Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WINDSONG
M ekale was waiting for him in the ballroom as planned. It would have been hard to miss her in the bubble-gum pink chiffon dress. Bastian accepted a glass of champagne from a passing servant and used the exchange to take a cursory glance around the room.
Glenton was making small talk with some simpering court ladies by a table stacked high with every manner of sugary confection. The king perched atop his golden throne on the far side of the ballroom, and guests had lined up to greet him. Venderson was where he always was. At Calian’s ear.
Still no sign of the Warborn, the prince, or Sage…
Bastian hadn’t dared to step foot in any direction that would lead to her room. Not since he fled her chamber in the early morning hours like a coward. Not after the plans he’d made with the princess.
He only hoped Sage could forgive him. For using his powers to coax her into slumber–a valuable trick Teakin had cultivated during his enslavement in Gerra and later shared–one of the few gifts Bastian possessed that alleviated pain, instead of causing it.
She had needed to rest. And he needed to escape. Everything would be explained later, in detail. After he set the modified plan in motion.
The original objective was straightforward. The princess would withdraw from the competition, having come to the rational conclusion she really didn’t care to die. Sage would succumb to a minor injury in the first few minutes of the tourney. She would then use the secret passageways to collect Mekale from her quarters and they would flee into the forest.
Bastian would later use the coordinates from Sage to meet them when the tourney was over and the celebrations commenced. After he lost to Glenton. When they were reunited, Bastian would use his ring.
Once the House of the Dragon entered Ventus, there would be no more running. They would divide and conquer. Bastian would lead the search for Eirik, his father would travel to Hornhall and alert them to the situation at Windsong.
It was a good plan. However, it allowed no margin for error. No possible room for doubt. Especially where the princess was concerned.
No one who stood on the opposite shoreline from the lighthouse yesterday and borne witness to her defiant salute would think she had changed her mind. It would take only one fae to put two and two together… And their whole plan would crumble.
He wasn’t willing to risk it. Not after his revelations with Sage. There was no way he would put her in danger.
Not when he had the power to mediate it.
They needed a better excuse for Mekale. A more believable reason for her dropping out of the competition. Which was why he’d gone straight to her chamber after leaving Sage’s.
To propose marriage.
The king, possessed or not, wouldn’t turn down an offered hand in marriage from one of the Chosen Ones. Not without tipping everyone off that he truly wasn’t himself. It was why Bastian had been invited here in the first place–why those marriage contacts were dissolved when he and Eirik arrived in Ventus.
A marriage proposal would serve as the perfect excuse for the princess to abstain from the tourney. And provide enough time for her and Sage to get out of the castle.
Bastian took the steps down to the ballroom. He just needed to explain the alterations to Sage. Before he dropped to one knee in front of the princess.
Mekale waved him over, a smile painted on her berry-stained lips. They had to play this right. No one must suspect their attraction wasn’t real.
“Bastian LaGoryen.” The princess held out her hand as he approached. “Come to take the first dance?”
The gaggle of court ladies around her parted, as he stepped up. Bastian took her offered hand, lifted it to his lips, and placed a kiss atop it. “If you would do me the great honor?”
Mekale managed to make herself actually blush. “Anything for you, Your Highness.”
One of the ladies sighed. Their gazes followed as he led the princess to the center of the dancefloor. Only a member of the royal household could commence the dancing. They had counted on it not being her wallflower brother.
“Is your mother much improved?” Bastian made small talk, loud enough for bystanders to hear, while the musicians readied themselves for the first set. “I do hope she will feel like dancing later.” He pulled her into dance frame. “There will be much to celebrate.”
Voices around them dropped, a clear indication of piqued interest. Bastian already knew the answer. The queen was still unwell, accepting no visitors.
“Sadly, no,” Mekale said plaintively. “But I do hope she will make it down at some point.” She batted her long blonde eyelashes, the perfect amount of hopefulness coloring her tone as she asked, “Is there more to celebrate than our achievements in the tourney yesterday?”
The band struck up, the first strings announcing a waltz. Bastian grinned and moved them into the timing of the dance. “I very much hope so, Your Highness.”
With everyone’s eyes on them now, Bastian executed a series of pivots. Mekale followed them with ease. The smile that bloomed on her face was not forced. It made for the perfect show. Him, the arrogant Earth prince, incapable of affection, actually wooing a female. Her, the willful fae princess, falling in love, right before the court’s eyes.
