Chapter 21 Locke #3
“I thought—” she starts, voice cracking with emotion she’s been holding back. “It’s been two days, Locke. Two days of not knowing if you were alive or dead or captured or—”
I step inside without invitation, suddenly needing to be closer to her than the doorway allows. “I’m here,” I say, and the words feel inadequate for the relief I can see written across her face.
She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause to think or weigh the wisdom of her actions.
She throws herself into my arms with the kind of desperate trust that makes my chest tight, and I catch her despite being too weary to be caught off guard by anything.
This is what I wanted most as I rode hard through the forest, dodging and fighting off attackers.
To stand here with her arms wrapped tight around me, to know that my efforts meant something beyond mere survival.
I bend my head and bury my face in her hair, holding her so tight my bruised ribs ache in protest. She smells like Lucky’s signature herbal soap, safety, warmth, and everything I never knew I needed until I almost lost it.
“You smell like rot and blood and forest,” she mutters into my neck, but there’s laughter threading through her voice now, relief making her giddy.
“You smell like flowers and home, Starlight. Don’t complain about my condition, just hold me.” The endearment slips out before I can stop it, but I don’t regret it. Not anymore.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands immediately beginning a thorough inspection, tracing over my jaw, my throat, my chest, as if checking to make sure I’m real and whole and not some fevered hallucination born of worry and hope.
“You’re okay?” she whispers, fingers finding every cut and bruise with unerring accuracy.
“I am now,” I say, meaning it more than I’ve meant anything in years.
After seeing her dragged into Lake Mavria’s depths, watching her nearly drown, witnessing the lightning strike that scorched her arm as she rode that impossible waterspout.
I’m in awe of this woman’s strength and fucking terrified for her safety all at the same time.
I kiss her, because why not, because the gloves are off and we’re in this together now, whatever ‘this’ turns out to be. Because life is short and uncertain and I’m tired of denying what we both feel. Me, Esme, and even the wolf, we’re bound together by more than circumstance now.
Speaking of the wolf, Sam leans against the wall near the bed, arms crossed and looking for all the world like he’s been standing guard this entire time. “Took you long enough,” he says, but there’s relief in his voice too.
“Miss me?” I smirk, falling back into familiar patterns of deflection and humor.
He shrugs with studied casualness. “I missed the silence, actually. You’re surprisingly loud when you’re not around.”
We laugh, all of us, just for a breath, a flicker of something soft and normal in the midst of all this chaos.
I’m about to drag myself toward the small washbasin in the corner, desperate to clean off the worst of the blood and grime, when Rue bursts through the door without knocking.
He flops dramatically into the room’s single chair, groaning with theatrical flair.
His shoulder is now properly cleaned and bandaged, I notice with relief, and some color has returned to his cheeks.
“Well, if it isn’t the happy little trio,” he announces, surveying us with bright eyes that miss nothing.
I arch a brow at his remarkably quick recovery. “Didn’t you just tell Lucky you were dying a slow and tragic death?”
He waves me off dismissively. “I am, obviously. But first, I have news that couldn’t possibly wait, and this development can’t be delayed even for the sake of my dramatic demise. So put your touching reunion on hold for just a moment.”
The shift in his tone is immediate and sobering, all trace of his usual theatrical nonsense vanishes like smoke. The change is dramatic enough to make Esme step away from me automatically, her spine straightening into the posture of someone preparing for a blow.
“The king’s been taken,” Rue says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might make them more real.
“The queen and General Erron ambushed him in his private study last night. I was there, cloaked and hidden, thank the gods, watching as she shackled him with magic-infused iron specifically designed to lock down his abilities. She was villain monologuing all over the place, really quite tiresome, but I knew I couldn’t be of any use to him if I got captured along with him.
So, I had to fight my way free to get back here, to warn you.
” He pauses, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
“She’s declared herself regent, ruling in his stead until he officially renounces you as his heir.
But I have a feeling this coup has been in the works for much longer than we realized.
