Chapter 44
Sunlight spills into the hallway from the ballroom, and two guards border the archway, hands clasped behind their backs.
One nods to me. “Would you like an escort?”
My eyes catch Simon’s slumped body, and fire fills my veins. I square my shoulders and tilt my chin. If someone from the Earth Court can face Caelus without fear, so can I.
I shake my head. “No need.”
On an exhale, I round the doors and step into the ballroom. The room silences, and every gaze swings to me. An inexplicable force draws my attention to Kressa, and when our eyes lock, my power stirs.
The sunset bathes her in gold, and the corner of her mouth lifts ever so slightly. You put the sun to shame, my love.
Heat rises in my cheeks, and whatever reluctance I had wearing this dress and making a scene dissolves. As if Kressa pulled it right from me.
Caelus stands, and with a sneer, he adjusts the robe hanging off his shoulders. Frost swirls at his fingertips—a show of power. A warning.
Sunlight envelopes me, and my dress scatters a million hues of gold, gilding the ballroom.
Like the sunrise over the ocean. Kressa’s voice is breathless, awestruck.
My lip quirks. Like home.
Nobles stare as I pass, leaning over and whispering amongst each other. I stride down the center of the room with my chin held high.
Isolde’s lips press into a thin line as she rises and joins Caelus at the edge of the dais. My heart pounds against my ribcage—tipped with rage and betrayal at the way she used my love as a weapon. The way she spoke of me, like I’m nothing but a bartering chip.
A calming caress floats down my spine.
Breathe, Kressa says.
I stop, forgoing a curtsy. “Apologies for my tardiness, Your Majesty.”
“Where is the dress I had delivered?” Caelus says, his voice as frigid as the ice coating the room.
“I’m afraid there was a bit of a wardrobe malfunction.”
Ice snakes up his wrists and disappears beneath the cuff of his sleeve. He presses his lips together and takes a step down, extending an arm. I accept it, and he jerks me up the steps, squeezing my arm until it goes numb.
His mouth lowers to my ear. “Behave. If you don’t, I’ll kill Thea right now.”
A lump forms in my throat. “You said I have until the end of tonight.”
The crowd resumes its conversation, and Caelus guides me to a chair beside his. “Did I? I believe I was far too lenient.”
I find her in the crowd. Her hands wring in her lap, and her back is rigid against the back of her chair. Roast meat and vegetables sit untouched on her plate, her wineglass full.
“But if you do as you’re told,” he snarls. “I’ll keep my word, despite her display with that pirate.”
I swallow and nod.
On the other side of the throne, Isolde spares me a glance. I pretend not to notice.
Caelus settles himself in his seat and leans closer, lowering his voice. “I believe you remember our conversation about my experiment.”
“I do.”
He spears his steak with his fork and saws a knife through it. His experiment. The one that would bypass Terra and Serinos and grant him unlimited power. Make him a god in his own right.
Give him ultimate rule.
“Have you considered my proposition?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“I accept,” I lie. Anything to keep his temper at bay long enough for Thea to escape unharmed.
Caelus regards me out of the corner of his eye and smirks. “I do suppose the allure of godliness would be enticing enough to bind your life to me.”
The air unspools from my lungs, from the room, and leaves nothing but jagged shards of ice. My chest heaves, the pendant lying heavy against my heart. On instinct, I clutch it, the rough edges biting into my skin. “Bind my life?”
A forbidden practice. He would bring me to the brink of death, and before I take my final breath, he would flood me with his stolen power—overpowering and extinguishing mine. My life would be bound to his. Forever.
Caelus’s nails dig into my skin. “See that guard?” He tilts his head at a man stationed beside Thea’s table. “If I give him the signal, he will slit her throat. So, what do you say?”
At the table before the dais, Kressa grips her fork, knuckles white against the metal. My door is shut, but that doesn’t mean she can’t taste my fear.
“Of course.” I turn to Caelus and swallow. “It would be an honor.”
