Chapter 4
FOUR
Z
A s soon as the ship docked, we were led through the throng of soldiers by a few of the humans towards the largest tent at the very edge of the forest. It felt…strange to be the sole attention of so many gazes. An uneasy skittering sensation unfurled in my belly.
And when the people weren’t staring at me with something akin to worship, they were eyeing my mates distastefully. One woman even screamed when she caught sight of Killian’s horns.
I wanted to stab her.
Ryland placed his hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The shadows surrounding the limb were cool to the touch, but his palm felt warm. Comforting. Familiar.
I couldn’t blame these people for being frightened and cautious. For years, I was just like them. Nightmares were my enemies, and nothing anyone said would change that. They had killed my parents and my…
I swallowed heavily.
I didn’t want to think about S. Doing so would make everything that happened in Aaliyah’s castle all the more real. Even still, bile burned my throat, and an almost insidious fear tiptoed up my spine.
Instead of focusing on that, I took in my surroundings.
Tents and makeshift huts were scattered across the clearing, with large banners emblazoned with symbols of the resistance fluttering in the wind—an eagle clutching a broken sword. At least it wasn’t my face. I would kill everyone here if that were the case.
The air was thick with the smell of smoke from campfires and the sound of hammers striking metal. A blacksmith’s forge was set up at the edge of the camp, where weapons—swords, daggers, and spears—were crafted and repaired, the metal gleaming in the sun.
Nearby, a group of warriors were practicing in a makeshift ring, sparring with wooden staffs and training swords. A shooting range had been built beside that, but it was currently empty. I imagined guns were more difficult to procure than swords or knives.
The camp was a hive of activity, with people constantly moving: scouts returning from missions, messengers delivering important information, and rebels tending to their gear.
I noticed immediately that the camp seemed to be divided into sections, each dedicated to a specific task. A small area was devoted to housing, the “buildings” patched together with scrap metal, torn plastic, and scavenged fabric, creating a patchwork of decrepit hideouts.
Another section was set up for healing, where injured rebels received care from skilled mages and apothecaries, their tents lined with medicinal plants and potions.
There was a communal space where food was prepared—a mix of hard, rustic fare and wild game caught by the rebels themselves. There was no security guarding the food, which was piled high in an open tent. I realized it was because everyone here trusted one another with their lives. Implicitly and unconditionally.
Considering I only truly trusted seven people—maybe nine, if you included B and Mali—that was a foreign concept.
Natural defenses surrounded the camp—thick brambles and dense trees made it difficult for outsiders to approach without being noticed, and the lake provided a natural barrier on the other side. Watchful sentries kept a keen eye out for any signs of danger from guard towers made of woven branches and rope positioned at strategic points. I spotted a few traps in the woods—no doubt designed to alert guards to any surprise attacks.
Despite its rough appearance, there was an underlying sense of unity and purpose in the camp. The rebels, varied in age, race, background, and species, were united by a common cause—the overthrow of the tyrannical regime that had suppressed them for far too long. Every face in the camp told a story of hardship and defiance, and though the challenges ahead would be immense, there was a palpable sense of hope in the air. This was a place where the people fought for freedom, where every act of rebellion was a step toward a better world.
I just prayed they weren’t making a mistake putting their faith in me.
Me .
The same girl who once laughed so hard she started excessively farting.
The same girl who scratched her leg on a windowsill when she was ten years old and had just stolen bread from a bakery.
The same girl who murdered countless nightmares over the years because she’d wrongly assumed they were all inherently evil.
God, how was I supposed to lead these people?
B was waiting for us in front of the largest tent, standing side by side with a rather familiar woman. It took me a moment to place where I knew her from.
“Davia, correct?” I tentatively asked, studying her bronze skin and dark curls pulled away from her face in a tight ponytail.
She was the woman who had escorted us to the Forest of Monsters and Beasts. The tiny human woman was bedecked from head to toe in armor that gleamed in the sun. Actual, honest-to-god armor. I didn’t even know such a thing still existed.
“Liberator.” She bowed her head reverently.
“It’s good to see you, kid.” B clapped me on the shoulder, and warmth blossomed inside of me.
I’d missed him. Fiercely. I’d just seen him, but it felt like it had been years. Centuries, even.
I didn’t know if I would consider him a father figure. He looked after me, yes, but he wasn’t the one who’d brought me into the fold and trained me as a child. That distinction belonged to A, the older leader of the resistance who passed away years ago.
B reminded me of…an uncle, one who protected and looked after me but was firm when necessary. I would always hold a great deal of love and respect for him.
“Is everything okay? Is everyone safe?” I followed B and Davia through the tent flaps, belatedly aware of my mates trailing behind me.
“Everyone is safe,” B assured me.
The interior of the tent was deceptively small, with a single rectangular table dominating the center of the space. On it were maps, tiny figurines, and documents. A short man with tan skin and pitch-black hair stood behind the table, his hands clasped behind his back.
“HH,” I breathed.
My human friend glanced up and nodded once, his jaw tight and his gaze homed in on something behind me. No, not something. Someone.