On their third rotation around the room–the customary allotment of time others must wait to join–fae ventured onto the floor. Bastian noted each and every set of eyes they passed, even as he smiled and continued light conversation with the princess. Mekale gave an imperceptible shake of her head after the sixth turn around the dancefloor. She found nothing amiss with anyone.
Bastian executed a slow underarm turn in time with the fading music. The princess spun out ahead of him and they bowed to one another. Around them, others did the same with their partners. He took the opportunity to glance at the king over the top of bent bodies.
Calian stopped conversing with whoever was standing before him and stood, sights locked on the entrance of the ballroom. Bastian didn’t need to turn to know who had just entered there. He would recognize her anywhere now.
That line between them, connecting them–a twisting band of impenetrable light. It was too great, transcending time and space, and the confines of these immortal bodies. Bastian straightened and turned.
His eyes met Sage’s across the expanse of the room. And for just a split second, they were alone. Long enough for Bastian to know he would never shut her out again .
Long enough for Sage to convey two words down that invisible bond, “ Remain calm.”
He barely registered the warning. His gaze flicked to the white-haired male at her side, leading her in, her arm draped across his. Bastian zeroed in on that touch. And something inside him shifted–a silent warning–tiny fissures in the earth before an avalanche.
His vision narrowed.
A light tap on his elbow stilled every murderous impulse in his body. Mekale said quietly at his side, “That’s her cousin.” As if she could tell he was a hairsbreadth away from killing the fae bastard. “Gideon Kerrington.”
Bastian wasn’t sure if those details didn’t place Gideon, the asshole who’d turned a desperate child into his personal pawn, in greater danger.
Every eye in the room followed the newly arrived couple as they descended the stairs. Bastian counted each step Sage took, every breath. Her glossy dark hair was swept artfully to one side and cascaded over a bare shoulder, nearly reaching her waist. No jewelry adorned her, but that dress… The lush burgundy accented every curve. The material swayed as she moved, tiny sewn crystals in the fabric glowing like embers under the chandelier’s golden light.
Bastian had known many beautiful women in his life, but Lady Kerrington was in a league all her own. She was the center of any room, no matter where she stood. Her beauty went beyond the creamy complexion of her skin, the summer freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks, and those striking green eyes. It went deeper than the physical, calling to what one couldn’t see, only sense–an inner regality and truth. That was what turned their heads.
Though, it was her unwavering confidence and fearless devotion to this realm that kept their attention. Because everyone knew. They felt it as Bastian did.
Sage Kerrington was something special.
The cousins took the last step, the revelers still suspended in their awe. “He’s only been to the palace once that I recall,” the princess whispered, as if that explained the stillness that had blanketed the ballroom.
Bastian recognized it for what it really was. Fear. Even if no one in attendance could identify the feeling. Fear was the reason they all stared, their bodies locked up tight, like prey animals in a quiet glen after a branch snapped.
Gideon Kerrington was not simply some mysterious male attending a celebration. There was a good reason Sage’s cousin was permitted such a reclusive life in Windsong, why he wasn’t held to the same standards as the rest of the High-fae. A reason Sage could hide her true powers, had been allowed to fly under the radar for so long. Why the king himself stood when they entered…
Because Gideon Kerrington wanted it that way. Eirik’s suspicions had been spot on. Now Bastian just had to figure out why Sage’s cousin wielded such power in this kingdom.
The dancers moved aside, clearing a path, allowing Gideon to lead Sage directly across the ballroom, right up to Calian. Bastian waited to see if the king would go as far as to offer up his seat to the cocky asshole.
The princess glanced around. “I need to find Griffith. He should have been here by now.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Bastian asked.
“Not since we jumped in the ocean yesterday.” She worried her bottom lip. “I assumed he was busy in father’s absence. But now…he should have been here already.”
“We’ll find him after this scene plays itself out,” Bastian assured. “For now, stick to the plan.”
The king spoke, his eyes near vacant, beholden to whatever had its hooks in him, “Windsong welcomes you.”
Sage curtsied. Gideon inclined his head ever so slightly and said, “I understand some changes are coming to your beautiful kingdom.”
“Yes. And now that you’re all here”–Calian gestured to Lord Venderson, the motion stiff and awkward–“The King’s Authority will explain. ”
Lord Venderson stepped forward and addressed the room. “Over the past few weeks, Windsong has been under attack from rebel forces. We have tried working with Hornhall to snuff out these incursions, but alas,” he declared, “our allies have forsaken us. Choosing, instead, to align with the enemy.”
