Chapter 30
THIRTY
Ambroyss
His treatments…and hers.
Still, it blows my mind how she was able to get the upper hand—and escape, no less. This place was built to withstand the attack of a hundred kingdoms. Nobody in or out without the proper authorization.
Pacing the length of my office, I’m undoubtedly wearing a hole in the floor as the anxiety eats away at me.
I attempt to ignore the unsettling rattle of the glass jars on the bookcase as I pass by the last time, but the agitation gets the better of me, and I find myself reaching for them and hurtling them at the wall across the room.
I need to get a grip. It won’t help anything if I lose my cool now. I’m so close I can taste it. The power. The glory.
But only so much can be done without her. I’ve done nearly all the preparation I can do before needing to advance to the next phase. 763 knows that. He is fully aware of the importance of returning in a timely manner.
Frustrated, I plop into the nearest chair, placing my head in my hands, trying to clear it. But it’s no use. Thoughts filter in—ones I wish to incinerate.
There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that Elizabeth knew.
She was aware of our daughter’s abilities, the potential brewing just inside her womb.
She carried it for months, and when she was born, there was a look in her eye.
The same look she always gets when the future has changed course, and in that moment, I knew it was Kalliope.
She was the answer to all the voices—thoughts—running around in my mind.
The key to making all the brilliant ideas finally a reality.
I wish I could say it was surprising to find out about Elizabeth’s contingency plan, but I suppose I should’ve expected one day her gifts would come back to haunt me. Of course they would. She was always ten steps ahead.
Music plays throughout the castle, starting in the ballroom and drifting over the marble, coasting into all areas of the first floor. Fae from all over have gathered to celebrate the new princess—our future. And how right they are.
This whole party was Elizabeth’s idea, because for some reason, she loves hosting, entertaining these bottom feeders in our home. The very thought makes my skin crawl. People poking their noses where they don’t belong, intruding on my space.
It’s sickening.
But alas, my rehearsed smile would never show that. Blending in with the others, I nonchalantly stand as close as I can to the nearest exit, hoping once my wife makes her appearance, I can slip out and attend to more important matters.
Observing the others dance and mingle, there are bits and pieces of their conversations I catch, but nothing worth remembering. Every single person in here only talks about what their small, acute lives have been like the past hundred years or so.
Absolutely pathetic.
Deeply inhaling, I gain all my strength and plaster on my kingly smile, deciding it’s now or never, and I need to make my rounds, hand out pleasantries on a silver platter.
Disgusting, really. The way I’m expected to parade around—by myself, no less.
It’s one thing if my wife was at my side, but she ran off to put Kalliope to bed.
I sneak a glance at the clock hanging on the far wall, counting down the minutes until her return. One of the guests catches my attention, sauntering over with one of the specialty drinks Elizabeth insisted on for the evening.
“Ambroyss!” the man hollers, ensuring I hear him over the noise.
I give him a tight-lipped smile. “King Ambroyss,” I correct.
“Formalities,” he slurs, taking another sip. “It’s a party, lighten up!” I make a mental note to get his name and add it to the list of willing participants.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask, trying to sound as if I care. Clearly it works, by the way his features widen with delight.
“Always. Your wife certainly knows how to throw a party.” I nod in agreement, attempting to smother the pain down from smiling too hard. “Speaking of, where is Iza?” The use of her nickname has my face falling instantly.
I never understood why she not only allows them to address her like that, but prefers it. “The queen is putting our daughter to bed,” I reply, pushing down my agitation.
“When are you going to announce her name? You have the whole realm waiting on the edges of their seats.”
“In two weeks’ time, at her coronation. Just like every royal birth.”
“She really is something specia—” His comment gets interrupted by the blaring alarm.
Remy rushes into the room, panic smeared across his face.
Frantically, his eyes search the room until they land on me and blow wide.
He makes quick work weaving in between the fae who are covering their ears with confused, worried expressions.
When he finally gets to me, I lean down for him to speak in my ear. “Sir, we have an emergency.” His voice is hushed, not wanting to raise panic.
Obviously there’s an emergency. That’s fucking obvious from the alarms sounding throughout the castle. But I don’t say that, keeping up appearances and all.
Thankfully, one of the other workers attempts to rush past, but I pinch part of the fabric of his sleeve. “Go turn the alarms off. And don’t let anyone leave this room. Do you understand?” He reeks of determination. You would think I’d just given him the mission of a lifetime.
I do adore the way any of them are willing to do anything if they believe it would please me. That will come in handy.
Letting him go, I turn my attention back to Remy, the fae I was talking to long forgotten about. “Show me.” Without another word, he turns on his heels, leading me out through the open double doors and into the foyer.
The smell hits me instantly. The potent scent of burning wood and acid invades my nostrils, causing all of my other senses to heighten in alert. Then, like my mind had conjured up the most horrific outcome, a red-orange hue begins to grow closer from down the hall.
Glass shatters, crashing in one of the rooms. “Get a fire wielder—now!” I command to whoever is listening, rushing up the stairs.
Smoke billows into the foyer, making it almost impossible to see.
Covering my nose and mouth with the crook of my arm, the panic really sets in when I realize the magnitude of the situation.
The fire only grows with my worry, and soot clings to the walls, almost like it’s mocking me.
The raging smoke makes my eyes water instantly, but with one step forward, the flames branch out, as if they’ve been commanded to attack if I—or anyone—was to intervene.
Screams get carried by the flames, reaching my ears in a plea.
“Elizabeth,” I whisper on a cough. But it’s too late.
With no wielder in sight, Remy runs down the stairs, probably to find out what’s taking so long.
But it’s no use. The flames climb the walls, engulfing the artwork and disintegrating the paint.
Shuffling footsteps and audible gasps threaten to pull my attention, but it doesn’t work.
My eyes are glued as I watch the life I’ve built, the one I’ve dreamt of, go up in flames.
There’s nothing I can do. I fall to my knees, the scream from before slowly fading until all that’s left is the sound of falling beams and crumbling walls.
How could this happen? How could someone set fire to not only the castle, but sentence the queen and princess to an early grave?
The fire wielder finally arrives, and almost instantly, he’s able to tame the flames. With a snap of my fingers, the glass shatters on the floor-to-ceiling windows to my right, and I command the wind to pull the smoke outside.
Standing on shaky legs, I take a deep breath of the brisk night air, letting it wash over me as it carries the remnants of the embers through the broken panes.
Zeke—the fire wielder—takes hesitant steps down the hall.
The flames give some pushback but ultimately succumb to his control as he contains it to one room then puts it out entirely.
Debris crunches beneath my boots as I walk to the end of the hall.
I bypass the other rooms, uncaring of their integrity as I reach the last room on the left.
Stepping over the threshold, I look around at the once pink room that’s now covered in despair and misery.
I take in the room with grave detail, imagining the dresser that used to sit on the wall to my left, the pictures Elizabeth had framed, now nothing but dust in the air.
The curtains are fried, only fringe hanging from the rod, and just beneath the window…
a pile of ash where Kalliope’s crib once stood.
Someone’s hand lands on my shoulder, the weight barely recognizable on top of the magnitude of the situation staring back at me.
“We will find out who did this.” I don’t recognize the voice, but I can’t find it in me to look either.
I shrug off their embrace and take another step forward.
Only, my foot lands on something soft, and the difference has my attention pulling to the ground.
The dragon stuffed animal someone sent to Kalliope earlier in the day. Somehow, it survived the fire.