Chapter 5 #2
Rage replaced her worry. How could Father let this happen? Elara’s mind brimmed with questions. Why these men had come for her as revenge against the king’s penchant for failing to follow through on his many promises was beyond her.
While she was heir to the throne, she had no essence affinity.
Her political education afforded her confidence that she was more useful dead, so that one of the noble families with greater magical abilities could step in to rule.
As this thought hit her, panic fluttered in her belly.
She prayed to the stars that she was not being escorted to her own execution.
Elara’s bare feet chafed on the hard polished floor as they shuffled along.
The plush runner of the sweeping staircase provided a small relief as they ambled up to the throne room.
Elara jumped when one of the soldier’s shoulders brushed against a vase, sending it crashing to the marble steps.
The watermage looked at the shattered pieces of sharp porcelain and then to her feet.
He shrugged. She seethed, tiptoeing through the debris as they continued to climb.
They finally reached the throne room, and the watermage signaled for the men to stop.
She nearly smacked into his backside. He turned to face her, hand raised.
When she flinched away from him, he chuckled and cupped her chin.
After staring at her for several breaths, he brushed her sweat-dampened hair out of her face.
Elara’s face flushed in anger at the tender gesture. She snatched her chin out of his grasp and swatted at his hand. That only made him laugh harder. The doors to the throne room inched open as her thoughts whirled.
Are they here?
Are they alive? I am, so they have to be, right?
Will I have to fight?
Can I?
She held her breath as the doors opened wide. What she saw flooded her with relief and horror.
Lord Stormrider sat upon her father’s throne atop the dais at the back of the massive room, the sight of him there turning her stomach sour.
Strategically placed soldiers guarded the platform’s front and the room’s remaining borders.
The stunning blond woman from the council meeting was at his right hand, wearing a violet gown.
The edges of her face shimmered, and purple smoke curled around her fingertips.
A Nimireth.
The sorceress held Elara’s family captive.
They kneeled facing away from the throne.
Their eyes glowed an eerie white—unseeing.
Elara scanned them for injuries, relieved that they appeared unharmed.
Thalia’s soft brown hair hung loose, tousled.
Her mother—imperious and cold with her subjects, joyous and dazzling with friends and family, always doting on her daughters—had been reduced to a motionless statue at Lord Stormrider’s feet.
And the king . . . Her proud father’s once-sharp jaw hung slack.
The sorceress had rendered them helpless, taking away their ability to experience their true surroundings, imprisoning them in a vision. Elara prayed again that her loved ones were entranced in a calm, if debilitating, darkness and not something more sinister.
“Welcome!” Lord Stormrider’s booming voice drew her attention away from her family.
He smiled politely but with no lightness in his eyes.
His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, no doubt the weight of planning and executing the invasion fatiguing him.
The work to prepare for this moment would have taken months: courting spies, researching weaknesses, plotting out every move.
Elara hated him for all of it. The dreadful things she’d heard whispered at court about the Stormriders’ reputation now came to life in front of her.
How dangerous rumors can be, she thought, especially when they are true.
Elara said nothing as she glared at him, fighting the urge to bare her teeth. Her jaw ached from clenching it so hard, trying to exude a confidence she didn’t feel. Her eyes stung, but she blinked the moisture away.
“Do you know why I am here, Princess?” he asked, as though addressing a young child.
She shook her head.
“Your father and I had a deal. Unfortunately, he was . . . unable to fulfill his obligations.”
Elara nodded, eyes misting over. She gazed at her father, allowing herself to memorize the lines of his face in case this was the last time she would ever see him. “This wouldn’t be the first time,” she whispered.
Lord Stormrider laughed. “Indeed,” he said. “His actions have affected many other nobles within the kingdom in the same manner. We are tired of being disappointed. After all, what is a king worth without his word?”
Or magic, Elara thought.
She cleared her throat. “What do you want?” she asked with false boldness, proud that her voice didn’t shake.
A lazy grin formed on his face. “I’m here to help you maintain control of the kingdom, of course. While your family is . . . indisposed.”
“If you’re here to overthrow my father, why are we still alive?” Elara braced herself against his answer, imagining the worst—picturing her family slaughtered in front of her.
His eyebrows rose. “Clever girl,” he crooned. “You, my dear, are alive because I have a proposal for you. In exchange for your family’s lives, you will wed my son.”