Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I practice with Sebastian all night long, going over different techniques. He’s patient, and he reassures me every time I get frustrated. Unlike Margaret, who used brute force while teaching, Sebastian gently corrects my mistakes and explains what I am doing wrong.
My leg kicks out, causing Sebastian to topple over. His hands close around the fabric of my dress, and I fall with him. His back hits the floor as I press the blade to his throat, pinning him to the ground. Our chests heave in tandem, faces close as we watch one another.
“Well done, my lady,” he praises.
I pull the blade away, quickly rising. Heat flushes across my skin, and I turn my head away so Sebastian won’t see. Sebastian gracefully rises to his feet, brushing his pants clean of dust with his palms.
“Sun's up.” Sebastian parts the curtains over the window, allowing some light inside.
“Thank you…” I say sheepishly, picking up my satchel and pulling it over my shoulder. I tuck the blade away, feeling more confident in my abilities.
“Get home safe, you hear?”
“Thank you for saving me,” I say truthfully.
“Of course,” Sebastian replies, opening the door for me.
I exit the cabin and make my way through the streets of Khalessor as they come to life for the day.
Merchants set up their stalls, while others make their way to the mines for work.
I walk up the castle steps and trudge my way toward my room as exhaustion settles into my bones.
I can’t wait to rest; my muscles are sore from fighting.
A small servant girl crosses my path, causing me to stop.
“The King wishes to speak to you,” she requests. I recognize her as the girl who delivered the castle map to me and wonder if she directly assists with Wrath’s tasks.
“What’s your name?” I step out of the way, allowing her to lead me.
“Serafina,” she replies.
“How long have you been working at the castle?”
“Since my parents died.”
Serafina may have lost them due to the war. If she orbits Wrath closely, I must earn her trust. That means patience, careful words, and sincerity to lower her guard.
“Do you like working here?” I ask gently.
“I’m grateful for the King.” Her words are empty, eyes still cast down, refusing to look at me.
I don’t press her further, allowing us to stroll down the halls until she stops at a door and gestures for me to enter.
Standing guard outside is Kieran, who smiles warmly at me.
I step inside to see Wrath and Barnham having a discussion.
The space is similar to the war room my father uses to hold meetings with the other lords.
Unlike my father’s war room, however, Wrath’s is immaculate.
Everything is perfectly organized, from the chair and the bookshelves to each piece of parchment or map.
For someone who sheds so much blood, he’s quite neat and orderly.
“Raelys, why do you smell like ale and piss?” Wrath’s eyes travel down, taking in my disheveled state. The lower he gets, the more I see annoyance course through him. I am a stark contrast to his pristine standards, and it clearly irritates him.
“I just returned from work.” I lie, hoping the magic won’t wrestle the honest answer from me.
“You have a job?” Barnham cuts in. “Where?”
My focus turns to him, my patience dwindling. “You think that because I am a princess, I believe honest work is beneath me?”
“Barnham, leave us,” Wrath snaps.
Barnham shakes his head, sauntering from the room to leave us alone.
I can tell Wrath is turning over the thought of me having a job in his head.
It is part of my plan to thwart him, of course, but I cannot allow him to discover it.
After spending years studying the warlord’s tactics, I will at last put them to use—ready to play war with Wrath as my opponent.
“Are the gowns not up to your standards?” Wrath asks bitterly.
My spite drops immediately.
“No.” I shake my head. “Rowena is far more skilled than any tailor in Cathros.” I hesitate for a moment, choosing my following words carefully.
“If you spent your whole life locked within castle walls, wouldn’t you try to experience what it’s like to have an actual life?
To have people speak to you without preconceived notions of your rank? ”
“We are royals. There is no break, no escape from the expectations that bind us.” Wrath’s response sounds more habitual than true—exactly like something my father would say to me.
“So, have you brought me here to brighten my day with your lectures?” I sass him, placing my hands on my hips.
A muscle in Wrath’s neck twitches in response to my comment, causing his scar to flex. He plucks a square object from the table and plops it into my palm. “Hold this.”
I examine the stone closely. It’s lightweight and carved from a smooth material.
Each side has a different emblem, one with a phoenix, a crashing wave, a shooting star, a feather, a mountain, and…
the last one is hard to distinguish. Bringing it closer to my face, it looks like an eclipse over the moon.
“What is it?” I ask, flipping it over to study each side. The shape on the left lights up, casting a very weak glow. Turning it over, I look down at the phoenix shape. It’s beautiful and free, wisps of flame emitting from its wings as it flies.
