Chapter 32
Rylee
“What do you think this is about?” Ivy whispers from where she sits next to me.
“Another task from the list, no doubt.” I turn in my seat, looking up to Mirren.
“Should I speak with them?” I ask only loud enough for the four of us to hear.
The Royal Authority Council is behind us, chatting among themselves and sipping from crystal glasses filled with sparkling wine.
Like this is any other entertainment put on by the wealthy.
But this is my life. My mates’ lives that are being tested and tried, all for the sake of proving themselves worthy of thrones that should be their birthright.
“Only if you have something to say, girl,” Mirren whispers back.
My heart deflates. I have no grand speeches planned. No well-thought-out pleas for their acceptance. That’s not me. It’ll never be me.
But . . . perhaps I should’ve prepped for this? Maybe I should’ve spent less time training, practicing with powers, and poring over my sister’s art journal, and instead focused on composing articulate speeches that prove I’ll make a good supporter alongside my mates when they become kings?
Too late for that today. If I stand up and speak to them off the cuff, there’s no telling what will fly out of my mouth. I certainly don’t want to fail this test before it’s even begun, whatever it may be.
A sharp gasp tears through me, adrenaline shooting through my veins like someone hit me with a magical blaster. I stand up so fast, I knock my chair over, almost taking Mirren out. She barely dodges it, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I grip my stomach, trying to catch my breath and stop the roll of nausea that hits me all at once.
“Rylee?” Ivy is next to me, hands on my back.
“What is it?” Layce asks from my other side, trying to catch my gaze.
I clench my eyes shut, hushing the bonds inside me. They’re tensing, flailing like they’re fighting off some invisible force. They demand I get up and do something—
They go quiet.
Cold.
My eyes snap open. “I can’t feel them.”
“Can’t feel what?” Mirren asks, wary.
“My bonds,” I say, my voice cracking. “They’ve gone numb.”
Mirren gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Goddesses save us.”
I’ll kill the kings.
Eviscerate them.
I take a step toward the open double doors, ignoring the confused looks from the Royal Authority Council.
“Your highness,” Charlotte calls toward me. “Are you all right? Do you need—”
“Rylee,” Mirren snaps, stepping in front of me. She smiles politely toward the RAC, turning us away from their prying eyes, and navigates me away from the door. “Remember where you are,” she whispers.
The panic in her voice makes some of the bloodlust ebb.
“This is a test.”
“Mir.” I quiet myself. “I can’t feel them.”
And . . . and I can’t feel their powers anymore, either. It’s like something has draped over them, heavy and numbing.
“But we don’t know why,” Mirren says. “You can’t assume the worst. You can’t explode until you know the facts.”
I grit my teeth and breathe. She’s right. And the only relief I can take from not feeling their powers anymore is knowing I won’t erupt right now.
“What if—”
“All right, little bug.” Baydel’s voice cuts off my words. He scrunches his brows, noting my closeness to the doors. “Thinking of skittering away?”
“Of course not,” I manage to say.
“Good. We’ve just made all the arrangements.”
I swallow hard. Waiting. Gripping Mirren’s offered arm like it’s a lifeline.
They didn’t kill my mates. They wouldn’t do that. That wouldn’t prove anything.
They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re fine.
Icy terror streaks behind the chant I silently repeat. If they’re not fine . . .
That buried, primal well of wrath bubbles inside me. The one that exploded the night the Faders shot at them. I lock down my emotions, doing my best to numb them like the bonds and the powers. I can’t afford to lose control. Not now. Not ever.
Jullian looks at me kindly from where he stands behind Baydel, Lucas and Brooks not far behind him. “Rylee, today’s task—”
“Now, now, Jullian,” Baydel cuts over him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ll ruin all the fun.”
Jullian’s gaze sears Baydel for a moment, before he pushes it away.
I don’t respond. Can’t.
Every ounce of strength I have is going to sheer willpower to keep from lashing out at the kings for whatever it is they’ve done. I’m sure I could kill them with my bare hands at this point.
“Come.” Baydel gestures to the RAC and the rest of the people lingering in the ballroom. “To the arena.” He turns his focus to Mirren. “You will prepare her.”
Mirren dips her head, though confusion flits across her face.
“I’ll stay behind to assist,” Jullian offers.
Baydel studies him for a moment before he rolls his eyes. “If you must,” he says. “But don’t give away anything. I want to explain everything once we’re all seated.”
“Understood.” Jullian watches them leave, everyone exiting in a flurry of excitement.
Except for Ivy and Layce, who follow the crowd and look back to flash me worried glances. I try to nod my assurance to them, but I’m not entirely sure everything will be fine. I have no clue what I’m about to step into.
Jullian leads us down the hallway and into a small weapons chamber. “Put her in leathers, please, Mirren,” he says. “And arm her with some blades. Small ones. Not enough to draw too much attention.”
“Arm her?” Mirren gasps, all formality for the king forgotten. “Am I sending her into battle?”
I swallow hard as I look at the array of weapons. I’ve only practiced with a few during my training with the Legends, and before that, with Erin.
“I’ve been forbidden to say.”
Of course. Mirren beckons me over to a partitioned space in the corner of the room.
I hurry over and take the fighting leathers from her.
These were made specifically for me after the Athanry and hug my body perfectly.
The Legends’ crest—a crown with all four princes’ gemstones inlaid in the points and a golden gem on the fifth point—is on the back of the long-sleeved jacket.
I use the time it takes to get dressed to breathe.
Whatever this task is, I’ll face it as I have any other.
Dressed, I move toward Mirren and Jullian again.
Each offers me a pair of blades, and I take them, sliding them into the holsters fitted to my thighs.
Jax will be proud when he sees me decorated in knives.
That thought gives me a little courage.
“If you were a betting man, like Axl, what odds would you give me?” I ask Jullian, hoping to get something out of him.
“You’ve always surprised us, Rylee Gray,” he says. “You can do it again. If you want it badly enough.”
I glare at him, beyond caring about propriety. “I’m getting really fucking tired of having to prove myself.”
“I know,” he says. He turns, readying to lead us to the arena. “It isn’t fair.”
“Can you give me any advice?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, lingering for a moment. “Don’t die.”