Chapter 44 #2
Sylaira picked at her nails, giving away her anxiety as much as the drift of it down our bond. I wanted to go to her, to tell her everything would be okay. I had a plan now. She’d be safe.
Instead, I forced myself to face my sister again.
Raising a goblet in the air, she called out to the room for quiet.
Once everyone’s attention was firmly on her, a slow grin bloomed like a vile flower, petals peeling back to reveal sharp thorns.
“Welcome, our faithful subjects. We gather this evening to celebrate the triumphant return of my brother, the Issaraeth, who once again has found us powerful Seers to ensure the safety of our realm.” She gestured to the group bedecked in gossamer gowns, her prized dolls she loved to dress.
“Fucking bitch. I will not bloody my hands for you.” Sylaira’s thought drifted down our mental connection unbidden and unrestrained.
I let it linger unaddressed. It was better that I knew the workings of her mind, especially when one wrong move would leave us exposed to the vicious nobles.
Stadiel rose, towering over everyone in the room from his elevated position.
“Evil and dark magic must be eradicated from our continent. We are so close to achieving it. Which is why we are also celebrating the upcoming union of Herr R?viel and Dasha, daughter of Herr Elyriane. We are honored by our divine creator for the suggestion of this union.”
Somehow, I kept the grimace off my face.
Dasha proffered her hand to me. A beat too long passed before I took it. The mere touch of her skin against mine felt wrong.
The bond agreed, writhing like a leviathan in my chest, trying to extricate me from the situation. If I’d claimed Sylaira, perhaps it would have calmed down. But with how long had passed, it was mere moments away from forcing my hand.
Each step to the center of the dance floor was an eternity.
Musicians plucked their instruments, melody filling the air. Angels watched on as Dasha and I faced each other, our palms flattened and raised to shoulder height. My betrothed offered me a sultry smile as the first chords came, signaling the start to the dance.
“Only a few more weeks now,” she purred, the sway of her hips entirely absent of allure for me.
“Aye,” I replied, grateful that the next step in the dance had me facing away from her. I was hyperaware of every passing second where I was still beholden to her. Where I had to hide my bond. Had to outmaneuver my sister. Had to fulfill all my duties despite their antithetical nature.
She prattled on about something else, and I nodded or commented at the appropriate times.
Maelsar found another noble female and brought her into the line beside us as more Angels decided to join the performance.
Onlookers returned to their conversations, half-paying attention to the main attraction.
The notes drew to a close, and I spun Dasha, releasing her the instant the last faded. A smattering of applause filled the air for the musicians. They picked up a new tune, and I prepared to excuse myself—until Dasha’s claws wrapped around my arm and prevented me from moving.
“Vaeron,” she chided, louder than necessary. “You don’t want a second dance?”
I ground my teeth and faced her again. Something that looked a lot like fear flashed in her eyes.
Good.
But I couldn’t lose my self-control now. So I offered her a grin—cold, cruel, calculating—and purred, “Absolutely.”
This song, a much slower, intimate number, forced our bodies closer. I spun her toward the edge of the dance floor so when it ended I could make my escape. And so I could check on my mate.
Yet when the Seers came into view, she was notably absent.
Panic squeezed my ribs. Where was she? I tapped into my magic, noting that she wasn’t far. In fact, she was closer than she had been previously.
“What are you looking for? Or rather, who?” Dasha griped, her nails sinking into my skin. My focus returned to her, and my mouth opened, prepared to admonish her, when a whisper of silver caught my attention.
Sylaira was on the dance floor.
In the arms of Herr Elyriane.
And his hand?
Was far too low on her backside for my liking.
And her expression?
Terror.
Pain scorched down our bond like a jolt of lightning straight to my soul. Her lips moved, and even though I couldn’t hear her words at this distance, I read exactly what she said. “You’re hurting me.”
And I snapped.
White power surged from the core of my being.
All the air in the room dragged into my lungs.
Dasha’s eyes widened.
The Command detonated from my mouth before I could smother it.
“STOP.”
The pressure wave swept over every single Angel in the ballroom, freezing them all in place. Glass shattered to the ground. People teetered over, having been caught off balance. Dasha joined them as I tossed her aside.
Silence slammed into the ballroom, thick and absolute.
My vision tunneled. There was only her.
Stadiel was on his feet in an instant. “What is the meaning of this?” The ruler of the Angel Realm was the lone person unaffected by my power.
