Chapter 2 #2
Instead, I let my gaze drop deliberately to the edge of his sleeve, where a sliver of dark ink curls just beneath the fabric.
“You dare,” I say, voice smooth as glass. “When you wear their mark just the same?”
A low growl vibrates in his chest and he yanks the sleeve down.
“I had no choice,” he grits out. “How else would I travel through Driftspire? I need their winds.”
“I don’t give a damn how you come and go,” I snap, the fire in my throat finally breaking free. “What matters is my freedom. Whether I’m a prisoner of the Ithranor or the Golden Son, I belong to neither of you. I demand you release me.”
He leans forward, his gaze lowering to the marble floor, and then, with a voice like gravel, he says, “Ronin.”
I don’t respond, my silence louder than any words could be. But he knows I heard him, so he speaks again, his voice insistent, as if I haven’t. “I told you to call me Ronin.”
Still, I say nothing.
After the first month, when I was at my lowest and his visits became both more frequent and more unwelcome, he told me his name.
I don’t know why.
The only names that matter are the ones he’s stolen. The names of everyone I’ve lost to his blade.
Arax’s name.
I don’t care what his name is.
Yet he expects me to call him by it, like we’re somehow…friends.
Souls. If I didn’t think he was insane before, I certainly do now.
I will never call him by his name. He deserves nothing but the title of murderer.
When I don’t respond, he turns in his chair to face the chessboard.
“It’s your move,” he says.
I glare at him.
“Don’t keep me waiting, Jewel,” he sighs, the wood of the chair groaning under his weight as he shifts. “The sooner you make your move, the sooner I’ll leave you in peace.”
“Peace,” I scoff as I trudge to the chessboard. “I’m surprised you even know what that word means.”
I pull out the chair and sit across from him.
His eyes lift, meeting mine, but then they wander.
They take me in, the brown hair cascading down my back, the red ribbon looped around my wrist, the blue silk dress, lighter than air, slipping off my shoulders with long, flimsy veils that cascade down my arms. It clings tight below my bust, flaring out, but even so, the bump of my belly is obvious.
His eyes linger there longer than I like, and I shift uncomfortably under his gaze. He notices, his focus snapping back to my eyes.
“How are you… feeling?”
“Fine,” I answer curtly, my gaze drifting over the chess pieces as I think through my move.
Where his voice had once been hard and demanding, now it’s softer, hesitant, as if he’s struggling to find words. “Do you need anything?”
I glance up at him with a frown. “I said I’m fine.”
His palm rubs roughly over his knee. “I don’t know what happens in these situations.”
“Well, maybe you should have thought twice before kidnapping a pregnant woman,” I snap, tilting my head, letting my glare sharpen.
“I didn’t know you were pregnant. Neither did Anethesis. It was an unexpected development.”
“Well, you weren’t the only one who was surprised,” I reply, my chest tightening as my eyes lock on the black rook.
At first, I assumed that was why they took me.
Because I carried the child of Prince Daedalus Phaedren.
That they would demand some sort of twisted ransom.
But I was wrong. I tried to keep it a secret when I realized they did not know, but in the last few weeks, when my bump refused to be hidden, it gave me away.
Now it feels like they do not know what to do with me, as if my child is not leverage but a burden to whatever plans they have.
All I know is that they leave me alone more often now, and apart from the maid who brings my food and Anethesis and his endless questions, I barely see any Fae.
It’s almost as if they are frightened of me.
Good. Whatever keeps them away is welcome.
I pinch the rook between my fingers, my tongue peeking out the corner of my mouth involuntarily as I think. I hear a laugh under his breath.
“What?” I snap, irritation lacing my voice.
He squares his shoulders and coughs, clearing his throat. “Nothing. Can you hurry up? I’ll die of old age at this rate.”
I glare at him, my response sharp. “Then I’ll take my time.”
He growls low in his throat, his fist clenching. “Just hurry up.”
I make my move, sliding the black rook across the board with a decisive flick.
The Golden Son leans back, a grin tugging at his lips as he watches me. “Interesting.”
I watch him study the board, his eyes fixed on the pieces, his body tense as he thinks.
“What will you do with me?” I ask bluntly. “Do I die today?”
He looks up, almost annoyed with my distraction. “If I were here to kill you, I wouldn’t have bothered taking off my coat.”
“Perhaps you did not want to get blood on it?”
“Then I would have sent someone else to kill you,” he sighs.
I shrug, not remotely frightened by his words. After living as the wife of the cursed prince, it takes more than petty threats to rattle me.
“I assumed you would want to pleasure of killing me yourself.”
He spits a mocking laugh, his eyes flicking back to the chessboard. “There you go again, thinking too much of yourself.”
“Then why?” I repeat, the question a razor edge. When he ignores me, I slam my fist onto the table, the pieces rattling on the board.
He sighs, dragging his gaze back to me, blue eyes brimming with irritation.
“Because I’m convinced you can see reason.
It was you who defeated my army that day in the Grove, not the Fae.
You. Power like that, I cannot ignore. And when the Ithranor get what they need from you, you’ll join the Legion. ”
My laugh dies on my tongue as I realize he’s dead serious.
“You think after everything you’ve done to me, I’ll fight for you?”
“You’d rather fight for him? A Fae who lied to you? Betrayed you? A prince who could not protect you?”
“You know nothing about Daed and me,” I snap, the words sharp as a knife.
“You’re right. All I know is what you scream in your sleep. The pain in your voice. No one who truly cares for you could cause that kind of agony.”
Rage burns through me, so hot it blinds me, but, for some reason, the venom he’s spitting locks my throat, and I can’t find the words to shut him down.
“Don’t be afraid, Jewel,” he continues, his voice softening with mock sympathy.
