25. Basten
Chapter 25
Basten
S abine Darrow is even more beautiful than her portrait in Rian’s locket. I’ve seen plenty of artists embellish their subjects—adding extra curves, omitting unsightly freckles—but the real-life, in-the-flesh Sabine Darrow?
She’s a vision . The kind that makes you forget to breathe for a second. Her black gown, studded with iron rivets and obsidian jewels, gleams in the faint dawn light like stars trapped in dark velvet. It’s regal yet hard-edged, like armor. And she carries it with the grace of a queen—no, something wilder.
But it's not about the gown. It’s her. The way she holds herself, chin high, like she’s daring the whole room to challenge her. Her skin glows in the warm light, untouched by the dust and filth I’ve dragged in with me. Her hair—pure sunlit gold—brushes her shoulders in soft waves, framing a face so sharp it could cut glass. And those eyes…impossible to describe. Though, right now, they’re wide with something I can’t read, flickering between fear and de fiance.
She’s still. Frozen. Like she’s caught in a moment that she doesn’t understand.
Neither do I.
I both know her and don’t in a way that has my insides twisting in knots.
Oh—and then there’s the fae.
The motherfucking fae.
It’s a strange world when a girl consumes my attention more than the five immortal gods who, by all accounts, should be nothing but myths. Yet here they are, lounging like kings in their palace, their fey lines glowing in the dim light, looking both amused and bored by this little banquet.
And I’m standing here, chained up like a damn criminal, trying not to let my mind shatter from the weight of it all.
I’ll admit—it’s a bit of a surprise. Okay, it’s an earth-quaking, bone-rattling surprise. But I guess that’s Sabine Darrow for you. She outshines the stars, so why not gods, too?
Hundreds of eyes bore into me, so I have to piece things together fast. Okay…the gods are real. They’re awake. At least, half of them are. Plus, from the reek on their breath, they’re drunker than sailors.
I can guess their identities—the tall one in a crown must be Vale—but the one I would know anywhere is Iyre.
Perched on the foot of the table, she bites into a honeycake and takes her time licking the crumbs off her lips.
I only wish I could forget about that bitch.
For weeks, I’ve been clawing myself apart to learn every detail about Sabine. The sound of her laughter. If she snores. Which foods make her happy. I want to know everything.
Once, I did know everything about her.
And now ?
My muscles tense like a caged beast, wrists straining until the chain between my iron shackles pulls taut with a metallic snap that echoes in the hall, making half the courtesans jump.
She took Sabine away from me. Robbed me of my memories. Left me doubting the one person in my life who’s ever given a damn about me.
My gaze swings back to Sabine like gravity's pulling it there.
Her wide eyes on my shackles, she staggers forward to catch herself on the table as though about to faint and says again, “ Basten .”
My legs nearly give out. One utterance of my name on her lips, and I’m a lost soul.
“Daughter? Do you know this man?” Vale’s voice rasps like he’s been sleeping underground for a thousand years.
Wait— wait . I blink hard.
Daughter ?
I only have seconds for my mind to churn over this information before Sabine makes her unsteady way around the table, clutching onto the chair backs for support.
“Basten. I—I know how this looks.” Her bottom lip trembles as she fumbles with some piece of string around her finger. “It isn’t what you think. It was only a game. A stupid game…”
She comes to a short stop a few paces before reaching me.
“A game?” I repeat, confused.
She chokes back a sob as she points a shaky finger at the fae on the table. “Artain, I mean. Whiskey. The Meden Cup…”
Her words are gibberish to me, but if she thinks it shocks me to see revelers, well, reveling , then she has no idea how much time I’ve spent in taverns.
Okay, it is jarring. To know her lips were on another man’s body. But frankly, I don’t give a fuck what she’s done—she could stab me in my own navel, and I’d thank her for it.
Doesn’t she get it? We’re just like in the story Runa told me.
I’m Aron.
She’s Aria.
Memories or not, jealousy or not, nothing can come between us.