I followed the direction of his gaze—past B and my lovers, past Phineas and his first mate—to the unassuming, pale-faced girl standing at the back of our group.
Mali.
The lump that always manifested whenever I thought of Aaliyah or S or my imprisonment returned with a vengeance.
I’d be the first to admit that I’d been ignoring Mali, as horrible as that made me. She had just endured unthinkable torture at the hands of my sister, and I… I didn’t want to be near her. Whenever I saw her face, I thought of Diego. Whenever I heard her soft whimpers or sobs, guilt barraged me from every direction.
Guilt that I’d allowed Diego to die.
Guilt that I’d allowed Mali to be tortured for months before I saved her.
Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.
So much fucking guilt, I feared I would one day drown in it.
Seeing the bruises on her face only exacerbated that.
But I knew it wasn’t guilt HH felt when he stared at her. No, the expression distorting his face was significantly darker than that.
It was raw, unbridled hatred .
“You,” he hissed, his hands balling into fists.
Mali staggered back a step as if she’d been physically shot. “HH, I’m sorry?—”
“Diego is dead because of you,” HH continued, his naturally soft voice somehow sounding like the crack of a whip in the quiet of the tent.
Mali’s lower lip quivered, and tears flooded her eyes. “I’m sorry?—”
“Enough.” B moved to stand in front of HH, his jaw set. All at once, he wasn’t a frail old man but the leader of the most famous and powerful resistance in the world. “Mali is not the enemy here.”
“But…” HH squeezed his eyes shut, his lashes fluttering against his cheekbones, and curled his hands into fists.
Unlike his mate, Diego, HH was known for his levelheaded attitude. Seeing Mali was probably a shock to him, but he wouldn’t allow his anger to consume him. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling exaggeratedly, before reopening his eyes and spearing B with a look, encouraging him to continue.
B squeezed HH’s shoulder in reassurance before turning to face the rest of us. My mates crowded around me in the tent, while Davia moved to join B. Phineas and Toylo, who had followed us here, eyed the group distrustfully.
“Mali is not the enemy here,” B repeated. “We know who our enemies are.”
“Nightmares,” Davia hissed, baring her teeth at Phineas.
The mermaid simply smirked at her. “I like a girl with a little attitude. Keep gnashing your teeth at me. It really turns me on.”
Davia scoffed and looked away.
“Not all nightmares are our enemies,” B told her firmly before turning to address me. “We heard that the kings have been locked away.”
“That's all we can do for the time being.” Devlin stepped forward, looking every inch the domineering prince with his brown curls and olive complexion. His violet eyes shone like gemstones in the candlelight. “We need to find a way to legitimize our rule.”
“You need to get the council on board,” B said, a frown tugging at his lips.
Bash moved to stand beside Devlin. “They won’t give a rat’s ass about the kings’ crimes. They follow them like blind fucking sheep.” He scowled. “As soon as we’re the kings, we can order an election for new representatives who would actually follow us. But we can’t be kings without the council’s approval, and we can’t choose a new council until we are. And the current council will never turn their backs on their previous monarchs. Their heads are so far up the kings’ asses, I wouldn’t be surprised if all they can smell is shit.”
HH raised a hand and cleared his throat. “That’s not necessarily true.”
“What’s not?” Bash’s brows furrowed. “That the council is tonguing the kings’ asses? Because I can assure you?—”
“No.” HH’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “I meant what you said about council approval. You don’t need their approval to take the thrones from your fathers.”
“Are you talking about murdering the kings?” Ryland asked, the shadows completely obscuring his features from view. All I could see was the silhouette of a man amongst the darkness, sharp lines surrounded by black wisps. “We could do that, yes, but it would cause an uproar amongst the citizens. We would be overthrown in days.”
“I didn’t mean that either.” The tiny human pushed up his glasses with his pointer finger and then moved towards an old book on the table. He pulled it up, and plumes of dust geysered upwards. “We’ve been going through old texts and found one that may be of interest to you.”
“What does it say?” I demanded, reaching for the book. HH handed it to me easily, and I stared at the series of scribbles and symbols I’d never seen before. “What language is this?”
“Latin.” HH rubbed at his chin absently. “I was able to translate the text. Quite fascinating, actually. They had stories about some of the first kings. Did you know that the mermaid king and vampire king from a thousand years ago used to share a wife? I wonder if they were mates or?—”
“HH. Focus.” B folded his arms over his chest with a scowl.
HH blinked, seemingly coming out of a daze, and nodded. “Right. Of course.”
“What exactly did you find?” Lupe asked, eagerly taking the book from me.
Lupe may be the largest of my mates by far—a wall of solid muscle—but he was also the smartest. He loved to read and write and lose himself in a good story. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he had studied Latin at some point.
“There’s a way for the princes to take the crowns from their fathers without any bloodshed. And the council will have no choice but to follow their rule, as will the citizens.” HH’s eyes gleamed behind his glasses.
“How?” Bash asked in disbelief.
Lupe, who had been scanning the pages of the book, glanced up, his expression carefully blank. Impassive. “By the Trials of Lilith.”