Chapter 2
Two
Ivy
The sharp pain in my chest damn near knocks me over. His words hurt more than I thought they would. Tears prick my eyes as I realize what’s truly happening.
Wyatt Castor is rejecting our offer. He is rejecting me, and by doing so, stating that he does not want peace between us.
Wyatt does not want peace within his own kingdom.
He is a monster, truly, and does not deserve his throne; but alas, there is nothing I can do to stop him.
There is nothing any of us can do to stop this.
He turns to the guards. “See them out.”
“Wyatt, please—” his mother pleads, but he ignores her.
The guards grab me by my arms, thrusting me upwards as my father remains silent. I turn to him, tears in my eyes and his expression is one of grave impasse.
I’ve never felt more discouraged, more judged, than I do at this moment.
The guards drag me away, their hands harsh on my skin and the tears come unabashedly.
“Daddy, I’m sorry, I—”
My father sighs. “It’s alright Ivy, we—”
The guards shove us out into the courtyard, and I hear screaming. The air smells of ash and fear culminates inside of me because even though I’ve never seen them myself, I have heard the stories. Terror laces through me as I look up at my father.
“It’s alright, sweetheart, I promise. We will get through this.
” His assurance is not genuine, but the love in his eyes is.
This is not what we wanted, I know that.
But we have no choice in the matter. My father can not force Wyatt Castor to take me as his bride any more than Queen Temperance can force Wyatt to listen to reason.
My father offers me his hand, helping me up into my carriage. He looks at me with a warm expression, my father peeking through the facade of a great king.
And then I see them.
The warriors decked in black tactical gear, their faces covered up to their eyes, purple flames wielded in their gloved hands. Death in their gazes.
Necromancers.
Before I can open my mouth and warn my father, the fire hits him, lighting him up in a purple haze.
“Daddy!” I call as he cries out in agony.
I reach for him, the heat of those flames grazing my skin.
I can’t touch them. They will kill me, but the fear, the harsh truth of what happened, renders me frozen.
I watch as the necromancers advance, one of them catching sight of me, and I just know… I am next.
My father lunges forth, slamming the carriage door shut, beckoning for the driver to run, to leave and take me home where I will be safe.
I move to open my door, but it is no use—it’s locked and spelled to prevent attacks from necromancers and other enemies who wish to harm us.
All I can do is stare out the window as the carriage takes off like a bat out of hell, my vision blurry from tears at the sight of my father being consumed by purple flames that turn him to dust.
When I arrive home, I am numb. My voice is raspy from crying, my heart broken into a thousand pieces. I could have handled Wyatt’s rejection, but this?
Not only was I rejected, but I lost the one man in my life who truly loved me, and now our kingdom is more at stake than ever.
Wyatt may try to take his throne and defy the law—and as a prince, he may even get away with it. He’s the king’s oldest heir. A male heir.
He was born to rule a throne, despite the fine print.
But me? My father had no male heir, he only had me.
And I am not capable of assuming his throne without a mate of my own—without the full completion of my powers.
My father’s advisor, Ptaris, meets me at the gate with a solemn expression, and I can’t help but crumble to the ground as the tears come once more. He makes no move to help me up, but instead, kneels on the ground beside me.
“Ivy, I am so sorry, my dear.” His voice is warm and full of sadness. He reaches one hand out and rubs my back, and I continue to sob.
This is a somber day for our kingdom, indeed.
“I c–couldn’t open the door,” I say as my voice squeaks. “All I could do was watch as he—”
Ptaris pulls me into a tight embrace. His comforting scent of lilies and cedar makes me feel worse—because it reminds me of my father. He and Ptaris were so very close, especially after my mother died. He’s always been my father’s advisor, but to me, he’s like a second father.
He helped raise me when my father was debilitated by grief, and they spent nearly every day together. He was truly the only person in our castle that I think was able to make my father smile.
Something about that feels…strange. Questionable. But I don’t know why I would question Ptaris and his friendship with my father, now of all times…
Ptaris holds me close.
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Sweetheart. Only my father has ever called me that.
And then it dawns on me.
