Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
The capital city rises before us. I’ve never been particularly enthused returning home between battle campaigns, though I’ve never felt this despondent either. A crushing wave of loss courses through me, choking me with its intensity.
This is the end of our journey.
Green and brown banner flags flap above us as our steed trots along the cobblestone streets.
The familiar scent of cheap ale and mushroom stew drifts through the air as we pass my favorite tavern—it’s been an age since I’ve visited Faraway and his wife.
I nearly point it out to her, then snap my mouth shut.
Faramir will never allow me to take Mayah out of the palace alone.
Allow. The word curdles my stomach.
The sounds of chatter grow louder as we turn onto the main road. Mayah’s kept a respectful distance between her chest and my back on the second leg of our trek, but even still, I sense her body tensing.
As we ride through, the visible switch from adoration to hatred in the eyes of my subjects, the faltering of their cheers, sends rage scorching through my veins. Mayah leans closer into me, arms tightening around my waist, though I’m not sure she even realizes it.
Farther down the road, a middle-aged man elbows his way toward the front of the crowd. There’s a fucking tomato in his hand.
My knuckles whiten on the reins while the sky darkens overhead.
“Zev,” Mayah whispers, breath hot against my ear.
“He means to throw it at you,” I growl. “He’ll die for it.” A flash of lightning shears the clouds.
“Please, Zev,” she pleads, finding my hand and squeezing it.
With a sharp inhale, I temper my anger. I can deny her nothing.
The man pales and hides the tomato behind his back before disappearing into the crowd, unable to withstand the weight of my glare.
We reach the palace without further incident, and I ride into the courtyard, ignoring my father’s statue as I always do, though Mayah cranes her neck to observe the monstrosity.
Does she see her future father-in-law? Or her jailer?
I hand the reins to a waiting stablehand. Reluctance weights every step as we walk into the palace, as though I’m trudging through calf-deep mud during a severe thunderstorm.
I’m leading Mayah to a bleak future. With Faramir.
My teeth ache from how tightly my jaw is clenched, hands fisted at my sides. I want to haul her over my shoulder and disappear from this palace. This kingdom. This skiesforsaken realm.
How can I present her to my brother? He’ll be cruel. He’ll hurt her. He’ll—
I can’t even bring myself to think it. What he’ll do.
And she’ll bear it. If I’ve learned anything about Mayah in our time together, it’s that she loves her people. She’d do anything for them. Including marrying a monster and damning herself to a life of misery.
I’m fucking useless—the strongest wielder in the realm, and I can’t protect one woman. The woman.
The throne room doors loom ahead. At my side, Mayah appears agitated. Trembling hands smoothing her hair, scrubbing at her face.
“Hey,” I murmur. “You look perfect.”
She gives me a soft smile and takes another piece of my heart. I offer a smile back, but my face is frozen.
My hand hovers over the door handle as though it’s repelled by the metal. By what awaits beyond the dark wood.
Is there any escape? A quick scan of the hallway reveals armed guards on both ends. I could easily kill them, but the commotion would attract more, and—
There’s no point in delaying.
There is no escape.
Mayah’s expression is resigned. She’s made her peace with this—perhaps long before our carriage exploded.
I open the door, willing my hands to remain steady.
White marble gleams in the sunlight filtering through the large windows, veins of silver and black snaking across the polished surface. Our mud-crusted boots leave a trail of dried dirt as we approach the circular dais.
My father perches in his throne, watching us with narrowed eyes. His lips curl with disdain as his eyes settle on Mayah, walking two steps behind me. I stifle the urge to summon a lightning bolt through the window.
But Faramir is worse, his cold green gaze flickering with equal parts hunger and curiosity. He homes in on Mayah like a starved mountain lion.
“Father.” I nod in greeting. “Faramir.”
“Zevayr,” my father drawls, mouth drawn tight in the imitation of a smile. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am to see you home safely. The rebels grow too bold.”
His emerald gaze cuts to Mayah. “And Princess Mayah. What a relief to see you delivered safely.” I stiffen at his use of delivered. “Your father will undoubtedly be pleased. Perhaps he’ll stop threatening to flood my kingdom.”
Mayah tenses, quickly dropping into a curtsy.
Faramir snickers. “I’m surprised,” he sneers. “Who would have guessed they teach manners in that backwards wasteland?”
Skiesdamned bastard.
Thunder booms in response to my rising anger.
Faramir sighs dramatically. “So glad you’re home, brother. I’ve missed your moody little thunderstorms.”
“Faramir,” I growl. “You’re being incredibly rude to … your betrothed.” The words taste vile on my tongue. “She’s traveled a great distance, at great risk, to come here. Find your manners before I rip them out of you myself.”
Faramir’s face reddens, lips peeled back in a snarl. His left eye twitches. “How dare—”
“Yes, about the betrothal…” my father interjects, casting a pointed glance at Faramir. “The plan has changed.”
Tendrils of dread skitter down my spine.
“What do you mean?” Mayah says sharply.
“When you and my son disappeared, I had to make other arrangements for Arbinj’s succession.” His voice is cold. Detached. “Faramir will wed the Volcan princess—after we secure an alliance, of course.”
A beat passes.
“You will wed Zevayr.”