Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Aurelia
Every flutter of my eyelids dragged like cotton soaked in water. I stopped trying to pry them open and inhaled slowly, taking stock. The first thing I noticed was the smell—woodsmoke and damp stone, threaded with something sharp and herbal that clung to the back of my throat.
The second thing was sound. A hush, broken only by the faint crackle of a fire somewhere nearby.
No voices. No footsteps. Just silence, the kind that reminded me of all those years spent among my sleeping kingdom.
The kind of silence that pressed like a weight on my ribs and brought a twinge of panic that I’d been transported right back to the nightmare of the past seven years spent inside my sleeping kingdom.
Maybe the last few weeks were nothing more than a strange dream.
Sonoma’s death, the secret she’d kept from me until the end—that she was my mother and a god of Hel was my father, Callan’s marriage proposal.
His father’s plan to drain my magic for the sake of a pretty lawn.
Rydian. Thinking of all that had happened, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted it to be real or not.
Either way, I was awake now. And reality could not be ignored much longer, especially not my bladder.
My limbs were heavy, sluggish, every movement tinged with the wrongness of muscles that shouldn’t ache this badly, considering the softness of the mattress I found myself on. My mouth was dry, and when I swallowed, nausea climbed my throat.
Drugged.
The realization crawled over my skin like cold sweat. Followed quickly by the memory of how it had happened in the first place.
My furyfire burning King Duron to ash. His advisor, Koraz, with a blade through his chest. Rydian pushing me into a black carriage. The driver’s armor emblazoned with the silver sigil of the Midnight Court.
My eyes flew open, my heart racing as I tried to breathe through the panic. I blinked at the sight of the smooth ceiling, slanted and high, exposed rafters gleaming in the soft, orange light. Beneath that, the walls were stone, uneven and old, and a faint draft whispered through cracks.
I was lying on a large bed layered in thick blankets. A single window was shuttered tight. Two doors stood across from me. One hung open, revealing a glimpse of a massive bathing chamber. The other was closed, the faint glint of iron along its latched edge telling me what I didn’t want to know.
Locked.
I hadn’t dreamt it after all; I was a prisoner.
Another quick glance around the space revealed no sign of my personal belongings, including my beloved swords: Dorcha and Latha.
Panic flared in my chest, sharp enough to shove me upright. My pulse hammered in my temples. But the ache in my head was nothing compared to the fresh pain splitting through my chest. My heart broke all over again as the truth settled like stone in my lungs.
Rydian had betrayed me.
He had used my feelings for him as a lure, dangling his own affections like a bait and switch.
By the time I’d decided to flee Grey Oak, I’d given up the idea that my alliance with Callan would have worked, but there were plenty of other courts I could have run to.
The only one I never planned to cross paths with was the Midnight Court. Cowards and monsters—the lot of them.
And now, I was here—wherever here was—locked away, drugged into compliance.
An heir without a throne.
A warrior without a sword.
A woman who had trusted the wrong prince—only to be ruined by him in the end.
My fingers curled into the blankets until my nails bit through the soft material. I had to get out. Now. Before my new captors realized I was awake and came to torture me for whatever information Rydian told them I had. Or worse, maybe they wanted what Duron had coveted: my magic.
I slid from the bed, my legs unsteady, the floor tilting beneath me as if the whole world had been knocked askew.
I faltered at the sight of the simple nightgown clinging to my frame.
Not the wedding gown I’d been wearing when I fled.
Which meant someone had dressed me. And undressed me.
Bile rose in the back of my throat, but I shoved it down.
My palms found the smooth, exposed log wall, steadying myself as I shuffled to the bathing chamber.
When I was finished, I splashed water on my face and drank deeply from the faucet of cold water being piped in.
The attention to detail in this place was on par with royal houses.
It reeked of luxury rather than the filth I’d expected.
On my way back through the bedroom, my gaze caught on a large pack sitting against the wall.
I went to it and peeled it open, surprised to find all my belongings I thought I’d left in Grey Oak, including the jewels and Aine armor I’d brought from Sunspire.
Dorcha and Latha, my swords, were still missing, which only reminded me of the fact that I was, in fact, a prisoner despite the accommodations.
I straightened again and went to the bedroom door. The heavy iron latch gleamed faintly in the torchlight.
I pressed against it anyway.
Locked. A clear message. But I was no good at obeying.
I opened my hand, willing furyfire to spark to life in my palm. A single, sad ember sizzled then winked out. I tried again. And again. Nothing.
My stores of magic were still depleted, thanks to whatever they’d drugged me with, but I rummaged through my bag again and managed to come away with a hairpin. Picking the lock took far more time than I wanted, but eventually the lock sprang free, and the door opened.
Stumbling out of the bedroom, I tried to breathe through the pounding in my head. Gripping the wall, I hurried forward, bare feet brushing over worn rugs, my pulse thudding loud in my sensitive fae ears.
The hallway opened into a larger space that was clearly the living area of a massive log cabin-style residence, and I was so surprised by the fact that it wasn’t a dungeon, I halted and stared.
The space was high-ceilinged yet warm, with the glow of firelight spilling from a hearth built with gray stones the size of my head.
Before it, a comfy sitting area beckoned, complete with fluffy pillows and a throw blanket tossed over the back of the deep-cushioned sofa.
A pair of reading glasses was perched on the coffee table as if someone had only just set them down before getting up and wandering off.
Along the far wall, built-in bookshelves were stuffed and brimming with books. In the corner, beneath a window, a large desk stood with papers stacked in haphazard piles.
It felt almost… cozy.
Other than the fact that the walls bore blades of various shapes and sizes, lined up in neat, lethal order with tiny placards beside them, likely listing the number of enemies their wielder had slain.
Still… this place was lived-in. Comfortable. Something about it reminded me of Rydian’s townhouse in Grey Oak. Which, now that I thought about it, made it all so much worse than a dank prison cell in the bowels of a drafty castle.
A male stepped from the shadows near the door. I didn’t recognize him. Midnight fae, I assumed. He was tall and broad, his cloak failing to hide the sword pommel protruding from his hip. He wore all black except for the small silver sigil of the midnight court emblazoned on his lapel.
“You shouldn’t be out of your room,” he said, voice low.
I dropped into a fighting stance, fists raised, my body already moving on instinct. My magic sparked, embers of furyfire flickering at my fingertips. Hopefully, the male wouldn’t know embers was the extent of my stores just now.
“Try to stop me,” I hissed.
The fae lunged.
I braced, ready to fight until the walls ran red—
“Enough.”
The voice cut clean through the haze, sharp as a blade but achingly familiar.
The male stopped.
I whipped around, heart slamming into my ribs.
A female stepped into the firelight. Her dark hair was cropped short and almost jagged on one side, her arm bound in a sling, wings scarred and torn but unmistakable.
Her eyes were steady, bright, unyielding as ever as she took me in.
My breath left me in a rush. For a moment, I could only stare, too stunned to move. “Amanti.”