Chapter 31
Elorie
My room is empty without Isolde. No one comes to check on me when I return from Ruse Village. Another cold reminder that she’s gone.
It’s clear the king has no plans to replace her with someone else. While he might intend it as a punishment, I prefer it. The last thing I want is to grow close with someone new, only to watch them be slaughtered when the king decides I’ve grown too attached.
I don’t need any more blood on my hands. King Malachi might have been the one to steal her life, but I’m the one who failed to bring her back.
Staring into the mirror, I wonder if I’ll ever be strong enough to wield the magic inside me like those I fought beside tonight. Magic, like the kind Wilder tunneled into after he drank from me.
I pull my hair off my shoulders and angle my head. There’s barely a mark where he bit me. Everything heals faster where magic flourishes, so while villagers back home would walk around with these marks for months, mine is almost gone.
I’ll never forget those whispers. Women were both praised and chastised for letting Fae drink from them, and some were prouder than others.
I graze my fingers over my throat and try to decide how I feel about it. I’m not ashamed that I made this decision because it saved Wilder’s life. It gave his magic the fuel to send all the ravagers away. But he’s also the enemy of the realm.
I shouldn’t have wanted to heal him at all.
The two small bumps where he punctured my skin are sensitive to the touch. Closing my eyes, I remember how it felt to have his fangs sink in. To have his tongue lap at my skin as he drank my blood. Something throbs at my core.
Quickly, I pull my hair in front of my shoulders and shake that thought. This is what Wilder wants—to seduce me into changing my mind.
I can’t.
I won’t.
If there’s any chance there’s still life on Alyssium, my decision is made.
My fingers twine through my hair, braiding it off my face. This braid isn’t as intricate as the ones Isolde would do, but it works. I spin the blue ends around my finger, noticing the color has climbed another half inch.
Tomorrow, we leave for Tempest, and I’ll finally get to escape these walls for a little while. I might die in the blessing, but anything is better than the constant reminder of corpses beneath my feet.
I glance at my bed, but I’m not tired, still buzzing from the battle at the beach. Instead of trying to sleep, I slip out my door, thankful that the Guard is busy recovering from what happened in Ruse Village, so they aren’t watching me as closely.
I’m wearing a nightdress as I wander the hallways, but it’s quiet, so it doesn’t matter. The nightly parties have ended, and most have retreated to their rooms. The few who cross my path are too busy hanging on the arm of another to bother paying me any attention.
I follow the familiar path to the courtyard, but the doors are locked, so I choose an unfamiliar hallway to the left.
Gold-framed portraits line the walls. Gaudy and perfectly polished.
Everything in the palace is royal blue and gold, which surprised me when I first came here, since the Guard wears silver armor.
It wasn’t until Callum told me that only the king wears the color of the palace that the decor made more sense.
King Malachi wants his golden aura to stand out.
Kings and their egos.
Around a bend, I find a painting depicting the creation of the four gods of our realm. The colors are so rich they sparkle, bringing the story to life.
First came the unspeakable gods, but they could not be heard or understood by any ears, mortal or immortal. So they crafted creations in their vision that could.
Caeces, the night.
Davorian, the aether.
Voilene, the star.
And Evaline, the spirit.
The unspeakable gods gifted them with thought and power of their own, leaving them to oversee the Space and the After. And so, our four gods were born, and together, they bore many constellations of realms to keep themselves busy, including ours.
First, Caeces woke the night, but it was dark and unbearable. A nightmare of death and premonitions. So Voilene woke the stars to light a path for the creatures that would inhabit it. She strung them along on threads woven by the Luminess with purpose and intention.
But light was an extension of darkness in that it was empty and soulless, so Davorian woke the aether to form all things. Finally, Evaline woke the spirit and the mind. She gave the creatures of the constellations awareness of their blessings and selves.
In the painting, Voilene sits on a throne of the moon in the sky, overseeing the stars.
Her gaze is at a distance, watching the shifting constellations while Caeces is the darkness around them.
Davorian is depicted with his staff reaching for the sun, the tether between all things.
While Evaline sits astride her lion, dark hair flowing in the breeze as she whispers the secrets of the gods to those who listen.
As the purveyor of wisdom, order, and victory, Evaline is the highest regarded by the Fae.
They believe she blessed them above all, allowing them the wisdom to harness the very magic in their blood.
Although some texts state that it was Voilene, not Evaline, who granted them their gift, and as such should be regarded for that blessing.
A noise comes from down the hall, and I spin toward it, ignoring the chill that skitters through me as I turn my back to the gods. As I get closer, I think maybe I’m hearing voices until a distinct moan has my feet freezing in place.
Two doors open to a great hall I’ve never seen before. The curtains are blue with golden frills decorating them where they sweep the floor. At the center of the room is a table that stretches from end to end. To sit at one side would make it impossible to have a conversation with the other.
Atop the table is a beautiful red-haired female with her back arched and her breasts on display. And standing over her, thrusting into her, is King Malachi.
I quickly spin on my heels, turning back in the direction I came, only to run directly into a solid chest.
“Getting into trouble, Starfire?” Wilder smirks, thankfully speaking through the thread that hangs between us so the king doesn’t hear him.
I shove past him, going back the way I came. “I made a wrong turn.”
“You didn’t have to leave. If you were enjoying the show—”
“I wasn’t enjoying anything.” I halt, spearing him with my glare.
Wilder shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Whatever you say.”
