Chapter 56 #3
Taran’s throat bobbed. “You really think it will work? The mating magic?”
“Of course it will,” Eleanor gushed. “Zalaric adores you.”
Taran looked at my mother, who nodded, then at me as I offered a supportive smile, but he remained unmoved.
He looked again to Luther, awaiting his response.
It reminded me so much of Teller, always looking to me for reassurance when the world seemed uncertain.
Taran’s physical size and irreverent personality made it easy to forget that, deep down inside, he was a little brother, too—though it was Luther, not Aemonn, who had always been his rock.
“It will work,” Luther said firmly.
The door opened an inch. “Okay.” Another inch. “I’m ready.” He pulled it fully open, though he kept out of sight. “I can do this. It’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine. Once I see him, I’ll . . . oh fuck, I can’t do this.” He let out a panicked sound and reached for the door.
Luther’s hand flicked up, and a talon of shadows shot across the room and sank its claws into the wooden door. Taran yelped and grabbed the handle with both hands, fighting against Luther’s magic to pull it closed.
“Taran,” Luther barked. “You are coming out of that washroom, even if I have to carry you out myself.”
Taran’s strength was no match for Luther’s godhood, and the door flew out of his grip and slammed all the way open.
“I can’t,” Taran said. “Maybe Zal loved me before, but now . . .” He slowly emerged from the washroom.
From the neck down, he looked incredible—a stark white brocade suit edged with wide gold cuffs and embroidery on the lapel depicting a dark-hued jaguar chasing a dancing phoenix through the flames.
His trousers were neatly pressed, his collar crisp and jacket all the way buttoned.
I’d never seen him so formal—even his ever-present scruff had been fully shaved, revealing a strong, chiseled jaw that took his features from handsome to godlike.
But the shocked gasp that flew out of me was not for his elegant attire or cleaned-up look—it was the wild mess of hair atop his head, awkwardly snipped to ten different lengths and sticking out in every possible direction.
Behind him, a pair of scissors lay on the counter like a smoking cannon, dark blond curls scattered over the floor.
Eleanor’s hands flew to her mouth too late to stifle her laugh, and Taran sagged. “I’m ruined,” he whined.
Luther pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not again.”
“He’s done this before?” I asked.
“So many times,” Eleanor got out between giggles. “Luther used to confiscate all the scissors in the palace a week before any major events.”
Taran flopped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Zal always looks perfect, and I’m always a mess. I wanted to be perfect today, too. For him.” His eyes began to gleam. “I hope he does leave me. I don’t deserve him.”
Eleanor’s laughter stopped. “Oh, Taran,” she murmured. “That’s not true at all.”
“It is,” he said. “He’s stylish and beautiful and elegant and he always knows exactly what to say and do. All I’ve ever done is have a royal last name.”
“By the Flames,” my mother huffed, hands on her hips. “No son of mine talks about himself like that. I won’t allow it.” She marched forward and snatched up the scissors, then grabbed Taran’s hand and dragged him to my mirrored vanity. She pointed at the stool. “Sit. Now.”
His eyes widened a bit at the commanding snap in her voice.
It was one I knew well, having heard it so many times over the years when she was putting an unruly patient in their place—or, more often, scolding me.
Teller and I had always joked that she could be as hard-nosed a commander as our father.
It made me wonder if the maternal healer and Guardian leader that I’d been struggling to reconcile were really that different, after all.
She set to work repairing the carnage. “For the love of the gods, Taran, Zalaric does not love you for your hair,” she snapped. “You are as good and worthy a man as he is, and he would be the first to agree.”
Taran said nothing, staring at his hands. Something stirred within me—not my magic, but an old healer’s instinct that had always kicked up when I suspected there was more to a patient’s pain than they were letting on.
I let go of Luther and walked to Taran, kneeling beside him. “Taran,” I said gently. “Did something happen?”
He was silent at first. Eleanor pulled up a stool and sat on his other side, and Luther joined us, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Taran looked around, taking each of our outfits in.
