12. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
T onight, The Warrior’s Eye cleaves the moon in two—one half glowing bright, the other swallowed by shadow. I never paid much attention to the moon before coming to Baev'kalath. In the forest, it was always hidden above the thick canopy, and at best we’d catch glimpses of scattered light filtering through the leaves. But here, I see it every night, and in this world of darkness, it’s the only light that guides me.
Suddenly howls and cries from outside beckon me to the balcony. I shiver beneath the evening’s cool touch as fresh rainfall soaks through my nightgown and when I reach the railing I see hoards of Mordorin warriors perched on the walls of the courtyard dressed in leathers, seeming more ready for merriment than battle.
One by one, they leap off the wall, their wings bursting from their backs as they soar high into the night sky, the moon illuminating them like giant birds of prey, and I can hear their laughs long after they vanish into the dark abyss.
As the last of the Blades leaps from the wall, I wander back inside and sit down in the high-back chair in front of the fireplace. What will Daed be doing these next few days? It may not be The Lover’s Eye, but drinking and fighting seem to be an aphrodisiac to the Mordorin, regardless of what moon is in the sky. Who could he be with? One of the fearsome yet beautiful female Blades among his Ebon Flight? They seem more suited to him, with their brutality and strength, than I do, with my endless questions and penchant for inappropriate outbursts.
Will he make love to one of them?
There’s a knock at the door, and when I say to come in, Arax steps inside.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” he says. “Is there anything else you need from me tonight?”
I shake my head, my thoughts scattered. Then I tilt my head curiously. “Is this part of your punishment? Not joining the others to celebrate the moon?”
Arax exhales, a hint of fatigue in his eyes. “The Warrior’s Eye is a young Fae’s game. I’d much rather have a quiet night with a good book and a proper cup of tea.”
“Not limmeth tea,” I add with a cringe.
His face mirrors mine, disgust flashing briefly. “Old gods, no. Not that dirty water.”
A laugh escapes me, and I catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good night, Your Highness,” he says, his tone softer.
“Good night, Arax,” I reply.
In Daed’s absence, I wander the twisting halls of Baev'kalath alone, the walls echoing with an unfamiliar silence. With King Kaelus also away celebrating The Warrior’s Eye, each meal alone with the queen feels like a subtle interrogation, her questions prying into my thoughts with unnerving precision. Her gaze is heavy on me, studying every word, every shift in expression as if searching for cracks beneath the surface. I respond with vague answers meant to satisfy while revealing nothing. Still, whenever I am with her, tension coils in my chest like a taut string on the verge of snapping.
Now, in the mornings, Solena is the only one to rouse me. Without the chaos of the other maids bustling about, it’s easier to breathe, to move without feeling like I’m being pulled in a hundred directions at once. Solena’s demeanor has softened, too—well, softened by her standards. Her words are still clipped, her instructions brusque, but there’s a noticeable shift in the way she looks at me, her eyes less judgmental, more… understanding, perhaps. She gives me herbs to ease my constant headaches and takes care of my hand that has not improved.
We often linger in the quiet of my chambers, our attention drawn to my serpentine vine as it sits on the table, its once-vibrant leaves now faded and thinning. I try not to let it get to me each time a leaf detaches, fluttering softly to the table.
In the quieter moments, I find myself wandering the fortress with Arax, who, despite his stoic demeanor, has become an unexpected source of solace. I’ve even managed to draw rare laughter from him—a low, reluctant sound that he promptly denies ever happened. But I take it as a small victory. And thankfully, the ghostly apparition leaves me be and the elusive stairs to nowhere remain just that—elusive. I start to feel that I’m not going mad after all.
But no matter how hard I try to focus on the light, the shadows loom large. I spend hours on my balcony, staring out at the restless ocean, my thoughts a tumultuous tide. With every crashing wave, I reflect on the chaos of the last few weeks—the uncertain future that stretches before me, but when I scan the horizon, I know I am not looking for answers. I am seeking wings, a glimpse of him soaring back to Baev’kalath, yet the skies remain stubbornly empty.
Until the fourth day.
At sunset, the sky bursts with a flurry of black wings as the Blades return, a dark wave against the fading light. Before I can stop myself, I’m already on my balcony, fingers curling tightly around the railing. I watch as they touch down one by one in the courtyard below, the air soon buzzing with the low murmur of voices. I try to convince myself I don’t care—but the moment I scan the crowd, I realize Daedalus isn’t among them.