But I ignored him. In seconds, I was on top of Herr Elyriane and peeling my magic off Sylaira and him. She wasted no time in scampering away, the hitch in her breath only serving to further my rage.
My betrothed’s father yanked on his own power a second before my fist flew into his face.
But I was faster, and my knuckles collided with his nose.
Blood sprayed, only fueling the fury lashing me like a windstorm.
I cocked my arm to do it again, but Zarethiel twisted his hands at the last moment, forcing me to slam into a shield of alabaster.
But a feral side of me had taken over and was not letting go.
Light lashed out and bound his wrists. With a mighty yank, I brought him to the floor. Stadiel shouted my name, everyone else still in the throes of my Goddess-given power.
My lips curled back from my teeth as I knelt and got in Zarethiel’s face.
“No one, fucking no one, hurts my mate.”
And there it was, our secret split open. The maelstrom of my admission ripped through the silence like a clap of thunder. Sylaira’s gasp was a death knell, echoing off veined marble.
“Mate?” Stadiel’s voice boomed, so forceful I thought the statues of the High Priestesses might tumble from their pedestals.
Zarethiel had the fucking nerve to laugh as I straightened and faced the Koron. Red flushed his face, fury striking every harsh feature. His frame vibrated with barely contained violence.
“Release her,” Stadiel ordered me, gesturing to my sister. Darkness flashed in his expression, the type I’d only seen prior to his decision to issue an execution order.
I was totally fucked.
And Sylaira?
I’d failed her too. The one person I should never have allowed someone else to harm. She was exposed now. Unprotected.
Not knowing what would happen next awoke a primal fear, unlike any I’d tasted before, inside me.
Like I was peeling fingers from my flesh, I surrendered my hold over Iaoth, bracing for the words that would flay me open in front of the whole court.
My immense well of white undulated, unfazed from holding the sheer number of Angels filling the ballroom hostage.
It was better that no one could move until the Koron and Korona pronounced their judgment.
Heat bloomed at my side. Sylaira stood tall, spine locked straight, chin raised like she was the one who was supposed to bear the crown. Not a single quiver in her body. Not a single crack in her mask.
Defiance radiated from her like she was an enduring flash of lightning.
And in that moment, I fucking loved it. Promised myself that if I made it out of this alive, I’d call upon that storm and help it grow into a hurricane.
I slid down our bond, trying to gauge her emotional state.
But she had a firm barrier in place.
“Look at me,” I whispered into her mind.
She ignored my request.
“Did you know?” Stadiel barked at Iaoth.
Her mouth curved into a deep frown as she glared at me. “I did not,” she gritted out. The betrayal in her eyes had no effect on me. “It seems my brother has some explaining to do.”
A flicker of fear rose, mixing with the embers of relief. Whatever the consequences, I was no longer hiding. Yet I still didn’t know what she would do next.
Stadiel returned his vicious attention to me. Instinctively, I stepped between him and my mate. I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life, and the fallout was going to be deadly.
What would they do to her now that they know she is mine?
“My chambers. Now,” the Koron hissed. Iaoth leaped to her feet, already stalking out the rear doors that led into the royal wing of Thalvireth.
“Come on,” I sighed, reaching for Sylaira’s hand.
But Stadiel snapped, “No. Just you, Vaeron.”
Fuck.
My head tipped toward the ceiling for the briefest of moments like the Goddess would burst through the roof and save me.
I’d never been that lucky.
“I’ll come for you,” I sent down our bond as I dragged myself after the Koron.
“I will wait,” came Sylaira’s reply.
With one last glance behind me, I studied my mate in all her ethereal beauty. Her eyes shone with something I couldn’t place. She held herself like a noble, not a hint of fear leaking into her posture, even though I was about to leave her among a group of predators.
The doors slammed shut behind me, sealing me on one side and her on the other. Behind them, the audience would murmur, would gasp, would roar, once I released them from my thrall.
I held it as long as I could, hoping Sylaira would seek shelter with Heraphia.
Let them whisper. Let them plot.
There was nothing worse they could do to me than what my sister and her husband had planned. But as I followed them into the privacy of the royal feather, royal guard flanking us, I gripped the truth in my hands.
Sylaira was who I was born to protect.
And if someone ever laid a hand on her again, I’d show them that tonight wasn’t a loss of control—it was a mercy.