“The phoenixes were my idea. When I was a boy, and my father was”—he flinched—“hurting me, I used to find a sigil of House Corbois somewhere in the room and stare at the phoenix as hard as I could. It made me feel like I could survive. Like no matter how bad it got, I’d come out stronger, just like that damn bird.
I told Zal I wanted them everywhere at the wedding.
I wanted my father to hear about it and know that I’m the real phoenix.
He’s just the ash I left behind.” He gave a half-hearted smirk.
“Zal loved it. He said he’d decorate the ceremony with white Hanoverre roses so we could piss both our fathers off. ”
We all laughed, but Taran’s smile fell away too soon.
He pushed out a long exhale. “I went to see my father this morning. I thought maybe . . . I guess I hoped that he . . .” He looked at my mother.
“It’s not that I don’t want to be a Bellator.
I’m proud to wear your name.” His eyes shifted to me.
“I just thought, maybe . . . if I gave him one last chance . . .”
“I understand,” I said, and I did, in ways I was still struggling to make peace with myself. Family could take so many forms—born, adopted, found—but no connection survived all good reason to walk away like those born in blood. “What did he say?”
Taran squeezed his eyes shut like he was trying to keep the memory away. “He said Zal’s using me. He said the Hanoverres didn’t want him, so Zal had to make himself a Corbois, and I’m just the idiot who let him. He said everyone but me can tell that Zal only cares about himself.”
“He’s wrong,” Luther growled.
“I know,” Taran said, nodding. “He doesn’t see the Zal I see. But when I told him Zal loved me, he asked me why.” His head sank lower. “I couldn’t think of a single reason.”
Though the room was quiet, I was certain I heard the sound of four hearts breaking in unison. Eleanor and I shared an anguished look as Luther’s hand clenched around Taran’s shoulder.
“You know,” my mother said softly, “I used to ask myself the same thing about my Andrei. He had the most promising career a mortal ever had in the army, and he left it behind for me—a young, unwed mother, carrying another man’s child.
I was certain he would eventually realize he’d made a horrible mistake and leave.
One day I couldn’t take it anymore. I fell to my knees and I asked him, ‘Andrei, how is it possible that you love me?’” She set aside the scissors and leaned down to rest a hand on Taran’s chest. “Do you know what he said?”
Taran met her stare in the mirror’s reflection. “What?”
“He looked at me as if I’d gone mad, and he said, ‘My darling, how could I not?’” She smiled fondly. “Taran, you have so many good qualities. You are a kindhearted, honorable man. You are honest without being cruel—a very rare trait.”
“Whenever anyone is sad, you’ll do anything to cheer them up,” Eleanor chimed in. “You always find a way to make people smile.”
“You keep your word,” Luther said. “You’re the one I trust when I need it most. And when I felt alone in this palace, you were there to remind me that I at least had you. I know you feel as though I protected you, cousin, but there were many days you were the one protecting me.”
“And me,” I said, thinking of all the times Taran fought to keep me and Luther together when fear had me running away. “You treated me like your sister, even before I was. You looked out for me. I owe you more than I can repay.”
“As do I,” Luther agreed.
Eleanor nodded. “As do I.”
“As do I,” my mother said. “Not just for what you’ve done for Diem and Teller.
I’ve seen you with my Guardians. You kept making efforts, even when they were unkind.
Now, they light up when you come around.
They opened their hearts to you, and that finally made them understand why Vance’s path is wrong.
There’s no telling how many lives that might save.
” She walked around and stood in front of him, taking his face in her hands.
“Why does Zalaric love you? My darling, how could he not?”
At last, Taran’s back uncurled and grew straight, and he gave a single nod. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Good,” Luther said. “Because I came up here to tell you that Aemonn just arrived. We reminded him he wasn’t invited. He insisted on having one conversation.”
Taran scowled. “I don’t want to talk to him.”
Luther gave him a solemn look. “You aren’t the groom he wanted to speak with.”