“Do you…do you even know who I am?” Tears glimmer in the orbs of her eyes. She can’t seem to decide if she wants to reach for me or not, her fingers hovering in the air between us.
I say measuredly, “I know who you are.”
Her throat bobs in a hard swallow. She takes another step forward?—
But like a thunderclap, Vale is there, one hand gripping her upper arm. “Sabine. Stay away from this captive.”
Her eyes go round as silver coins. “Father, this is?—”
“An Astagnonian war prisoner.” He shoves her protectively behind him, where another fae—I’m guessing Woudix from the whole “cold as death” vibe—closes his hands around her shoulders, holding her back.
Vale wrenches my face to his and thunders, “Who are you?”
“Basten Bowborn,” I mutter between smooshed lips, fighting the urge to rip my jaw out of his grasp. For Sabine, I have to play nice. “First Sword to King Rian Valvere. ”
Vale tightens his fingers until something cracks in my jaw. “Spying for your king?”
“No, Majesty. When I left him, it was with his blood on my fists. I’m no loyalist. King Rian does not deserve the throne. His greed will cast Astagnon into an age of darkness.” Pain shoots through my jaw as I speak. “I can help you. I am the true son of Berolt Valvere. The rightful heir to the Astagnonian throne. Test my blood—it will prove my claim.”
Agitated murmurs ripple through the courtiers until Vale silences them with a raised hand.
“Or better yet, ask your daughter.” I point the best I can with my bound wrists. “She knows my claim is true.”
Even the damn squirrels fall silent as everyone turns to Sabine.
Face pale, she stutters, “It’s—it’s true. The bloodtaster verified it before my own eyes. I know this man to be trustworthy beyond doubt. He and I were—to be married.” She gently strokes the twine around her fourth finger. “Iyre can verify it. She took his memories.”
“Iyre?” Vale asks.
Iyre takes a long time inspecting an imaginary crumb under her fingernail. “I did not see the bloodtaster with my own eyes.”
The hot anger I feel for her crushes against my skull, making my fingers curl so hard into fists that I’m afraid the bones will shatter.
“You ruined my life!” Unable to control myself, I lunge toward her with a growl. I win a few feet until Captain Tatarin signals to the guards, and the iron chains pull taut. Another metallic snap echoes through the hall.
Gasps ring out from the guests .
Sabine’s hand flies to her collar, her face going ghostly white, terror-stricken.
Iyre only offers the hint of a smirk.
“Enough!” Vale’s thunderous voice makes the floor shake.
I bite back my hatred of Iyre, letting it simmer into hot coals in my belly as I fight to keep my breath steady.
“If I may, Majesty,” Captain Tatarin says with a bow, her soft presence diffusing the tension. “I might be able to offer some evidence to support Lord Basten’s claim. He was captured with a horse…and a monoceros.”
Sabine’s lips part in soft surprise.
Vale strokes his metallic beard before finally signaling to Captain Tatarin. “Bring the animals.”
“Here?” she says, gazing up at the crystal chandeliers. “Inside?”
“ Here .”
She leaves with a few guards, and soon, the clatter of hooves sounds in the hallway. Captain Tatarin enters, leading Myst and Tòrr by ropes in each hand.
The human guests in the hall murmur in confusion. They see two horses, not a horse and a monoceros.
But the moment the fae set eyes on Tòrr?
All five of them jump to attention as though I’ve dropped a powder keg in their party.
In a way, I guess I have .
Artain springs upright from the table, knocking over a bottle of honey wine. Iyre’s eyelids flare. Even the fey lines on Vale’s limbs pulse.
“By your reaction, I assume you can see beyond the beast’s glamour,” I say, stretching out my jaw. “I stole him from King Rian. I’ve traveled with him in daylight for a week— as you can see, I’m still alive. He would have incinerated a spy.”
Whispers spread through the hall, and my ears pick up on every one of them.
The horse is glamoured… It’s a monoceros… Look—dawn rises outside!
Vale twists toward the early morning sun rising through the windows. “Samaur—bring night. Now.”
