65. Xül
Xül
The celebration suffocated me with its gilded pretense.
Crystal chandeliers cast fractures of light across faces that had existed for centuries, each smile as hollow as the next.
Other Legends moved through the crowd like peacocks, drunk and disorderly, while members of the twelve watched on with barely concealed amusement.
I stood near one of the towering windows, nursing a glass of wine I had no intention of drinking. Through the window, Sundralis sprawled in all its obscene grandeur. It was a revolting place in every sense of the word.
Power from the Forging still lingered in the air, wafting like a current through the room.
But especially through her.
My eyes found her easily in the masses. Her beauty had always been enough to destroy me. But seeing her now, I was practically rioting to be near her. Trembling in the attempt to not pull her back to Draknavor.
Lingering affects from what I’d done? No. Not based on the way the eyes around her were gawking .
The transformation had refined her into something breathlessly lethal.
That dark hair I'd tangled my fingers in just hours ago was longer now.
It cascaded past her shoulders, a waterfall of shadow that nearly reached her waist. The mortal softness had been carved away.
That square jaw I'd traced with my thumb was now a blade's edge, defiant and sharp.
Stardust clung to the air behind her, suspended motes of light that refused to fall.
Each step left a glittering path that lingered for heartbeats before dissolving—her power so fresh, so uncontrolled that it leaked from her very presence.
Then there were her eyes. Gold had replaced blue. They were feline now, predatory, shrouded by thick lashes.
The freckles I'd memorized, mapped with my mouth in the darkness—even those had transformed.
Now they were glittering dust scattered across her skin, making her shimmer with each movement.
Each mark a constellation I wanted to trace again, to see if they still tasted of mortality or if divinity had claimed even that.
She was devastating.
"There you are."
That voice interrupted the fantasy my mind was weaving together.
Nyvora materialized at my side, her approach silent as a hunting cat. "I was beginning to think you'd abandoned the celebration entirely."
I didn't turn. "Merely taking a moment."
"Of course." She positioned herself beside me, close enough that her sleeve brushed mine. The contact was deliberate, calculated. Everything with Nyvora was calculated. "The Forging can be overwhelming to witness. All that raw power, those transformations..."
The words dripped honey, but I heard the hemlock beneath.
"The ceremony is always noteworthy," I replied, keeping my voice neutral.
"Indeed." Her fingers found my arm, the touch deceptively gentle. "Your father and I had the most illuminating conversation earlier. About the importance of... proper timing. "
I finally looked at her. Nyvora was undeniably beautiful—all sharp cheekbones and a predator’s smile, her gown shimmering between deep green and gold like scales in sunlight. But her eyes held that familiar coldness.
"I'm certain he had much to say."
Her laugh grated my nerves. "He's quite eager to see certain arrangements finalized. As is my mother. They seem to think we've delayed long enough." Her grip tightened incrementally. "I'm inclined to agree."
"The realm faces numerous challenges at present," I said carefully. "Perhaps patience?—"
"Patience?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to an intimate murmur that would appear affectionate to any observer. "I've been patient, my prince. Watching you find excuse after excuse, distraction after distraction. But we both know this dance must end eventually."
I went still at the thought. Because I knew it would end. And it would end today.
"After all," Nyvora continued, her nails pressing just hard enough against my sleeve to be felt, "we wouldn't want any... misunderstandings about where loyalties lie. Not when so much depends on unity between our domains."
A threat wrapped in silk and perfume. How perfectly Nyvora.
"Of course not," I murmured.
"Wonderful." She released my arm, but only to link hers through mine. "Then you won't mind accompanying me for the next dance. People should see us together, don't you think? A united front is so important during these transitional times."
I stopped walking, forcing her to halt beside me. "Actually, I do mind."
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose, but her smile never wavered. "Oh?"
"I have pressing matters to discuss with my father." I disentangled my arm from hers with deliberate care. "I'm certain you can find another partner."
"Pressing matters?" Her voice dropped, sweet as poisoned honey. "More pressing than your future wife?"
"You're not my wife, Nyvora." I stepped back, creating distance between us. "And yes, more pressing."
