Chapter 12
We spent six days on the road, cruelty at its finest. The sand rides are basically rafts with no walls, nothing to hold onto, while a sand wielder hurls us across the desert. I used to be bitter about my lack of control over portaling. Now? I am devastated.
Jestin left Samira to govern Santorili, taking only Nulok. The poor male whines all the bloody time. Do I need to add that he also barely speaks with Jestin? Even though he talks with Samira all the time via his messenger orbs, it doesn’t improve his mood.
When Samira found out Jestin was separating them, she threw a fit, blaming me, of course.
Pathetic, how someone can become so utterly dependent on others.
Her crude words didn’t sting as much this time.
With every outburst, the bridge between us widens, and I feel less guilt than before.
It is clear she doesn’t want to mend things.
I just wish Nulok would stop hurting because of the distance between them. Has the mating ceremony washed their brains? Regardless of their discomfort, I am glad he is here to buffer between me and the wall of testosterone.
My winged companions, Riven and Bane, spend most of our free time punishing me with exercises. I endure the physical torment, promising myself over and over that once I’m crowned, those merciless sessions will end.
I’ll sit on the throne and not move an inch.
But despite aching muscles, restless nights and food of questionable quality, I am secretly happy for the company. I have companions who switch guard with me, share meals and thoughts. That part rocks - the talking.
And the book he lent me? Innovative. We spent evenings discussing the imaginative ways of the Fae in that story, the dances, the bonfires. I think I will make it a theme for my birthday once I am crowned.
I don’t even hate Aidon in my mind, though he stalks my steps like the creep he is.
Yeah, now you only hate yourself. I furrow my brows at the Simon’s comment, but don’t close my diary.
See? Progress.
The space between my ears isn’t so terrifying anymore.
I still grin when I think about Riven’s words when they found me in that monstrosity. “Rowan wanted to pass it on; he indeed was able to touch his fingertips from the inside of his skull.”
The greatest romantic gesture in history.
Aidon and Jestin had plenty to say about the incident, but after the General’s reaction, I don’t need them.
That’s why I put my bedroll as close to him and his second as possible without looking too clingy.
And his crew?
Gorok took my tongue away upon meeting them.
Being all grown up, I certainly understand Trisha’s appreciation for the way their upper backs flex when they stretch their wings.
Especially Riven’s, when he’s showing me how to use my muscles correctly while we train.
Fortunately for me, we haven’t touched wielding yet.
He says I need some foundation first. I’m certainly pleased about that; I wouldn’t be able to focus on my power without destroying the whole fucking army while they look like lollipops.
Distracting...
Harem of Dragthralls… Once it’s all over, I’ll hint at the idea to the bookshop in Tricity. Maybe even order my dear mommy to help with that.
That’s all she’s worth after all: debauchery and controversy.
To my profound despair, they flew towards Hanovel to call the army together.
Are you jealous your mom doesn’t have any duties to the crown? Aidon muses in my head. Always muses. As if his life’s work was writing my memoir.
The power skipped her. She’s lucky.
I can’t wait to share the wonder of your mind with your dearests once you recognise them.
Whatever that fucking means.
I ignore him, getting better at shrugging off his filthy sarcasm and keep scribbling.
Tomorrow, we will finally approach the border of the Mystic Forest. We are camping close enough that the silhouette of the trees haunts my vision, although we’re a safe distance away.
I’m a bundle of dread and anticipation.
“Having second thoughts?” Aidon asks out loud, bringing me to the scrutiny of others.
Are they paying him for it?
I look around the camp. Worried faces huddle among bedrolls and fire pits scattered across the dusty, sun-baked ground. Sparse shrubs claw at the sand, and beyond them the forest looms like a patient beast waiting for nightfall.
“It’s too late now,” Riven says, lifting his gaze from where he sits with Bane. The space between his brows knots as he wipes his already spotless axe on his leather trousers. His face wrinkles as though the blade is the only problem in the world that needs fixing.
He takes better care of that weapon than I do of my lady parts.
To be fair, there are no bathhouses here.
“I’m not quitting.” I shake my head, set my diary aside, and cast a glare at Aidon—currently sprawled beside Nulok on a log. His half-lidded gaze meets mine, utterly unbothered.
Aidon inhales mockingly, lifting one brow as his smirk mirrors mine. I can almost smell the arrogance from here.
It was a metaphor, I snap through the bond. I’m using a refreshing potion.
Heat floods me from scalp to toes.
You can stop using the potion, he teases, smug enough to wring.