“You’re not the only one he’s failed. The fragile alliances he fought so hard to secure are unraveling.
The Legion won’t even have to lift a finger.
The Mordorin will tear each other apart for us, and the Sundered Kingdoms will fall into my hands without a fight. He has abandoned all of you.”
“And what of you?” I retort. “Instead of leading your armies, instead of fighting for the Sundered Kingdoms, you’re here in this glittering city, wrapped in fine red coats, wearing Fae runes, playing chess with a pregnant woman who has considered more than once stabbing you through the eye.
” My fingers trace the sharp-tipped crown of the queen chess piece.
His scowl deepens. “Do not compare me to your bastard husband. You put your faith in the wrong monster, Jewel. You should have aligned yourself with your own kind. Imagine what we could have accomplished if you had fought with us instead of against us. Look where your foolish choices have gotten you.” He pauses, then smirks.
“So quiet,” he taunts. “Nothing to say?”
The words are fire in my veins, but the fury they ignite only makes my hands tighten on the edge of the table.
“He hasn’t abandoned me,” I say, my voice steady.
The Golden Son looks up, a single eyebrow arching.
“Me or anyone else.” The are words stronger now, a declaration.
“He is searching for me. Across every ocean, over every mountain, through every shadowed corner of this land and beyond, my husband hunts for me. Because we… we are two halves of the same soul. Two flames that burn brighter together. Without me, he cannot rest. Without him, I cannot endure. We are the sun and the sky, the tide and the shore, the night and the day. Alone, we falter. But together…we are unstoppable. No force in this world…no monster, no army, no betrayal…will ever keep us apart and when we are together once more, we will rule the Sundered Kingdoms, and you will be no more than you are now.”
The Golden Son’s lip trembles with barely contained fury, his icy blue eyes like jagged shards of glass, cutting into me with a ferocity that sends a chill down my spine.
His hand wraps around the white knight on the chessboard, his fingers tightening as though he were choking the life from it.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Jewel,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous.
“I am a force of righteousness, and once I win this war, I will hunt him down and finish what I started with his pretty little wings.”
He knocks my black rook off the board with ruthless precision, sending it clattering to the floor. His knight takes its place, his gaze never leaving me. “Your move.”
Every shred of control I’ve been holding on to shatters.
His smugness. His arrogance. I’ve suffered this for months, the weight of his crimes hanging over me.
He murdered Arax. He brought bloodshed to the Grove.
He stole me from the man I love and robbed me of not only my freedom, but the freedom of my child.
I can’t stand it any longer. I grit my teeth, and in a flash, I lunge across the table, reaching for his throat with a guttural shriek.
He catches my wrists effortlessly, squeezing until the burn of his grip sears my skin, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t flinch.
Not even when I spit in his face, the saliva glistening on the bronze of his mask.
His expression remains unchanged, the same chilling calm that has haunted me for far too long.
The chess pieces fall to the floor with a sharp, hollow clatter as I lean further over the table, fury and frustration bubbling inside me like molten lava.
“I hate you!” I scream, the words laced with all the pain I’ve kept hidden.
The tremor in my voice betrays me, a near sob that claws at my chest. “Release me! Please! Let my child go!”
Still, he says nothing, his grip unyielding, his strength a cold wall I cannot break through.
My body thrashes against his hold, but it’s as if I’m struggling against stone, his hands tightening around my wrists.
It’s not until my eyes snap open, tears gathering in the corners, that I realize how close we are, how close his face is, his sharp breath mingling with mine.
His gaze has shifted, focused now on my trembling lips.
I freeze, caught in the intensity of his stare.
A hunger I don’t want to acknowledge flickers in his eyes.
A wave of disgust crashes over me. A moment ago, I wanted nothing more than to be over this table, strangling the life from him with my bare hands.
Now I want to get as far away from him as possible.
The door suddenly swings open, the sound cutting through the charged air.
A tall, lean Fae enters, gliding into the room with effortless grace, his midnight blue robes sweeping across the floor.
His long fingers, tipped with curled nails, are steepled beneath his chin, his calm and indifferent demeanor giving way to shock and confusion the moment his eyes land on the scene before him.
“What is going on here?” Anethesis snaps, his tone jagged, fluctuating between high and low with agitation.
Neither of us answers.
“Ronin,” Anethesis accuses and the Golden Son turns to face him.
“Would you mind releasing Princess Amara? I would hate for you to damage something of such great importance.”
With that, Anethesis glides forward, his movements smooth.
His fingers wrap around the Golden Son's wrists, prying his hands away from me.
The scrape of his long, cold nails against my skin leaves an eerie, lingering sensation.
He gently guides me back into my seat, the proximity of his presence unnervingly close.
“Great importance,” I repeat, the weight of the words hanging between us. It’s the first time he’s said anything like that.
Anethesis smiles, but it’s not a smile that reaches his lips. Instead, it radiates from his eyes, something colder, darker, that makes my stomach tighten. “Yes, Princess,” he replies softly. “Our preparations are complete, and we are so very excited.”
I catch the flicker of confusion that passes over the Golden Son’s face, and for the first time, I see that he’s just as much in the dark as I am. His brow furrows, and for a split second, doubt flits across his features.
“For what?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intend.
Anethesis takes a slow, deliberate breath, his shoulders rising and falling as though the weight of what he’s about to say is almost too much to bear.
“At long last, the Ithranor are going home,” he announces, his voice thick with a quiet pride.
“To our true home, to the lands of the Vornahl, and away from this wretched place that has caused us nothing but pain.”
His eyes lock onto mine, a glimmer of something disconcerting in their depths. “It is time to get to work, our blessed Awakened.”