I linger longer than I should, hoping against hope that he’ll arrive late. But as the minutes stretch into an hour, he still doesn’t appear. When the rain begins to tap gently against my brow, I finally turn away, damp and frustrated. Perhaps he stayed longer in Eyr’Drogul, or maybe I missed him in the flurry of wings.
Two more days pass, and there’s still no sign of him. At breakfast, I keep my tone casual as I ask Kaelus why Daed hadn’t returned with the others. The king’s response is simple: Daed’s wanderlust makes it difficult to keep him anywhere for long. But his words only tighten the knots in my stomach.
That night, after dinner, I sit in my chambers, trying to steady my thoughts. If I can survive a Stormwyrm, I can endure the turmoil building within me—this conflict between reason and an attraction that’s grown impossible to deny. But then, a flicker of light catches my eye, pulling me from my chair. I step through the archway, my gaze drawn to Daed’s tower. His window is shrouded in darkness, as empty as the past few days have been.
Just as I’m about to turn away, a faint glimmer breaks through the gloom. Candlelight. My heart stutters, caught between curiosity and disbelief. Someone is there.
It’s the curiosity that propels me forward, overriding any semblance of logic.
Has he returned? How long has he been back in Baev’kalath?
I can’t explain why I find myself at the door, fingers brushing the cool metal of the handles, heart pounding against my ribs. But just as I’m about to pull them open, reality catches up to me. Arax will want to know where I’m going, and I have no desire to endure an awkward conversation about my tangled feelings for the prince. I doubt Arax would want that conversation, either.
After a brief hesitation, I turn sharply and head to the hidden door in the wall across from my bed. The decision feels reckless, impulsive—yet the need to see Daed overwhelms any sense of restraint.
I stare at the panel for a while, my eyes searching for the secret notch Daed used to open it. I feel along the molding and find a spot that appears more worn than the rest, as if rubbed over and over until the hard ridge has rounded. A smile cracks my focused expression as I push the notch, and I can’t help but laugh excitedly when I hear a click and the secret door creaks open.
The line of lamps along the wall gives the passage a soft glow, enough to easily guide me through the sharp turns. I pass several doors, with no idea which one will take me to where I need to go, but after walking for what feels like an age, I choose one, leaning into the wood and pushing it open.
It is almost completely black in the hallway I stumble into, with no light but the pallid moon beams that slip through the narrow slits in the walls that serve as windows. There are no open arches, no balconies. It is more confined and claustrophobic than the secret passageways. I recall the shape of the fortress from the outside, and how Daed’s tower seems so isolated and shut off from everywhere else. Perhaps I am here, on the other side of the castle. I strain my eyes, peering to my left and right for any sign of where I might be. To my right, I spy a pair of darkened stairs leading up. Daed’s tower is the highest point of the fortress. If it is anywhere, it will be up.
Each step I take up the narrow, spiraling staircase feels like it echoes through the silence, a sound too loud for the suffocating dark that presses in on me from all sides. The stone walls are cold and damp, brushing against my shoulders as if the tower itself is closing in, trying to swallow me whole. My fingers skim the rough surface, searching for something solid to hold on to, but all I find are jagged edges that bite into my skin, making me flinch.
I can almost hear the stones whispering, telling me to turn back, to run while I still can, like every other otherworldly voice I hear in this place. But I can’t. Not now. Not when I’m so close.
Close to what?
The fear gnaws at me, twisting my thoughts into dark shapes. What if I find him—what if he is waiting for me at the top? The thought of seeing him makes my heart stutter, but it also fills me with dread. Is it Daed up there? Or something else? I’m not sure I’m ready for the answers, but the uncertainty is worse. I have to know. I have to see him.
Finally, I arrive at the top. With trembling hands, I reach for the ring that serves as the door’s handle. It is slick with moisture, or maybe sweat from my own clammy palm, and for a moment, I hesitate. The fear is a living thing inside me, clawing at my insides, begging me to turn back. I take a deep breath, steadying myself as best I can, and pull the door open.
There is only a flicker of candlelight inside, barely enough to see my face in front of my hand. I take the candle from the table by the door and hold it up. There is no sign of Daed, or anyone else. Just a cold, empty room and a balcony with lightning tearing the black night sky outside.