“Didn’t you hear me yesterday when I said the army is on the move?” Nulok says, elbowing him. “She can’t back down now. Give her a break.”
I jam the diary into my satchel harder than necessary.
“You wouldn’t have second thoughts in a similar situation, Aidon?” Bane asks, flicking a twig into the fire. Sparks pop upward like tiny, furious stars.
My heart swells. He defends me often. Maybe too often.
“I would,” Nulok says with a dimpled grin. “But my blood is too common to even consider being in Seleste’s shoes. Yours too, Simon.” He nudges Aidon with his shoulder.
Jestin approaches the circle, hands tucked in his pockets, looking as fresh as he did back in the palace.
“It wasn’t too common when you were betting against me that Seleste would vanish her first night in Santorili.
” He leans down and plants a kiss on my temple.
“Is the shapeshifter bothering you again?”
I nod, unable to hide my grin.
Jestin sinks beside me, drawing me against his chest. His breath warms my ear. “Don’t let the Simon get to you.”
“So will you be fine, darling?” Aidon snickers.
I inhale to answer, but Jestin’s teeth catch my earlobe. “Don’t give him the satisfaction,” he whispers. “He’s only brewing chaos.”
“She responds anyway, Sandbox,” Aidon snaps, glaring at Jestin. “You’re just fortunate enough not to hear it.”
“You can cut the deal and fuck off, for all I know,” I mutter.
Instead of taking offense, Aidon grabs my foot and pulls it into his lap. His thumbs press into my arch. Heat jolts through me. Twins help me—I need to keep from moaning in front of everyone.
“I can finish his existence for you, Majesty,” Riven offers, wings rustling open behind him. Moonlight catches in his ancient, wicked eyes.
Aidon glances at him, brows raised. “Could be fun. You can drop me midair.”
Laughter erupts around the fire.
“I’ll consider it,” I tell Riven sweetly.
Your moon cycle is approaching, Aidon mimics my tone.
Mortification ripples down my spine so hard it shakes my knees.
“Oh, you like it,” Jestin murmurs, tugging gently at my earlobe again.
“Yes,” I admit, leaning into him while holding Aidon’s gaze. He rolls his eyes, but the grin tugging at his mouth betrays him.
I prefer you stop using that potion. he purrs through the bond. I want to inhale that filth.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
I smirk. Fuck you.
His answering grin is feral. Eventually.
“Seleste, have you decided what you’re going to say?” Nulok cuts in, either rescuing me or ruining the fantasy—hard to tell.
Aidon growls under his breath. The others shoot him warning looks.
“Let her answer,” Riven says sharply, misreading all of it.
The camp quiets. They wait. Expectant. Heavy.
Feeling suddenly caged, I push myself upright. Jestin steadies me with a hand on my waist. Aidon’s grin widens, smug and insufferable.
“Will you take care of supper today?” Bane asks, mercifully redirecting. Jestin and Nulok roll their eyes at his politeness, but they don’t comment.
“Are you kidding?” I ask, feigning offense. “I’m a fucking Queen. I don’t cook.”
“You can be a fucking Queen and still have basic life skills,” Aidon mutters.
I open my mouth to lift him up the nearest hill, but Riven smacks the back of his head.
“How didn’t I see that coming?!” Aidon rubs the spot, scandalised.
I snicker with Bane, who groans dramatically. “Fine. I’ll cook.”
“Whose turn is it for a story?” I ask, eager to shift the mood.
“Anyone but Nulok,” Jestin groans. “If I hear one more story about how he met Samira, I’ll throw myself on that battle axe.” He gestures at Riven’s obsessively polished weapon.
We all nod, and I burst into laughter.
Storytelling has become our nightly ritual, the only softness we allow ourselves.
“Mine,” Riven says.
Silence ripples over the camp—Dragthralls always have the best stories.
I find myself buzzing with anticipation, so I cross my legs, resting my elbows on my knees, as I was doing when Grandma was telling stories in my childhood.
Her stories about the first Fae were rocking, too.
Riven looks at me, and I nod. He answers with a shy smile before sitting by the campfire, tucking in his wings.
“The world was different before,” he begins, his low voice carrying into the night. Even the wind seems to still, listening to the tale.
“Where now stands the Castle of Hanovel, there was once a Hatching Ground of dragons. They ruled over the land. Some creatures chose to avoid them, hiding deep within the Mystic Forest and building their lives in secret. Others, like my Vikan clan, were content to serve.”