Panic cracked in her expression, but was quickly masked. "Xül, wait." She reached for me again. "I need this. You don't understand—I need to get away from her."
I paused, studying her face.
"My mother controls everything," she continued, the words tumbling out in a rush.
"Every breath I take, every move I make, every thought in my head.
This marriage—it's my only chance at freedom.
At having something of my own." Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her gown.
"I need you, Xül. Not just the alliance, not just the power. "
"Nyvora—"
"I know you don't love me." The admission slipped from her lips. "I'm not asking for that. But we could have an understanding. A partnership. I'd be a good wife, I swear it."
For a moment, I almost felt sympathy. Almost. But then I thought of Thais. A chance at something real. Of the future I'd already chosen.
"I'm sorry," I said. "But I can't be your escape route."
The vulnerability vanished as if it had never existed. "You'll regret this," she said, her voice returning to its usual sweetness.
"I'll face the consequences.” I inclined my head, the barest acknowledgment, then turned and walked away. “Find another way out, Nyvora. This isn't it."
I could feel her gaze burning into my back, could sense the whispers that followed my rejection of her public display.
Let them whisper. I had more important concerns.
I found Thais in the crowd before she sensed my approach. My starling. Utterly unaware of how every divine gaze tracked her movements.
I moved through the bodies silently. When I reached her, I couldn't resist the touch—my fingers found the small of her back, that spot I'd discovered made her breath hitch.
She shivered at the contact, and satisfaction clawed its way up my chest. Even surrounded by the mass of admirers, her body knew mine.
"Golden eyes suit you, starling," I murmured against her ear, allowing my breath to ghost across her skin. I watched goosebumps rise along her neck and fought the urge to press my lips there, to mark her in front of all these vultures circling.
"Now I'm off to have some difficult conversations." The understatement of the century.
Her face shifted with understanding, and my chest tightened. She knew what this meant, what I was risking. Her hand found mine in the press of bodies, hidden from view, and squeezed.
"Good luck," she whispered.
I allowed myself one more moment, memorizing how she looked in this instant—fierce and beautiful and mine. Then I stepped back, letting the crowd swallow the space between us.
I found Aelix near the wine table, his golden eyes tracking my approach with obvious amusement.
"That was quite the scene," he said, handing me a glass I didn't want. "Nyvora looks ready to flay someone."
"She'll recover." I set the glass aside untouched. "Where's my father?"
"Eager to escape the aftermath?" His grin widened. "Last I saw him was near the Western balcony."
I nodded my thanks and made my way through the crowd. The celebration continued around me—laughter and music, the clink of glasses, the rustle of elaborate gowns. All of it felt distant, meaningless. My thoughts kept drifting to? —
No. I couldn't afford those thoughts here. Not surrounded by eyes that saw too much and tongues that whispered too freely.
Morthus turned at my approach, and I caught the flicker of annoyance in his expression—still furious with me, clearly.
"Father." I kept my voice carefully neutral. "A word?"
"What is it?" The words carried a chill.
"Not here." I glanced meaningfully at the crowded balcony. "The Eternal City."
One dark eyebrow rose, but eventually, he sighed. With a gesture, he led me to a shadowed alcove. The portal opened with barely a whisper of power, darkness bleeding through reality's fabric like spilled ink.
He motioned me through without comment, and I stepped from Sundralis's oppressive brightness into the familiar shadows of home.
We moved through the palace in silence. Servants bowed as we passed. The tension between us grew with each step, fed by unspoken accusations and disappointments.
Finally, we reached one of his parlors. This was where he'd first explained my duties as his heir, where my mother had sung me lullabies in the ancient tongue during storms that shook the domain.
Morthus moved to the sideboard with measured steps. Yes, he was certainly still upset with me. Crystal clinked as he poured amber liquid into two glasses—ambrosia aged for millennia in casks of bonewood. He handed me a glass before settling into his chair, the leather creaking under his weight.
"What is it you need to speak about?" The words were shards of ice.
I remained standing, the glass untouched in my hand.
"I won't marry Nyvora."
The silence that followed was deafening. Morthus didn't move, didn't even blink, but I felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees. Shadows gathered in the corners.
"We've discussed this," he said finally, his voice dangerously quiet.