He lifts a brow. “Then we shall hold the ceremony after dinner.”
My throat twists into a knot, and I scan the ballroom. Guards are positioned at every doorway, blocking every exit. If I tried to escape, they’d catch me.
A royal soldier approaches the dais, stealing Caelus’s attention. My pulse ricochets, and I fold my trembling hands in my lap as I slide my gaze to Isolde.
There’s only one reason why Caelus would want to hold the ceremony after dinner.
She won’t survive the night.
Her eyes find mine—not a hint of warmth behind them, just chips of ice. She must know, too. She has nothing to lose.
Caelus dismisses the soldier and rises, clearing his throat. “If I may have your attention, I have an announcement regarding the war.”
The roaring in my ears quiets with the room, and I lean forward.
Servants pour from doorways with trays of champagne balanced on their palms. I accept one of the glasses, pinching the stem precariously between my fingers as my heart hammers in my chest. Only the best announcements would call for champagne.
As if I’d fall through the floor without her as a tether, my gaze lands on Kressa.
Warmth seeps through me, filling every cold and decrepit crevice. But then it intensifies, and morphs into flaming rage. But it tastes familiar, and her mouth quirks.
This is your anger, not mine. Don’t be afraid of it. Let it consume you until you fear nothing Caelus could say. If he sees you balk, he wins.
I hold her gaze and welcome the flames as they lick at the underside of my skin, scorching my bones.
She smiles. Never lose that fire.
Caelus holds out his glass, bubbles climbing the sides. “I am honored to announce we have executed the Ruler of the Sea, Queen Marina.”
The glass slips from my fingers, falls to the floor, and shatters into a million pieces. Champagne bubbles through the grooves in the marble like sea foam.
I slam my connection to Kressa shut.
The Queen of the Sea. My mother.
Dead.
My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out the cheering nobles. I search for the slit in the dress, but my fingers shake too violently to find the secret pocket.
Caelus grips my hand, holding it in place, his eyes as sharp as the dagger at my thigh. He nods at the broken glass. “That glass of champagne was worth more than your life.”
“My apologies.” I rise on wobbly legs and step to the edge of the dais, my dress dragging through the liquid. “You’ll have to excuse me for a moment. I need fresh air.”
“Go calm down then,” he says through gritted teeth. “Hysterics are unbecoming for a woman.”
I pull out of his grip, and tears blur my vision as I stumble down the steps and throw myself through a servant’s door. I sink to the ground and bury my face in my hands, my back heaving with every sob.
She’s gone, and my last words were full of anger and hatred.
“I’m no daughter of yours,” I had said.
The hurt in her eyes is the last thing I remember. And now she’s gone. Forever.
I’ve failed her.
Caelus won.
I rest my chin on my kneecaps and stare at the alabaster wall across the corridor. It’s almost the same sandy color as the grainy beaches of Delterran, yet lacking the warmth. My chest constricts and threatens to fold in on itself.
I’ll never walk through those opal halls with her ever again. I’ll never listen to her drone on about royal duties while staring at the ocean canopy above the greenhouse. We’ll never again count the stars together.
Applause thunders from the other side of the wall. I grit my teeth against the cheers as hot, angry tears fall down my face and splash to the floor.
But I straighten and drag my hands beneath my eyes.
Caelus hasn’t won, not yet.
In killing my mother, all he did was replace her spot on the throne. I’m no forgotten princess. Not anymore.
I’m the Queen of the Sea.
The fabric of my existence ripples. My power grows and swells against its confines, but not strong enough to break through. The ocean calls, louder than ever before, and beckons me home. To fight.
Grief gnaws at my chest, but something else burns through and lights the embers into a wildfire.
Vengeance.
Music filters under the door, louder than it was at dinner. A celebration for them—a funeral for me. And in some ways, a coronation. Standing, I smooth my dress and dip a hand in the secret pocket, checking my dagger.
Blowing out a breath, I let rage consume me.