Chapter 8 – Rowan
ROWAN
“You could at least act like you are to be wed to a crown prince in less than two weeks’ time,” Fel lectures.
The guard who caught me in the dungeons is one of Fel’s men, and he delivered me directly to my brother. Less than ideal, but likely a better outcome than if he’d brought me straight to Alita—or the general.
We face off on the upper west terrace, where no one can overhear us.
“What would you have me do, Fel? Prance about and pretend I want this?” I glare up at my brother, who’s listening with a deep frown on his face.
“I don’t want this. I never wanted this.” The last few words come out quieter than the rest.
“You have a duty to your kingdom, Rowan.”
A flash of rage flames inside me, and I feel my magic stir, but I push it back down. It’s an effort not to snap at Fel, but if I hear the words duty, honor, or responsibility thrown at me. One. More. Time…
I bite my tongue to keep myself from saying anything I might regret.
When I don’t respond, Fel’s jaw tightens. Playing the heir has made him insufferable. I miss my brother—the version of Fel that Riven and I grew up with before duty, honor, and responsibility changed everything. Changed him.
Shaking his head, he turns to stare off the balcony at the sinking sun. The golden sun has already disappeared past the horizon, and the faded gold and yellow light of day are slipping away. Much like the time I have left here.
“I don’t think I need to remind you what will happen if Father needs to get involved.”
Oh, I know. All too well, I know. As much as I hated growing up on the edge of Sitara territory, the less we saw of our father, the better. Far away from his judgment, his criticisms, and his punishments.
Rage flares again at the way he hit Riven the other night, for daring to question one of his decisions. A sigh escapes me, and Fel turns away from the retreating sun, once again meeting my eye. “I don’t want to get married, Fel. I didn’t choose it. And I don’t want it.”
My brother opens his mouth to argue, a lecture about duty, honor, and responsibility likely on the tip of his tongue, but I keep going, cutting him off.
“But I will. When I get to Skye, I will stand up in front of hundreds—maybe even thousands—of guests I don’t know, and marry the Iron bastard.”
Fel lifts his brow, doing his best to hide the smirk that’s forming at my choice of language, but thankfully, he skips the reprimand.
“I will marry Kane because it will safeguard Sitara.” With unrest now brewing on two of our borders, Sitara lies at risk between both Kovaria and Miselys.
The alliance with the Iron crown gives us armies and weapons, only strengthening our position.
Plus, it will make the other kingdoms, especially Miselys, think twice before attacking either of the two powerful allies.
That said, I turn to leave, walking away from my brother, but not before turning to add, “I will marry the Skyen prince because it’s what’s best for our kingdom.
But if you’re asking me to smile and pretend that marrying a male I don’t know is everything I’ve ever wanted—that I cannot do.
I will not do.” My eyes lift to find my brother’s, my face a mix of sadness and resignation to my future.
Fel nods solemnly, his jaw working before looking guiltily at his feet.
The sadness in his eyes needles me, and I open my mouth in an attempt to make peace. I’m already upset, and he’d just scolded me for my reckless trip to the dungeons, and worse—for acting cavalier about being betrothed.
But Fel is just the messenger. None of this is his fault; both of us chained to our position in the royal line. But before I can apologize, the words stall on my lips… Something behind Fel’s head catches my attention.
An iridescent crimson glow has appeared on the edge of the horizon, just like the sunrise yesterday.
But the sun has already set… I watched it—the light had faded away, and the glow was a golden yellow, not red.
The sharpness of the red and orange colors bleeding into the night sky is too bright—too ominous, in the way they haunt the horizon.
I stare at the crimson glow, watching it dance and twist just beyond the dark forest. My instincts scream fire, but there’s no smoke, no scent of ash on the wind. It could be miles away, perhaps, but still… my gaze drops to the quiet village that lies just below the east tower.
And when I look up, I nearly fall back in horror, a gasp escaping me.
Where, just seconds ago, there had only been trees, backlit by that eerie glow, now stand what looks to be thousands of dark silhouettes.
The shape of their armour and weapons on their backs stands out in stark contrast to the reddish glow at their backs, making them appear even more ominous.
The dark army stretching as far as my eyes can see.
I feel all the blood drain from my face, and I half-choke, struggling to speak—to scream—to do anything.
Fel looks up from the ground, and with one glance at the look on my face, he’s turning, hand already on the hilt of his sword. My brother takes in the sight, his features hardening as he takes in the vast army encircling us.
Those silhouettes are moving now, headed straight for us.
I eye the steep stone walls of Rosecliff, meant to withstand the strongest of armies. The walls have been tested in countless battles throughout the castle’s history, and they’ve never once fallen.
But the gates stand open below; the guards had not yet seen the danger—couldn’t. The western terrace towers, high above the rest, give Fel and me the best vantage point.
The two of us exchange a loaded look before turning to run for the hall, our shouts echoing through empty halls. Most of Rosecliff’s nobles and servants have all turned in for the night.
The war we thought might be coming…
It’s already here.