“Fire,” he says plainly. “Isla was a fire user.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a Sorstone.” Wrath holds out his hand. I place the stone into his palm, and the eclipse lights up with a brilliant, blinding glow. “It tells you what magic the one who holds it specializes in.”
“I’m a Verthari?” I ask in awe, recalling the few details Barnham shared with me about magic while traveling.
“Do you believe me now when I say you are half-Elvarran?”
Wrath puts the stone back in my palm, and the phoenix sparks to life. It’s not nearly as bright as the light it gave off when Wrath held it, but it’s there. It is a sign that faint traces of magic flow through me—proof that something more lingers in my blood.
“Partially…” I reply hesitantly, staring at it for a moment longer.
“Suit yourself.” He plucks the stone and turns away, setting it back on the table. “I need you to open something.” Wrath holds up a thin leather book for me to see.
“What is it?” I ask, walking over to the table to stand beside him.
“Isla’s journal.”
Disbelief fills me. “Where did you get that?”
“I stole it from Rykaris.” He sets it down on the table in front of me.
Grabbing the journal, I attempt to open it, but an invisible force fuses the pages shut. I pick it up, trying to pry the covers apart with all my strength. When that doesn’t work, I resort to shaking it.
“You can’t open it by hand.” Wrath watches me struggle. “She used her magic to seal it.”
“Why would I help you take my mother’s secrets?”
“Don’t you wish to know the details of your mother’s death?” His tone is severe. “She did not die of natural causes. She should still be alive.”
“Are you implying my mother was murdered?” I set the journal back on the table, giving up on trying to pry it open.
“You’re the one who said she stopped visiting,” he reminds me. “Don’t you find it strange that she wed Gottfried and died without any heirs?”
He is right. It is a reality I don’t want to face. My father brushed everything under the rug so quickly, rendering my mother as a distant memory. Isla was a queen from one of the oldest houses. She wouldn’t have gone down without a fight—her throne was taken from her.
“Yes, that’s oddly suspicious.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But I’m not helping you.”
“Try it once,” he insists.
“No.”
“If I don’t find a way to break this curse, there will be no magic in Dratheria,” Wrath says harshly.
“That sounds like a you problem.” I won’t allow him to pressure me into helping him.
“Goddess above, you’re stubborn,” Wrath comments under his breath.
My scowl deepens. I stand my ground and refuse to give in. I won’t break the curse, not while he’s imprisoning me here. It may be a different kingdom, but the walls remain the same.
“Are you done taking your revenge out on me?” he asks.
“Not necessarily.”
“Fine.” Wrath steps closer. “Since you like nefarious dealings—”
“I am not nefarious!” I lower my hands to my sides.
“You are undoubtedly a menace, Raelys.” Wrath’s keen gaze studies me.
“Well, you're a scoundrel,” I remind him. “You keep speaking as if you have something to offer me.”
I try to throw him off. To make him question where I might be heading. No one will keep my freedom from me. Those kings who keep me as a pawn will learn I am the hand that topples them.
Wrath raises a curious brow at me. “Then what do you want?”
“Money.”
“Money?” he repeats in disbelief.
“Gold,” I clarify.
Wrath reaches forward, hooking a finger around the chain of my necklace. He yanks roughly on it. I stumble, my neck craning forward as the space evaporates between us. His scent fills my nose. Bergamot. It’s not at all the smell I’d imagined on him—light, aromatic, and a bit citrusy.
“And what would my pretty princess do with gold?” His deep voice rumbles against my skin like the purr of a cat. Wrath traces his thumb over the crest, not releasing the tension on the chain.
“Princess things,” I say sweetly, denying him any type of honest answer.
Wrath lets out a gruff laugh. “Do you even know what this crest means?”
“No.”
“Legend says that Krateus Izydor had wings,” he explains, releasing his hold on my necklace, letting it fall. “Many people saw him as a savior. A god.”
I give him a mercurial look, tucking the necklace back into my dress. “Like a bird?”
He smirks. “Yes. Like a bird.”
“Sounds lame.” I shrug, leaning away from him.
“Tough crowd.”
“Tell me he could at least do something cool, like… rewrite time or something.” I ponder the thought of what a god is capable of. “Or shape the continent.”
“So destructive, Princess,” he says derisively.
“Why are you talking about a dead guy?” I place my hands on my hips.