“How—how do you know—”
Ptaris holds me apart from him, his gaze meeting mine with tears. He carefully pulls back his collar to reveal two small circles on his clavicle—faded circles that look old, as if they have been branded on his skin for decades.
Bite marks.
No, claim marks.
My heart stops as the world collides around me like crashing waves. No, that can’t be, they must be someone else’s marks, they must—
“When a bond is broken, it is felt like an earthquake,” Ptaris says, his voice sad and full of despair.
“No!” I cry out, not wanting to hear this. This has to be the worst day of my life.
“No, you’re lying!” I say as another sob racks me.
Paris covers his neck and shakes his head. “I wish I were, sweetheart. But I’m not.”
I choke out another sob as Ptaris wraps me in his arms, and I cry against his chest like a baby.
I’d always wondered why my father refused to remarry—to find another mate after my mother had passed. Every time I asked him about such things, he brushed me off, telling me he didn’t need another mate because he had me and the kingdom, and Ptaris. What more could he have asked for?
I’d always thought it was a lovely sentiment, one meant to redirect me to focus on my studies and preparations for my destiny of being a bride. But now, I look at his answer with a startling new clarity.
He never remarried or mated with another because he had claimed and bonded Ptaris.
My father had claimed and bonded a man; an act which itself is considered a crime for the average vampire, but for a vampire of royal blood, for a king—that is an act of treason and grounds for challenging the throne.
My father was committing treason right under my nose, and I’d never even suspected it.
But as Ptaris holds me, his tears hot against my flesh, embracing me as if I were his own, I realize the truth is much more complicated than it seems.
I wrap my arms around my father’s mate, the one he kept hidden in plain sight, the man who loved me as if I was his own alongside his best friend and mate.
He kisses my hair as he sniffles, his hands running down my back.
“I am so very sorry, Ivy. I know this must be difficult for you. And I wish there was another way to do this, but—”
I pull apart from him, glancing up at his warm brown eyes.
His features are rougher than most of the vampires in my father’s castle.
While vampire men all share the same sort of beautiful design, there is something quite comforting about Ptaris’s chocolate brown eyes and dark hair; bespeckled with shades of gray, the only indicator of his life before he’d fully transitioned into his powers.
Most vampires age slower the older they get.
It’s a contrast to how fast we age once we’re born.
I am only twenty, and my transition has not yet been completed, but if I were to bite and bind a mate, my aging process would slow down ostensibly.
If I do not claim and bind a mate, I will age like a human until I do.
And if I were to claim and bind a mate in my fifties, I would essentially lock myself into the appearance of the youth I present at that time, effectively slowing down the aging process for the rest of eternity.
My father claimed and bound my mother when he was just my age.
Had he waited to claim Ptaris? Months? Years?
I can’t help but wonder as my memories filter into my brain with newfound clarity.
Of all the times Ptaris and my father were together, of all the nights Ptaris put me to bed because my father was incapacitated or unable to be with me.
How could I have been so blind? How could I have not known my father loved him in a way that was different from how he loved me?
“But what?” I ask as he helps me up from the ground. He looks from me to the carriage.
“Your father and I knew this day may come, and we prepared for it as best we could, but… we did not plan for rejection.”
His words fall on me as thunder booms in the distance. I look up at the grey sky. The air is cold and rain is coming.
“We should go inside,” I say, but Ptaris shakes his head.
“No. It is best we do this now. Here.”
And then I realize his words. Or rather, one word: rejection.
“How do you know I was rejected?” I ask.
Ptaris purses his lips. “Had Wyatt accepted the offer, your father was to leave you in his presence, of course.”
My eyes widen as I was certainly not prepared to be left. My father made no point to specify this. He’d only said we were going to present me, to offer me to the prince and that in accepting I would be doing my kingdom and his a most honorable thing.
“My father did not—”
“I know. He didn’t want to burden you with could be’s when there was still much left up in the air. He didn’t want to worry you or put more pressure on your shoulders.”
Ptaris reaches out, rubbing my shoulder softly. The motion, the touch, is more loving than it should be, all things considered. Ptaris touches me with reverence, like I am his, too.
