Chapter 65 Bastien #2
A commotion nearby drew our attention. The raven was surrounded by the same golden light that had transformed us.
Its black feathers melted away like ink in water, its form expanding and reshaping until a young man knelt where the bird had been.
Dark hair, olive skin, and eyes that held too much wisdom for his apparent age.
“Lestat,” Marcel said, genuine pleasure warming his voice. “You survived as well.”
The former raven—Prince Lestat—looked up with a crooked smile. “Someone had to keep an eye on things in this realm,” he said, his voice musical despite the strain evident in his face. “Though I must say, feathers were an adjustment.”
“You know him?” Isabeau asked, looking between us and the transformed bird.
“Marcel’s closest friend,” Laurent explained.
“Turned into a fucking bird while we got to be predators,” I added, unable to resist the jab despite the solemnity of the moment. Old habits died hard, and teasing our friend had been a favorite pastime before the curse.
Lestat rose unsteadily to his feet, someone’s discarded cloak already wrapped around his shoulders but not his flaccid cock.
“Says the man who spent decades only being allowed in his castle in the morning,” he shot back, but there was no real heat in his words.
Only relief. We had all suffered under Enid’s curse, just in different hells.
“When you bit me…” Isabeau began.
“It was to unlock your magic, letting it feel mine to manifest it forward.” Lestat didn’t have an issue with being naked in front of our girl, but my jealousy did.
I threw a horse’s saddle blanket at him and he laughed.
“As much as I would love to stay and catch up, I too have a kingdom to return to.”
“Regroup, Lestat. We’ll send you with supplies once we’ve organized this chaos,” I offered, and he bowed in acceptance.
Movement from the edge of the battlefield caught my attention.
A group of men in royal armor approached cautiously, led by an older man wearing a crown that had seen better days, thanks to the much of the old forest. Beside him walked a younger version of himself, more handsome but with the same authoritative bearing.
Alain and his father. The king of Durand.
I tensed instinctively, my newly reformed muscles bunching for a fight that reason told me wouldn’t come. These weren’t enemies, not anymore, but the protective instinct ran deep. Especially with Isabeau standing so close, her small hand still resting on my arm as if afraid I might disappear.
Our father stepped forward to meet them, our mother at his side.
Despite their ragged appearance, they carried themselves with the dignity that had always defined them.
Royalty wasn’t just about crowns and thrones.
It was bone-deep bravery, bred into us from birth.
Even naked and disoriented, my brothers and I knew to straighten our spines, to lift our chins, to present the united front that had been drilled into us since childhood.
“Henri?” Alain’s father stopped a few paces away, disbelief etched into every line of his aging face. “It cannot be.”
“Geraint,” our father replied, his voice steady despite the emotion I could see him fighting to control. “Old friend. It has been... some time.”
“They knew each other?” Isabeau whispered, looking up at me with confusion.
I nodded, pieces falling into place that I’d never had the context to understand before. “Durand and the Enchanted Realm were allies once. Trade partners. Friends.”
“I thought you dead,” Geraint said, taking another step closer, his eyes scanning our father’s face as if searching for proof of deception. “Your entire kingdom—vanished from our minds.”
“The curse,” our father said simply. “It didn’t just transform my sons and trap our people. It erased us from memory. From history itself.”
Geraint’s face paled as understanding dawned. “All these years... the Forbidden Forest. The tales of monsters. The areas no hunter dared enter. It was you. All of you, hidden behind a veil of dark magic.”
“Not hidden,” our mother corrected gently. “Imprisoned. Enslaved to a god’s whim and a witch’s bargain.”
I watched as the two kings regarded each other across decades of enforced separation.
Geraint had aged, his hair gray, his face lined with the worries and responsibilities of rule.
Our father looked exactly as he had the day the curse struck.
Not a day older despite the years. The same was true for all of them who had been caught in that hell dimension.
We beasts had experienced every excruciating minute of our imprisonment and aged until we all hit thirty, but time had left our bodies untouched after that.
Geraint stepped forward and clasped our father’s arm in the traditional greeting of warrior-kings. “My friend. My ally. Welcome back to the world.”
Our father returned the gesture, his grip firm despite the emotion I could see working in his throat. “It seems we have much to discuss. Many years to account for.”
“Indeed,” Geraint agreed, his eyes moving from our father to take in my brothers and me. Recognition flickered across his face as he connected us to the beasts that had been described to him. “Your sons... they were the creatures my men hunted.”
“We were,” Marcel confirmed, stepping forward as the eldest, always the first to speak in matters of state. “Though not by choice.”
Geraint turned to his own son. “And you knew? You helped free them?”
Alain met his father’s gaze steadily. “I didn’t know who they were to our kingdom. I only did what was right.”
I couldn’t hate him in that moment, much as part of me still wanted to. He stood his ground before his father, his king, without flinching. Without apology. Something we had in common, it seemed.
“The curse is broken,” Isabeau said, her voice stronger than I expected given all she’d been through. “But not everything is restored.”
She was right. Looking around at our gathered subjects, I realized someone was missing. Someone vital. The realization hit Marcel at the same moment, his face darkening with renewed grief.
“Estelle,” he said, the name falling like a stone between us. “Our sister isn’t here.”
I scanned the crowd more carefully, hoping we were wrong. Everyone who had been trapped in the hell dimension was here. The entire population of our castle, down to the lowest scullery maid. Everyone except our little sister.
“She wasn’t with us,” our mother worried. “We thought she was with you.”
Laurent confirmed her concern, his expression grim. “Not cursed with us.”
Our mother made a small, wounded sound, quickly stifled behind a queen’s composure. Our father’s face hardened, the joy of reunion giving way to fresh concern. “Where is she?” he demanded, though none of us had an answer.
“Could she have escaped the curse somehow?” Isabeau asked, looking between us with a frown. “Been somewhere else when it struck?”
“No,” I said, the memory surfacing with painful clarity. “She was with us in the throne room when the witch cast her spell. She should have been trapped with us.”
“Unless she wasn’t sent to the same place,” Marcel said slowly, a terrible suspicion forming in his eyes. “Unless she was kept separate. For a reason.”
The implication hung in the air between us. If Estelle hadn’t been in the hell dimension with our parents, and she wasn’t here now that the curse was broken, then she was somewhere else. Somewhere the Dark Lord had hidden her away from her family. From her protectors.
I thought of all the times Estelle had defied our parents, snuck out of the castle, explored the forest alone despite the dangers.
She had been barely seventeen when the curse struck, headstrong and beautiful and convinced of her own immortality in the way only the very young could be. If Hades wanted leverage...
“I’ll find her,” I said, the promise rough in my newly human throat. “Whatever it takes.”
Isabeau stepped closer, her warmth a comfort I hadn’t known I needed. “We,” she corrected softly. “We’ll find her.”
I looked down at her, this woman who had changed everything. Who had given herself to beasts without fear. Who had faced a god and survived. Who had claimed four mates and bound them to her with magic older than kingdoms.
“Yes,” I agreed, taking her hand and bringing it to my lips in a gesture that felt both foreign and deeply right. “We will.”
The golden light from the claiming mark pulsed once more, stronger than before, connecting all five of us across the battlefield. Isabeau, my brothers, and Alain. Whatever came next, we would face it together. As mates. As equals.
But first, I really did need some fucking clothes.