“It’s only just dawn.” The God of Day brushes aside a crow to reach out the window. “We’ll lose an entire day’s worth of light.”
“I don’t fucking care! Do it now! That monoceros can burn the castle to ash!”
Samaur casts one more doubtful look at the rising sun before bringing his hands together in a clap. Orange-gold fey shoots out from his palms toward the open window. The echo of his clap makes the water glasses tremble.
The rising sun skyrockets across the sky from east to west. The shadows change. The sky brightens, then dims. The animals throughout the Hall of Vale run for cover, alarmed.
In the space of a single breath, the sun vanishes behind the western ridge.
Vale looks to the ceiling and releases a held breath. “Good.”
The crowd utters words of relief amid their astonishment.
“Myst!” Sabine’s joyful voice cuts through the tense chatter. She pulls out of Woudix’s grasp, races across the room, and throws her arms around Myst’s neck.
Myst whinnies softly, resting her muzzle on Sabine’s shoulder .
Tòrr lets out a burst of steam as if to say, Where is my hug?
Sabine laughs, wiping away tears, and wraps her arms around him, too.
I can barely tear my eyes off her.
All this distance. I’ve crossed all this distance on nothing but faith, all to answer one burning question.
And the answer?
I would fall for this woman from the stars themselves.
Vale grabs my chin again, wrenching my attention away from Sabine, bushy silver eyebrows lowered as he glowers. “Which did you come for, human? My daughter or a throne?”
Another hush falls over the room as hundreds of ears await my answer. But none seem as interested as Sabine herself, whose fingers weave anxiously through Tòrr’s mane, her attention darting between me and the twine loop on her finger.
Her , I want to say. In a thousand lives, I would always come for her.
And yet…her father currently holds my jaw in a death grip. He spent years searching for her—he won’t let me walk out of here with his prized daughter.
“I don’t remember your daughter,” I murmur measuredly, lifting an indifferent shoulder. “Whether we were engaged or not, I cannot desire someone I don’t know. I want the throne. It’s my birthright. My duty. And I will see it dripping with Rian Valvere’s blood as I sit upon it.”
Sabine’s face falls before she struggles to put up a mask of apathy—but I catch it.
Vale’s massive fingers tighten painfully on my jaw with a bone-crushing promise. “Our brother, Immortal Meric, is not yet awakened. He alone holds the ability to discern truth. So, in his absence, we will call for a godkissed bloodtaster to verify your claim. Until then, you’ll remain locked and under guard.”
“You can’t treat him like a prisoner!” Sabine cries.
Vale snaps, and a bolt of blue energy ripples across the room in warning. Sabine clenches her jaw, though her eyes simmer with anger.
“I have the right to speak to him—you can’t keep us apart,” she argues.
Vale beckons Artain forward with his free hand. “Keep Lady Sabine under lock and guard, too.”
“What? No! You can’t do that, Father!”
His face remains stony. “I didn’t go to the lengths I did to bring you here only for some human male to take you from me. You are a princess of Volkany and deserving of the privileges under that title. But make no mistake—I may be your father, but I am still your god .”
He releases my jaw.
“As for you, Lord Basten.” He circles Myst and Tòrr, assessing them. “I appreciate the gifts. Let us hope that your claim has merit. Both that you are the heir and that you did not come for my daughter. Our altars always need fresh sacrifices—and a king’s blood would be especially potent.”
To emphasize his power, he raises his hand to shoot a bolt of energy at Tòrr, peeling away Ferra’s glamour so the monoceros stands before us in his full fae form.
Vale nods to Captain Tatarin, who rests a hand on my shoulder to lead me away. My muscles bunch, resistful, but her grip presses into me in a gentle warning.
I force my shoulders back and down.
Sabine and I share one last look before I’m dragged away. There’s an ocean of uncertainty between us. She looks pale. Shaken. She thinks I don’t want her—that when Iyre took my memory of her, she also took my love.
She couldn’t be more wrong.
I didn’t crawl across kingdoms to walk away now. She’s mine—and I’m not leaving without her.