Not heartbroken.
Desperate .
“You stop this,” I said. “What’s going–”
I never got to finish.
In the whirlwind of emotions, I barely noticed the whispers from the crowd turning into frightened gasps.
Stopping a Clan wedding wasn’t that unheard of. Queen Thalia, of the Morgana Clan, had halted her nephew’s marriage because the bride’s promised dowry was three mirrors short.
But this was worse.
Unimaginably worse.
My gaze darted to the end of the aisle.
No power in this world could stop my knees from shaking as the courtyard darkened.
At the end of the aisle, cloaked in vicious shadows and carrying glinting weapons, were the monsters whispered about through all of Malhaven.
Dozens upon dozens of them stood in a perfect, menacing unison, their sneers a silent threat.
Their black leather armors sucked in the light around us, though they were draped in gold.
Weapons, too many to count. Jagged, vicious things, created to maim, rip, and pierce in effective, gruesome ways.
I sucked in a breath as my terrified gaze fell onto their weapon hilts.
The rumors were true, but even the most gruesome ones fell short.
Blood– real blood–slithered through their transparent hilts, like it was alive, impatient, waiting for its next offering.
The Blood Brotherhood Clan had found us–and they’d come to enact their revenge.