Chapter 3
Beautiful Rage
As I followed Endymion down an unfamiliar corridor, I couldn’t help but gawk at the archway draped in floral vines that swayed in his wake like a curtain stirred by a soft breeze.
On instinct, my hand brushed the petals, the sensation conjuring warm memories of the willows back home—that is, until a faint hum of magic tickled my fingertips. A silent hello.
“Why, hello to you, too,” I whispered through a smile, and I could’ve sworn they thrummed a little faster, their color deepening for the span of a heartbeat.
We emerged beneath a wide-open ceiling, the roof open to the elements like the ornate solstice ballroom had been, and though the corridor was vast, it was intimate somehow.
Tilting my chin up, I drank in the endless blue above and imagined how exquisite the sight would be when painted by the star-flecked beauty of a moonless night. The thought brought the ghost of a smile to my lips, which quickly vanished when I refocused on Endymion’s broad frame a few paces ahead.
I narrowed my eyes, realizing I’d never seen this part of the Summer Palace before—there was no way I could’ve forgotten such exquisite detailing.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To your residence,” he said over his shoulder, not breaking stride.
My furrow deepened, and I threw invisible daggers at his back with my glare as I stopped well before the next archway.
A few strides later, Endymion’s steps faltered. He turned, one brow cocked in a silent question.
“Where are we going?” I repeated, my voice stripped of all pleasantries.
He took a step toward me, offering a half-smile, and every sense I had prickled in warning. Hadn’t he done the same before? Placated me with teasing smiles and false promises. Taken me to his bed. Pined for my power. All while playing me the fool.
“Wipe that smile off your face,” I snapped, “and don’t make me ask where you’re taking me again.”
As instinctive as hackles rising, the lethal mask of the commander slid into place.
I didn’t miss how he shifted his weight, settling into a fighter’s stance.
Good. There’d be no risk of me forgetting where I was—or who stood before me.
I preferred him this way, beneath the armor of his rank, rather than coated in the saccharine charm he’d so often slathered me with. Fool me once, as the saying goes.
I mirrored his readiness, shifting my stance as my two remaining daggers grew heavy in my bandolier. I pinched my fingers together, craving the cool bite of steel as tension coiled between us.
“As I said, I’m taking you to your residence.” His voice was calm—too calm—the kind of forced composure used by someone unaccustomed to being questioned. As the penultimate authority in the Autumn Court, he was clearly more used to issuing orders than explaining them.
I wouldn’t be cowed.
Keeping my hands at the ready, I said, “I’ve been to the suites before, and this isn’t the way.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw—the only sign my insolence grated on him.
“That’s because,” he said, impatience bleeding into his tone, “those were the guest suites. I’m taking you to the residence wing. The opposite side of the palace. Where Caius resides.”
“Why in Lumnara would you take me to Caius’ private wing?” My pulse quickened, my body bracing for action with every passing second.
He drew in a slow, stilted breath, and as if cracking under the weight of words unsaid, the hardened mask of the commander slipped, like fissures spreading across brittle ice.
“Nyleeria,” he said, voice lower, “when we were in autumn, I promised you the safety of the Summer Court. I’m not taking you to the guest wing because you are not a guest. This is your home now. You’re under Caius’ and my protection.”
This is your home now.
I swallowed. Hard.
Intended or not, there was an implied ownership in those words that threatened to suffocate me.
If this was my home, then the decision had already been made on my behalf.
What other choices would they make for me?
And what definition of home were they using—my family’s, the king’s, or some other perverse variation?
I doubted it was my version. The one only the solace of the woods could offer.
In a blink, the flower-speckled walls seemed to close in, each petal blurring at the edges as my pulse climbed. Fear and anger tangled in my chest, swelling like a storm with every shallow breath.
My fury radiated like the unrelenting summer heat, while my fear billowed into an icy wall of hail-laden clouds.
And then, they collided.
In an instant, panic consumed me, hot and sharp, like lightning desperate to strike its unsuspecting target.
A faint glimmer of dark power bled from Endymion, stopping just short of me like a silent taunt.
Something deep within me answered, and the air crackled as a tiny white Spark leapt from my skin. I didn’t dare look toward the lone bird startled by the sharp sound, too transfixed by the sight of my magic being swallowed whole by his.