You, Esme, were just the convenient catalyst she needed. ”
Esme sways on her feet, the color draining from her face so quickly I’m afraid she might collapse. Both Sam and I step forward instinctively, ready to catch her if she falls.
“I knew my father was planning something,” I say, anger building in my chest like a furnace. “He was acting too calm after what happened in the Great Hall, too composed. This explains everything.”
“It gets worse,” Rue continues grimly. “The queen’s already spread word throughout the realm that you’ve betrayed the court, Esme.
The entire population is being told you’re a dangerous threat, a half-breed imposter who somehow seduced and captured our rightful king.
Meanwhile, he’s being held prisoner in the very castle he should be ruling from.
It’s brilliant, really, if you appreciate political maneuvering. Which I do, unfortunately.”
“They’ll come for you,” Sam adds quietly. “All of them. Every soldier, every loyal subject who believes the lies.”
“I have to go back,” Esme says, voice rising with the edge of panic that I’ve learned to recognize as dangerous. “I have to help him, he’s my father, and they’re using me to destroy him—”
“No,” I say firmly, stepping between her and the door before she can do something catastrophically stupid. “Absolutely not.”
She looks at me with a mixture of betrayal and desperate determination that makes my heart clench, and all I want to do is pull her close and promise that everything will be fine. Unfortunately, I can’t make promises I’m not sure I can keep, and she needs truth more than comfort right now.
“You can’t help him like this,” Sam says gently, his voice carrying the wisdom of someone who’s learned hard lessons about the difference between bravery and suicide. “Not yet. Not without your full power.”
Rue nods emphatically. “He’s right, darling.
She’s got everything now, power, position, soldiers, and magic-wielding fae at her disposal.
Plus, the entire damn realm wrapped around her lying finger, believing every word that comes out of her mouth.
If you want to win this, if you want to save your father and reclaim your birthright, you need your magic back.
All of it. Every last drop that the goddess took from you. ”
Silence settles over the room like a heavy blanket as we give her time to process, to think through the implications and possibilities.
She has me, Rue, and Sam, but we won’t be enough against the combined might of the queen’s forces and the realm’s belief in her lies.
Not on our own. We need Esme at full strength, need her to become the weapon she was always meant to be.
Then Esme breathes in deep, squaring her shoulders with the kind of determination that speaks to something unbreakable in her core. “Then we go to the Plains of the Dead. We finish what we started.”
I nod, feeling something settle into place in my chest. “It won’t be easy now that we have both time and the entire realm against us, but we’ll get you there. Whatever it takes.”
Sam steps forward and grips her hand firmly. “Together. We do this together, or not at all.”
Rue sighs dramatically, but his expression is serious beneath the theatrics.
“Of course, together, darlings. You need my beaming personality and quick wit in these trying times. Oh, and perhaps my extensive knowledge of palace security and secret passages.” He pauses thoughtfully.
“Also, maybe a proper nap before we embark on our suicide mission. Beauty sleep is crucial for maintaining morale.”
I think we all roll our eyes at Rue’s antics, but he’s not wrong about the rest. Sleep is definitely in order before we embark on what very well might be the end of everything we know.
Outside, thunder rolls across the horizon like the footsteps of approaching gods, and lightning illuminates the rain-soaked streets in stark, dramatic flashes. The storm is coming whether we’re ready or not.
My father and the queen want to wage war, because taking the king is exactly that, an act of war disguised as political necessity. They’ve drawn their lines and chosen their sides, thinking they can control the narrative and eliminate any threats to their power.
Well, we’ll be ready for them, but first we have to make it to the Plains of the Dead and survive what waits for us there before we tackle the final trial. It won’t be easy, nothing in this life ever is, especially not the things worth fighting for.
Together, I tell myself, watching Esme’s face in the lamplight as she prepares for whatever comes next. Together, we’ll be unstoppable. Together, we might just save the realm or die trying.
Either way, it beats following orders for a man I no longer believe in.