Chapter Two
The closer we draw to the castle, the stronger the pull in my chest becomes. It’s always there, the draw leading me back to him. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.
Never in a thousand years would I have thought it possible to walk among the living. Netharis had me fully convinced demons don’t get to exist in this realm—we don’t get to have a life outside the hells.
But here I stand.
Nor would I have thought it possible to have a Nektos-chosen mate. But then I met Ryc…
Again.
And again.
Currently, I find myself in possession of both.
A small smile curls my lips as Eve and I wander along the bridge crossing the Daxing River.
The north gates of the castle grounds lie ahead, and as I lift my gaze from the river, a figure clad in silver armor appears beneath the arching gate.
An all too serious expression hardens on handsome features as lavender eyes meet mine.
Cyran.
Unable to stop myself, I let out a groan.
Eve leans close, smirking. “Busted,” she whispers.
The ever-stoic Captain of the Royal Guard crosses his arms over his chest as he drags his stare to Eve. The crease between his brows deepens.
Of course Cyran would catch me. I’ve been testing Fate, slipping from the castle grounds every night this week. I’ve gone unnoticed, until now.
“You’re supposed to be the star pupil, not me,” I mutter the tease and she stifles a laugh behind a fist.
“Again, Lady Ves?” Oh, he sounds less than entertained.
Again?
It’s been at least two weeks since he caught me last. That should have been plenty of time for him to forgive and forget—heavy emphasis on forget. He’s been just as busy as Ryc.
His concern is loosely warranted. I’ll give him that. It’s his duty to ensure I remain safe. Being innateless and wandering the city at night with the increase in undead is… frowned upon from his perspective.
But I know how to handle undead. Even without my innate.
It just means breaking Eldoterran law.
Which, I suppose, he’s trying to keep from happening as well.
It’s a foolish conception—banning blood magic practice. Blood magic serves a purpose, just as old magic does. It’s a self-governing magic. If a practitioner reaches beyond their ability, Nether is quick to collect a costly payment. Chances of subsequent mistakes are largely reduced.
“We are unscathed,” I reply, leveling a cool glare in his direction as Eve and I breeze past.
Guards posted beside the gate dip their heads in an acknowledging nod as we walk by but otherwise remain silent.
Cyran could learn a thing or two from them.
He falls in behind us, trailing along in our wake. Together, we wind along the stone path through the copse of trees leading to the north lawn. As we approach, deep voices carry across the lawn before we emerge. Eve, her brows creasing, tosses me a concerned glance.
One of the voices grows clearer. “Do you think she’ll greet him?”
That sounds like Fenryn, the Sovereign King of Sol.
I freeze, pulling Eve to a stop with me, keeping us within the protective shroud of the trees.
“Why is he here?” I hiss the question over my shoulder at Cyran.
“King Alaryc is hosting him as a guest this evening,” Cyran replies, and I grimace at his decision to not keep his voice down.
A guest?
Without mentioning anything to me?
I might have words for Ryc.
Cyran, endures the scowl not necessarily aimed at him and says, “Lady Lilith invited King Fenryn.”
Lilith?
If that’s the case I certainly have words for her.
“All I can do is ask,” Ryc responds and a sigh follows. “I would rather not tell her at all, but he won’t relent until he sees her.”
He?
He who?
Someone other than Fenryn?
Is he here?
“Do you think he’ll tell the rest of the council?” Fenryn asks.
At the mention of the council, my heart leaps into my throat. Hastily, I reach for our bond, for the golden rope between Ryc and me. The wall that greets me makes it clear Ryc is maintaining a mental ward.
My eyes narrow as ice-cold panic takes root in my chest. The only reason Ryc ever places a mental ward is when he’s dealing with the High Council.
Releasing Eve, I turn toward the gate.
I need to leave.
I don’t want to see or be seen by Fenryn.
Or whomever this other “he” is.
Cyran steps into my path.
“Leaving the castle grounds at this time is ill-advised, Lady Ves,” Cyran says, impervious to my clear desire to remain hidden, and gods I could wrap my hands around the fae’s throat.
How hard is it for him to speak quietly?
“If you would—”
He stops short as I pivot without slowing into the brush off path, toward the castle.
“Ves,” Eve calls in a hushed whisper. “Ves, wait!”
I’ve avoided Fenryn and the rest of the High Council since my return. If I have my way, I’ll continue to avoid them still.
Stumbling through patches of manicured bushes, flowers, and trees, I climb onto a large, moss-covered boulder and peer up. There’s bound to be a window within reach. With any luck one of them will be unlocked or left open.
In the line of windows, one lies slightly ajar.
Perfect.
