Chapter 43
Draevyn
Draevyn stood rigid in the throne room, every muscle in his body coiled with tension. He forced his jaw to remain set, his expression neutral as the kings conversed just a few steps away. But his mind was anything but calm.
Where the fuck are they taking her?
The question gnawed at him, louder than the voices around him, louder than the soft crackle of torches in their sconces.
He had only caught the briefest glimpse of her being dragged away, a blur of bloodied clothing and defiant eyes, before the doors closed and she was gone.
The image replayed in his mind in endless loops, fueling the fire clawing at his chest.
He shifted slightly, scanning the room with subtle glances.
The guards now lined the walls, stiff and alert, their hands close to the hilts of their blades.
King Keryth watched him with an expression that danced between suspicion and intrigue.
Atlas’s arms were folded as shadows pulsed faintly at his wrists as if feeding off his own anger—likely wondering how and why Draevyn was there.
Then shouts echoed faintly through the vaulted hall, distant but growing louder.
Metal clashing against metal sounded next; a rising chorus of chaos carried through the throne room, coming from just beyond its doors.
All three of their heads snapped toward the sound, and every nerve in Draevyn’s body sharpened.
King Keryth’s expression twisted into a snarl as his glare bounced back and forth between Draevyn and Atlas. “Do I sense treachery at my gates?”
The two guards posted at the doors shifted uneasily, hands on weapons, waiting for orders.
Atlas’s shadows thickened at his feet, exuding like a dark cloud as his eyes snapped to Draevyn. “What the fuck is happening out there, Drae?” he demanded, his voice low and accusing. His grey eyes burned into him like he could rip the truth straight from his soul.
Is he fucking serious? He had been playing along and now the second there was a sign of a dispute, his own brother turned against him.
Draevyn stepped forward, fists tightening at his sides as heat rippled faintly in the air. “As I stated before. I was down at the docks.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Keryth boomed. “You expect me to believe that Elowynne is missing, and you two monsters show up at my home with lies of a dangerous woman as you dragged her to my feet in chains? The only danger I see here is the two of you.”
Another crash sounded, followed by terror-filled screams.
Keryth took a step back, eyes beginning to glow. “This is all some godsdamn trick.”
“You think I’d storm your castle with my own men while standing in your damned throne room?” Atlas spat out.
The elven king’s jaw clenched, but for a moment, doubt flickered in his expression. Still, the tension thickened, feeling like a single spark could ignite the entire room.
A ball of flame erupted in Draevyn’s hand as he decided to be that godsdamn spark.
The throne room doors exploded inward with a deafening crash, the iron hinges screaming as wood splintered and slammed against the walls.
Draevyn’s heart halted in his chest as he saw who was now flooding into Sumnae’s throne room. Maerinys warriors rushed through the opening, their spears and scale-like armor glinting under the moonlight shining through the ceiling’s glass.
Every head in the room turned toward the invaders.
Guards of both Sumnae and Lephyrin funneled in with them, swinging their swords wildly at the creatures of the deep.
The elven king stiffened, and then Atlas’s shadows erupted around him like living smoke.
Even Draevyn’s breath caught as his hand drifted toward his blade.
“I told you it wasn’t us!” Atlas boomed at Keryth.
“It’s Maerinys,” Draevyn breathed.
Confusion rippled through the gathered kings and their guards alike. Draevyn never would’ve expected this. Not here, anyway. And he was likely the only person who knew why they were here.
Esmyra. His gaze flickered toward the door she’d been dragged out of.
And then, stepping through the chaos that continued to pour through, Azarian appeared, lifting his enormous spear in Draevyn’s direction. “I knew we should’ve killed you that day beneath the sea.” His face wore a look of fury. “You’ve got something of ours. And we’ve come to take her back.”
Hot rage surged through Draevyn. He took a step forward, and then another. Before he knew it, he was rushing toward Azarian head on, drawing his sword as flames licked up the blade. “Over my dead fucking body.”
Azarian grinned. “That can be arranged.”
When their weapons clashed, the impact sent a shockwave through the room.
Draevyn struck again, blade swinging in arcs of searing light. Each strike was met with a precise counter, the spear catching and redirecting the blows. The heat scorched the marble beneath them, leaving black streaks wherever he stepped.
“You think you can hide her from us?” Azarian growled as he forced Draevyn back with a sweeping strike.