Even with the candlelight, my steps are unsteady and uncertain. I reach out, gripping the furniture and using it to guide me safely around the room. I feel the edge of a green velvet chair and as the candlelight expands, a grand ten foot fireplace comes into view. It looms with dark, towering stone columns, the hearth yawning open like a maw and framed by jagged arches. I gasp into my hand when a flash of lightning illuminates the sinister stone gargoyles perched on the mantle, their twisted faces leering from the shadows.
I take another deep breath to steady my racing heart, lifting the candle higher when I catch the glimmer of a gilded frame. The candlelight spreads, bathing a large portrait over the fireplace in a dull, amber glow. A woman. A beautiful Mordorin female draped in a thin lilac gown that holds tight to every sweeping curve of her body. Her hair is a mass of tight, dark curls that cascade down her back, the warmth of her violet eyes emphasized by her glorious smile. She sits in a chair, a green velvet chair, this chair, and she cradles her swollen belly in her hands. Who is this woman, and why would the portrait of a pregnant Fae hang above Daed’s mantle?
A pang strikes my heart and asks of it a question. Is the woman… a wife?
A crash of thunder sends me stumbling backwards, and the candle falls from my hand. I drop to my knees to pick it up before I set the damned chair on fire.
“What are you doing here?” a guttural voice questions from the shadows.
I gasp and look up, both hands wrapped around the candle. I squint to make out the figure sitting in the corner of the room. “Daed? Is that you?”
“I said, what are you doing here?” he repeats, his voice rougher.
“I saw a light,” I gulp. “From my balcony. I came to see who was up here.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he mutters.
My body shivers. “I’m not lying…”
The slivers of charcoal cloud shift and a shimmering shaft of moonlight beams through the arch and hits the corner with a hazy, pallid glow. He sits with his legs wide in the chair, a hand resting on each knee as he hunches forward. The runes tattooed on his knuckles are enough for me to know it is Daed, but that is all I recognize about him. His voice comes from someone else. A deep, rumbling growl that is as frightening as it is alluring and the way he speaks to me…he has always been callous, but it is as if he doesn’t even know me.
“There is only one intruder here, and it is you. ”
He leans forward from the shadows, the sharp angles of his face bathed in ivory moonlight, his hair soaking wet and slicked back. But his voice is not the only thing that is different. His eyes. His eyes are not gray, but solid black, reflecting the candlelight like onyx mirrors.
“You are not yourself,” I gulp, my throat quivering as I move to stand.
“Stay on your knees,” he commands, and another crash of thunder echoes his words.
I freeze, my chin dropping against my chest. “Daed… please.”
“Please what?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “Please do not hurt me? Please let me go?”
I hear the wood of the chair groan as he stands, and his heavy steps trek towards me, but I do not look up. The fear searing through my veins has me silent and still. Suddenly he hovers over me, his leather trousers as damp as his hair, with rain dripping onto his boots.
“Well?” he says tersely. “Do you want me to let you go?”
“No.” The words tumble from my mouth. I grimace and close my eyes tight. “I mean yes. Yes, let me go. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
Suddenly swirls of smoke encircle my arms, and I gasp when they pull me to my feet. I have no choice now but to look into those soulless black eyes, and when I do, I see my fear staring straight back at me.
“At last you understand. No. You shouldn’t have come. But it is too late now.” The ropes of smoke tighten around me and pull me closer to him until his lips are against my jaw, his heavy breaths sending my heartbeat into a frenzy. “I must take you and make you mine.”
Daed inhales me deeply while dragging his lips down my neck. The smoke curls around the neckline of my nightgown, slowly inching the fabric off my shoulders and down my arms, and when the moonlight falls upon the top of my breasts, the sound he makes is almost feral. My skin feels like it is on fire.
Fire. I remember the candle is still in my hand. I shove the flame towards his face and it’s enough to startle him. The tendrils of smoke release me and I hurry toward the balcony. He turns slowly, his eyes tracking my every move, and when he takes a step towards me, I hold out the candle again.
“Stay back,” I stammer. “You are not yourself. You don’t want me. Remember?”
His black eyes narrow. “Lies. I want you so badly I will die if I can’t have you.”
My heart is as loud as a thunderclap in my ears. I wrap both hands around the candle, but I am not foolish enough to think the tiny, withering flame is enough to keep Prince Daedalus Phaedren at bay. He holds out his palm and when he curls his fingers into a fist, the flame extinguishes, and when he turns his wrist, the candle itself turns to ash in my hands, crumbling to the floor.