“Ves, you godsdamned heathen,” Eve’s fierce whisper is punctuated by the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves.
I scoff a small laugh.
I didn’t ask her to follow.
She emerges from the small wilderness and, in less than a second, pieces together my next actions.
“You cannot be serious,” she breathes as I reach and dig my fingers between stones, hoisting a foot against the wall. “You’re serious,” she adds flatly.
“It’s not like I can ferry, Eve,” I retort in a whisper over my shoulder.
My fingers falter, forcing me to grip the stone painfully tight. This, I discover, would be easier with talons.
But I do what I can with the fingers I have.
Reaching overhead, I pull at the window by its frame. At first it doesn’t budge. A second pull proves useless as well. With a third, desperate yank, it swings free, nearly knocking me from my careful perch against the castle.
“I’m sure Cyran has told your Sovereign King by now,” Eve drawls, but she still keeps her voice low.
Gripping the windowsill, I scramble and pull myself up. “I’ll be… in my quarters by the… time they get here.”
With a last push, I heave myself over, and tumble into the room in a less than graceful manner. Landing hard on my hands and knees, I sit up, eyes wide, lungs frozen.
The room sits empty.
Thank the gods for that.
It’s a study of some sort.
I heave a relieved sigh as Eve, the feline creature she is, lands silently beside me.
“You’d make a terrible thief,” she whispers, smirking.
Before I can retort, she offers me a hand.
Taking it, I dust my knees as I stand. It becomes clear, judging by the ashless hearth, this study is rarely used. But, interestingly, there’s a towering mirror. It consumes nearly the whole of a wall.
Even my quarters don’t have a mirror that large.
I think they should.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper, but Eve’s already steps ahead.
I rush to catch up, crossing the room in a few steps.
She swings the door open but stops abruptly, and I slam into her back.
“Eve what the shi—” My eyes land on the pair standing near the center of the grand foyer and my voice finds death.
The pair shifts… in our direction. Drawn by my voice. Lilith leans, peering past the male standing before her as he turns.
Shit.
Lilith and—
“Vestaris?”
The Sovereign King of Vis stares at me, utter disbelief on his face.
Beside him, Lilith flattens her lips into a tight line as she levels a firm stare in our direction. Clearly, I’ve interrupted an important conversation.
My jaw clenches as I consider my very limited options.
“You returned to Ryc after all,” Rowen says, letting his eyes slide to Lilith. “He didn’t lie.”
He? Ryc?
Ryc wouldn’t tell Rowen I’ve returned. Not when we’ve kept ourselves hidden for months now.
Confusion pinches my brows.
Lilith’s typical dazzling smile falters as she turns her gaze to me. The look on her face carries a note of regret and apology.
“And you’re not the goddess of death,” Rowen adds in quiet surprise.
Goddess of death?
Why would I—dread seeps into my veins as his logic becomes clear.
Rowen believes I replaced Netharis.
Which means the High Council believes I’m the goddess of death.
From his perspective, ascending as the goddess of death makes too much sense. I delivered on my promise. I killed my father. Rowen’s contract bursting into hellfire would be more than enough evidence of my success. No true demon would turn down the opportunity to claim the power of a god.
Only I did.
“No,” I finally find my breathy voice as I hold the stare of the Sovereign King. “I’m not.”
His eyes narrow.
Ryc, Fenryn, Cyran and another guard—one of Fenryn’s judging by the gilded armor—appear beyond Lilith, shortening the length of the foyer with a quickened pace.
“How many Sovereign Kings lurk in Ollora tonight?” I ask Eve in a low whisper.
Her eyes slide to mine over her shoulder. “Too many,” she whispers as she turns her gaze forward. She shifts her weight, curling a hand around the bandolier of daggers strapped across her chest.
Too many, but she’ll fight them all.
A First General on the battlefield without question.
Rowen approaches in a few steps and Eve tenses under my touch.
“Thank you,” Rowen says, his voice low. “For returning to him.” There’s surprising warmth in his tone.
“Thank Gaia,” I return, meeting his warmth with ice.
Surprise streaks through his deep brown eyes before he tosses a glance over his shoulder. “Alaryc, I wondered how you staved off the consuming madness. I suspected, but…” He pauses, turning back to me to hold my stare. “These are things we should discuss in private.”
Ryc steps in beside Rowen.
“I’d like to have a word with Ves alone first,” Ryc says coolly, giving Rowen a rather glacial look.
“Of course,” Rowen deigns with a slight nod.
Turning, Rowen retreats, joining Fenryn and Lilith.
“How’d you think this was gonna go?” Fenryn asks Rowen in rather patronizing tones.