“I’ll die before I let you take her,” he spat, driving his flaming blade forward that sent a wave of heat rippling across the room.
“Once again, Phoenix, ask and you shall receive.” Azarian countered with a brutal attack of his own.
Chaos erupted in every corner of the throne room.
Maerinys warriors screamed as shadows lashed out from Atlas, impaling and dragging soldiers into pools of darkness that swallowed them whole.
His eyes burned like smoldering coals as each flick of his hand sent tendrils of black energy to snap necks or rip weapons away.
On the opposite side, Keryth stood with his hands raised, fingers curling like talons as he seized the minds of their attackers.
One by one, sea warriors froze, clutching their heads, eyes wide with terror.
Draevyn could only assume the elven king was ripping through their minds.
Keryth’s smile was cold, the veins in his temples bulging with the strain of his magic as he cast it on numerous soldiers.
Amidst the madness, Azarian’s spear spun, clashing against Draevyn’s sword with a shower of sparks. Each strike was a test of their strength and will, making it clear neither of them were willing to let Esmyra go.
Draevyn would never let his Wildfire go again. He didn’t care how long it took for her to trust him again, if she ever would. The Phoenix would wait for his siren because she was worth it—she was his.
Azarian had come to take her away, to do only the gods knew what with her. One thing was certain, and that was that something had scared her. Something had made her flee Maerinys and believe Draevyn. And he would never let these true monsters of the world near her again.
Draevyn’s fury burned raw and aggressive. Every time his blade met the spear, his flames flared brighter, licking up toward the vaulted ceiling as the heat intensified, forcing nearby soldiers to shield their faces.
But no matter how ferociously he fought in her honor, Azarian wouldn’t fucking burn. He always assumed the male was something else, that the eeriness his presence brought meant some kind of creature lingered within his flesh. And this was Draevyn’s confirmation.
Anyone else would’ve melted or burned beneath the Phoenix’s power.
Around them, the battle surged. Warriors hurled their spears, skewering elven soldiers who fell screaming. In retaliation, elves released volleys of arrows, piercing through the Maerinysean armor. Blood pooled on the floor, staining it red as bodies fell where they stood.
With a roar that tore from his throat, flames surged up Draevyn’s arms and consumed his sword entirely, blazing white-hot.
He launched himself forward, and the spear met his sword in a series of deafening clashes.
There was no denying Azarian being a skilled warrior, the way he spun his weapon with deadly grace.
A final, brutal swing collided with the spear’s shaft, and the force sent Azarian hurtling backward, flying through the room. He crashed into the wall with a sickening thud, stone cracking under the impact. Smoke curled from his armor as he slumped down to the ground, stunned.
Draevyn didn’t waste a second as he turned and sprinted across the room toward Atlas, flames swirling up his arms as he cut down anyone in his path. His brother was locked in battle, tearing through enemy soldiers mercilessly, but he was surrounded.
Without words, the two brothers fell into rhythm, shadow and fire weaving together in a deadly dance, cutting down their attackers side by side.
It was everything they had both ever wanted, fighting alongside one another.
But he knew the moment Maerinys was dealt with, Atlas would be right back to what he set out to do, and they would be at odds once more.
It was Draevyn’s worst nightmare continuing to unfold before his eyes in a horrifying twist of fate.
Then an enemy soldier lunged at Atlas’s back, blade raised high. Heart pounding, Draevyn rushed forward, deflecting a strike with a burst of flame.
Atlas whirled on him before giving a grim nod. “Thanks,” he huffed out.
Draevyn tightened his grip on his weapon, eyes remaining on the swarm of enemies closing in. “You’ve had my back our entire lives,” he said between grunts. “Just as I’ll always have yours.”
Amidst the clash of steel and the screams of dying men, that brief moment hung between them. Draevyn was thankful he was able to say those words, knowing it may be the last time his brother ever considered them on the same side of this brewing war.
Then, slowly, Atlas’s gaze softened. The hard lines of his face eased, and a faint, unspoken gratitude glimmered there. With a sharp nod, he snapped another enemy’s neck with a lash of shadows. “It’s an honor to fight with you again, Drae.”
Together, they plunged back into the storm, but when Draevyn looked up through the haze of smoke and madness, his heart halted in his chest.
There she is.