“What are you doing here?” I bite back, still keeping my voice low even though we’re in a different hall now.
“Wandering.” He glances up and around. “Appreciating the art.”
“Liar.” I narrow my eyes.
He hums, his gaze landing back on me. “You’re the one wandering my quarters. Shouldn’t I be the one asking the questions?”
“These are your quarters? But Malachi—”
“Royal quarters,” Wilder corrects. “Your king’s wing is in that direction. But this”—he glances down to where the floor changes at the start of a new hallway—“is guest quarters.”
I swallow hard, realizing that the art is more extravagant in this part of the palace. The floors are polished to the point of being reflective.
“Were you up late looking for me, Starfire?” Wilder winks.
“Stop calling me that,” I grumble, turning to walk away, but he follows me. “I thought the king was in a relationship with your sister.”
“Malachi beds many Fae. My sister is one of them, but not the only.”
“Of course not.”
“He is a king, Elorie.”
“So are you,” I point out, my stomach souring. “Tell me, is that behavior the whims of a king or the whims of the Fae in general?”
“Who said it’s either? Maybe it’s just the whims of Malachi.”
My laugh comes out in a snort. “I’ve been to the parties. I’ve seen the beautiful Fae who follow you around. Hanging on your every word. Don’t pretend you aren’t just as promiscuous.”
“Immortality makes for a long life.” He avoids answering me directly, and since I really don’t want to think about the occupants of his bed, I allow it.
“How old are you, anyway?”
“So curious about me tonight, Elorie Vale.” His grin is disarming.
“Not curious. Bored.”
“Five hundred and eighty-nine.”
My head snaps at that. “You’re almost six centuries old?”
“Mm-hmm.” His face is blank, as if that age is nothing.
Which, I suppose, makes sense when the oldest Fae have been known to live for thousands of years.
“I guess it makes sense then.” I twist my fingers through the ends of my hair. “Living for six centuries would make monogamy nearly impossible. I imagine anyone would get bored with the same person—or Fae—after that long.”
“Unless you find your mate.” Wilder shrugs, and my stomach knots.
He admitted in Ruse Village that he doesn’t have one. That the king’s thinking Aurora is his mate is part of his grand scheme. And while that could have been a lie, I believe him.
“Is there a chance you won’t find your mate?”
“Yes. Many Fae don’t. There are too many realms in the constellation. A Fae’s mate could be in any of them. Now, with the Arches failing—”
“You could never get to them at all.”
Wilder nods, and I consider that. The possibility of never finding the one you’re meant to love. It’s heartbreaking.
“Is love that important to you, Elorie?” Wilder pauses, and I realize we’re at my door.
“Would it make me naive?”
“It would make you human.”
“How? Isn’t that what finding a mate is? Finding your great love?”
Wilder steps closer, planting a hand on the door above my head. I take a step back but run right into it. There’s no escape, and it reminds me of how we were in Ruse Village.
“Love is not a big enough word to define what it means to meet your mate. To look them in the eyes and realize why you were not whole until the moment they saw you. That you did not exist until their hands met your skin. That there is no time or distance too great to keep you from them ever again. Love is insignificant in comparison.”
His words twirl in my mind.
I wet my lips, not daring to speak out loud because I can barely catch my breath. “You say that like you know something about it.”
His eyes fall to my mouth, pausing as I hold my breath, until he takes a step back. “You shouldn’t be wandering the halls alone this late at night.”
It was too much to think we could have any depth to our conversation without him turning into an insufferable grump.
My eyes narrow. “Does my wandering the halls get in the way of you sneaking around, plotting how you’re going to destroy the realm?”
“I don’t need to plot when I’ve already got it all figured out.”
His arrogance needles me.
“Why are you really doing it?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Regardless of how terrible the prison is, or how long you were there, is it really worth all this to make an entire realm suffer for what the king did to you?”
Since being at the palace, I have read about the battle where Wilder fell.
His sister isn’t mentioned, but Wilder fought beside his parents to protect his mother and her crown.
He leveled an entire forest that has only now fully regrown, taking the life of every creature within it.
Animals, birds, insects. Small villages of Fae that were tucked in its depths.
But in the end, the king had too many warriors ready to surround him when his magic flickered. And with the Well already causing trouble with the Arches, more Vaelier forces could not get to the royal family soon enough. The Crown Guard killed the queen and king and locked Wilder in the prison.
He’s a king who has yet to sit on his throne.
“You seem to know one side of the war very well.” He reads my mind. “But you forget there are always two, and Lyrichia is not innocent.”
“Its people are.”
“And Vaelier’s are not?”
My argument catches in my throat because there is nothing to say to that. I don’t wish for his people to die either, but it doesn’t mean I can turn my back on my home. We all suffer while kings sit on their thrones and play with our lives like we’re pawns.
“What will you do if you have your way? Really?” Not that I’ll allow it, but I need to hear it to shatter this disillusion that is starting to form whenever he’s near me.
“I’ll offer Lyrichia the same courtesy they showed my kingdom. My people. My queen.”
His queen.
She was his mother, yet he refers to her so coolly.
Wilder watches me, and I feel him tiptoeing at the edge of my thoughts. Aether stirs like a spark at the end of a long thread. I follow that thread in my mind until I meet him, realizing it is not endlessly open as I thought, but it is something I can clasp my fingers around to shove him back.
So I do, and my mind quiets.
“You’re learning.” Wilder grins, taking a step back. “Sleep well, Elorie. And stay in your room.”