Like I belong to him as much as I belonged to my father, the king.
“As you know, you can not assume the throne unless you have bitten and bound a mate and ascended into your power.”
I nod, understanding dawning on me. Yes, my father is dead, and his throne now empty. And I am unbound, untethered. Suddenly the depth of Wyatt’s rejection hits me sharper than a knife. For he did not just reject me, he prevented me from taking the throne. And now my father is dead and—
“Ptaris, what…what are you saying? What will happen now that my father is—”
Ptaris’s eyes fill with tears once more.
“Rest assured, sweetheart, I will do my best to rule in his absence while you are at the academy.”
Academy? What bloody academy is he talking about?
“I don’t understand,” I say as I motion to move around him and head to the gates. But he stops me, blocking me. Trepidation festers in my blood as the storm clouds move in, the thunder getting louder. Closer.
Ptaris licks his lips, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Your father refused to prepare for rejection, but I did not,” he says sternly.
“There is an academy. R.I.S.E. Academy. It is designed for those who have been rejected,” he says carefully, the sadness in his voice evident.
“An academy for… the rejected…” I try to understand, but the words are like gibberish to me.
“What does this have to do with me? And Wyatt and my father’s—”
“You must find a mate to claim and bond, Ivy. Your birthday is in three months, and if you don’t claim a mate, sweetheart, our kingdom—” he cries, “your father’s kingdom will be subject to overthrow.
Wyatt Castor will be the first in line to try and conquer it, and if he rejected you, I can only assume he would not be a welcoming host to either of us given the circumstances. ”
“But you said…you said you could rule in his absence, you—”
“Law decrees I am only able to act as a regent until your twenty-first birthday. Which is why it is the utmost importance right now that you find a mate, Ivy.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” I ask, anger and frustration flooding me.
“How am I to find a mate when the one I was destined for rejected me?”
I hear my voice pitching like the thunder that rolls. Lightning strikes in the distance, and I know the storm is coming.
“That is why you must go to the academy, sweetheart. And you must not return until you have a mate to present to me.”
I move and he blocks me again, grasping my arms. I notice the carriage has not moved.
“Ptaris why are you not letting me into my castle? My home?”
His hands rub my arms smoothly as he implores me with his gaze.
“Because you must leave now, Ivy. Time is of the essence. We can not afford the luxury of waiting. Not with how much is at stake.” I pull away from him as the truth hits, and I look at the carriage with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“So that is how it is,” I say. Ptaris frowns deeply.
“For the record, I wish it did not have to come to this, but I vowed to your father I would always take care of you and this kingdom if something happened to him, and that is what I am doing. Please understand, Ivy.”
I do understand and I hate that I do. I know he is right, but I don’t have to like it. I don’t have to like any of this.
My fate is not my own. It never has been, and this, more than ever, proves that.
He takes my hand with his left, reaching into his back pocket with his free hand and procures an envelope. Carefully he places it in my hand, closing my fist around it.
“I have already arranged for your dormitory to be prepared with everything you may need during your stay. And I have chosen the classes I believe will best suit your interests as well as your search to find a suitable mate.”
He gives me a tearful smile as I pull away from him. I do not wish to look at him. I can’t.
I feel as if my heart is going to crumble, as if I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening, it just can’t.
Ptaris does not reach for me, and instead, whistles. It is then I note the guard standing in front of the gate moving towards me—to escort me into my carriage. The very one that delivered me to my botched fate, the very one that carried me away as my father’s body turned to ash.
I move of my own accord, if only because I feel like I need to disappear. From Ptaris, from Wyatt, from this bloody curse that has been placed on me all of a sudden.
I sigh as I step up to the carriage, looking back at Ptaris and his tear-stained cheeks, his guilty frown.
I don’t say thank you. I don’t say anything.
Instead, I clutch the envelope to my chest and enter the carriage and slam the door shut.
The last thing I hear is the thunderclap, and when the rain hits, I close my eyes and let it lull me into darkness, hoping when I awaken this will all have been a nightmare.