I’ve not felt such fear since The Golden Son marched through The Grove and demanded we fight and die for him, but I will not allow myself to crumble. I did not give The Golden Son that satisfaction, and Daed will not prise that surrender from me either.
He stalks towards me, the smoke he commands a cloak at his back. There is nothing of him in those black eyes. Not the warrior I bargained for. Not the Fae who consumes my thoughts, even if I don’t want him to. This is the monster they warned me about. The wicked, heartless murderer who slaughtered any worthless human who dared oppose him. This is the Rook who will rule the world.
But he will not rule me.
I take a step backwards, through the arch and onto the balcony, where the icy rain hits my skin like shards of glass. I look over the railing to the courtyard below, and beyond that to the jagged rocks and the furious sea. I take a deep breath, shuddering as I muster my strength.
“Try to touch me and I will jump,” I say calmly, my face stern.
Daed pauses, a grin sliding across his mouth. “You lie.”
“Do I?” I snap. I take another step toward the railing.
He snarls. “You are mine. It is my right to take you if I please.”
“No. Not like this. I will not allow it.”
“You are not brave enough to die,” Daed mocks.
I gulp, the words cutting like a knife. “I don’t need to be brave enough to die,” I say, taking another step. “Just brave enough to jump.”
“Enough of this!” he yells, and he charges at me.
I turn toward the railing and feel my body go numb, then close my eyes, allowing myself to fall into whatever is waiting for me. But I hear the sound of Daed turning to smoke, then feel his icy hands. His arms circle around my waist, pulling my back against his heaving chest. He presses his lips to the nape of my neck, sending every nerve in my body into shock.
“No. Don’t,” he breathes into my skin. “I will not take you. Not until you ask me to.” The softness of his kiss turns to teeth scraping against my shoulder as he groans in pain. “Not until you beg…”
He groans again, keeling over behind me. I turn to find him with his head in his hands, his face twisted in agony as he pulls his hair at the roots.
“Get out of here. Now!” he yells.
I can hear my prince’s voice again, fighting with whatever has a hold over him. My hand shakes as I place it on his shoulder.
“Daedalus,” I mutter. “Husband.”
Suddenly, his head jerks back and his mouth opens, sharp fangs emerging from his canine teeth, his solid black eyes wider and rounder, horrifyingly distorted.
“Leave! Now, Amara!” he roars.
I do not hesitate. I run past him, snatching up the hem of nightgown and holding it around my knees to keep it free from my sprinting feet. I throw open the door, skipping stairs and slamming into the tower walls as I race down the staircase. My bare feet scrape against the stone, my toes crushed on every corner, but I do not stop. Not even when I reach the bottom, not even when I’m down the hall, not even when I burst through the secret door and barrel through the passageway.
Not until I emerge in my chambers do I stop to take a breath, but only long enough to get behind my dresser and lean into it with all my might, pushing it in front of the secret door. When it slams into place, I collapse on the cold wooden floor, struggling to remember the rhythm to breathing, the air rushing in and out of my lungs so quickly and coarsely it stings my chest.
As my heart beat settles, I slump against the dresser, exhaustion taking hold as my adrenalin wanes. As my senses return, so does the pain, and I hiss, holding up my hand to see fresh blood seeping through the bandage. Suddenly the room starts spinning around me and I stagger to my feet, reaching for the bed. I just need to lie down, just for a minute, just until everything stays still.
When my fingers find the mattress, I dig my nails in and drag myself onto the bed before collapsing. I manage to fling myself onto my back, staring up at the rolling ocean carved into the wood above me. For the first time, I’m grateful I cannot dream. If Daed finds me there, in a place where I can be someone else—free from my duties and responsibilities, free from sense and resolve—everything changes.
In that dream, my body would respond to his scent, to his touch, to the vile words that drip from his beautiful mouth. If we were in that dreamscape, and he looked at me with those piercing eyes and told me I was his, I wouldn’t run. I would let him grab my hair, grip my throat, and do all the things I know his body was capable of, and I would never want him to stop.
As my eyelids grow heavy, my breaths become shallow, and my heart beats loudly in my ears, I find myself teetering on the edge of consciousness, caught between desire and reality. In this moment of vulnerability, I surrender to the seductive pull of my thoughts, longing for a world where freedom and submission intertwine, even if just for a heartbeat.
Then my eyes close, and I brace myself for the long, empty dark of a dreamless sleep. But it is not dark, and it is not dreamless. Daedalus is not here, but something else is… and it whispers my name.