Not snuffed.
No. Consumed.
He drew his power back, the faintest curl touching his lip, like he’d just won something. But my attention snagged on the small flex of his fingers that I could’ve sworn was an unconscious tic, as if he were trying to ease an ache.
Unable to sit in my disquiet a moment longer, I took a step toward him—chin up, eyes locked on his. “This. Is not. My. Home,” I ground out, “and I sure as hells don’t need your protection.”
He took my measure, gaze flicking to the blade in my hand—the one I hadn’t even noticed I’d drawn.
Fuck, I didn’t care that I was losing it.
Control had earned me nothing but a collar in this gods-forsaken life, and I’d be damned if I handed anyone a leash.
No, they could keep their promises of home.
I wasn’t interested. Wouldn’t let anyone own me. Never again.
Something flickered behind his composed exterior—a glint of dark satisfaction lit his features before it vanished beneath the hard line of his mask, as if I’d imagined it.
His cerulean eyes darkened into midnight as he leaned closer, like a flower chasing the sun. “You do need our protection,” he said with an even tone dripping with condescension. “And this is your home.”
The words hit like flint to tinder. Rage ripped through me, fast and bright, spurring me into motion. One heartbeat we were locked in a silent standoff; the next, I had a dagger pressed to the pulsing vein at his throat.
“No,” I growled, holding my dagger steady—and his gaze steadier still.
His eyes gleamed as he leaned into my dagger, forcing me to steel my hand as a pinprick of blood pooled on the blade before slowly rolling toward my fingers. My chest rose and fell in heavy breaths as he challenged me to cut him deeper—and Mother help me, I wanted to.
“You know what?” he said, the low rasp of his mocking tone reverberating through my blade. “You’re right, Nyleeria. You had the na’li well in hand.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I only killed it for sport.”
Swagger poured off him in excess now. He was playing a dangerous game, and my rage reveled in it, wanted to praise him for it—like a queen of the underworld pleased by the severed head her hellhound brought her as a gift.
He smirked, as if knowing it too, and I hated him for it.
“You should have stayed in the Autumn Court,” he continued, and that primordial part of me that yearned to devour languidly stretched beneath the taunting caress of his words, wanting a reason—any reason—to unleash.
“Seeing as how you knew you were there in the first place. Not to mention, seeking Wymond on your own would have worked out masterfully. And who needs a roof over their heads and a warm meal in their bellies when they can scrounge off the land and be hunted by all manner of creatures?”
He was right on all counts. My plan had been reckless—a fool’s gambit, even. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down and admitting it. I looked at him with as much hatred as I could muster, slid my last dagger from my bandolier with my free hand, and pressed it against his chest.
“Fuck you,” I breathed, relishing the sweet taste of those words as they rolled off my tongue.
Endymion didn’t flinch. Instead, his gaze turned into an unspoken promise.
He leaned down closer to me, earning a deeper cut, before whispering in my ear, “But to do that, my sweetest Nyleeria, you’d have to be capable of bearing another’s touch.
And we both know that won’t happen any time soon, so don’t tempt a male with something you’re incapable of giving. ”
Before I could paint the pristine white marble floors with his blood, Endymion disarmed me. Blades forgotten as they clattered to the ground, I drew back my elbows, then thrust my hands forward with all the force I could muster, shoving him hard in the chest.
He took a half-step back from the impact, a bemused look crossing his features.
A grunt of frustration escaped me as I shoved him again. Another half-step. He didn’t react. Didn’t move. No, that would’ve been more merciful than the flash of pity that slipped past his mask.
My focus narrowed, and with a scream of frustration and anger, I tried again to push him off balance—only this time, blinding power erupted from my hands toward him.
And by the stars, the feeling was glorious—like lightning finally freed from the sky, obliterating anything that dared stop it from leaving its mark on the land below.
Endymion didn’t so much as blink. He held my gaze as his magic met mine, its glittering darkness devouring what I’d unleashed like the sea swallowing the deluge of a storm’s rain without thought. Depthless, and always hungry for more.
I cried out again, pouring everything I had into the next surge, every ounce of fury and grief I’d buried clawing its way free. I screamed until my throat burned—at him, at myself, at every cruel twist the Fates had seen fit to grant me.
The death of my parents.
The loss of Mrs. E.