The princess went taunt as a bowstring at Bastian’s side. Sage didn’t budge from where she stood, her lovely face an unreadable mask. The narrative was shifting, faster and more recklessly than they had prepared for. This wasn’t a speech about changes .
This was a declaration of war.
Sterling was in Hornhall! With the Grand Masters and Hanna. Bastian’s gaze cut to the closest exit, formulating a new plan. They needed to get out of here. Tonight. Tomorrow was no longer an option.
Venderson continued, as the doors opened. “Because of the impending threat, we are instating a curfew.” A table was rolled out by servants, a white cloth covering whatever was on it. Three healers followed close behind, their stark white lab coats contrasting ominously with the ballroom’s brightly colored guests. “Starting tomorrow, all residents of Windsong must be in their homes by nightfall.”
The servants positioned the table in front of the King’s Authority, then retreated back the way they had come. Bastian recognized one of healers from the infirmary the day they had questioned the eyewitness.
“The rebels have been targeting fae with heightened powers. They have implemented a dark and unknown magic for this purpose.” Venderson looked out over the room. “There have been no survivors of these atrocious attacks. The only remains are the insurgents’ unique stigmata crudely drawn into the earth and blood.” The crowd gasped. “Because of the nature and severity of these heinous crimes, the king feels our best course of action is to deny them what is it they are trying to harvest. Our magic.”
The fact the male was able to deliver those words with a straight face might have impressed Bastian under different circumstances. Vastly different circumstances.
A healer stepped up to the table and removed the cloth, revealing dozens of syringes.
“These injections are your best chance of survival.” The King’s Authority picked up a vial. “The immunization will, for a period of time, weaken your magic. Thus, making it appear that you have none.” He held the milky substance up to the light. “To anyone, or thing, seeking to feed off your power, you will simply appear a lesser fae.”
“Everyone here tonight will receive their dose.” Venderson set the vial on the table. “To give you further peace of mind, checkpoints are being established across Windsong. Soldiers will be posted along our borders. No one will be permitted to enter or leave until we have scrubbed this territory of the evil that plagues it.”
He glanced back down to the syringes, containing the gods only knew what. “Until then, this will be your personal protection.”
Lord Venderson clasped his hands behind his back. “Who would like to go first?”
A few eager fools stepped right up, forming a quick line. Mekale turned to Bastian, brows knitted. “How the fuck do we get out of this?”
“Venderson said nothing in regards to the tourney being called off tomorrow.” Bastian looked over her head. Gideon had reengaged the king, Sage still at his side. “Surely they don’t expect to have the grand finale without the contestants having use of their full powers.”
The princess glanced toward the entrance and the guards now posted there. “We won’t be sneaking out that way.” She exhaled through her nose. “Feel like proposing?”
“We’d succeed in one aspect but lose in another. Being in the final round is your only excuse for not getting a shot tonight.”
“My magic is piss-poor, anyway.” The princess looped her arm over his and turned them in place. “Besides, I might still be able to skirt it. If I play my cards right. ”
Bastian looked down questioningly, but she only marched them toward the king. “You’re not taking that snake oil,” he warned under his breath.
She beamed up at him, a portrait of moonstruck. “Smile, Your Highness. You’re about to become the luckiest male alive.”
Bastian was fairly certain his smile looked more like a grimace. Gideon Kerrington spotted their advancement and turned. Mekale stopped in front of them and extended her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Gideon Kerrington turned his silken smile on the princess, but Bastian found a cold and foreign darkness in his eyes. Nothing at all like the light that shone from Sage’s. He inclined his head. “A misstep, to be certain, Your Royal Highness.”
“As charming as your dear cousin, I see.” Mekale smiled politely. “Are you staying for the final tourney tomorrow?” A leading question.
“I am.” His smile remained fixed. “Though, that is not why I am here.”
“Oh?” The princess inquired, “What in Ventus could be more important?”
Gideon’s face filled with calculated amusement. Then he looked to the king and back to Mekale. “Why, introducing you to your intended, of course.”
H er cousin didn’t miss a beat, as if he hadn’t just knocked the world out from under all their feet, and focused on Bastian. “I believe you’ve already met my nephew,” Gideon said. “The crowned prince of Gerra, Xavier Diaboli.”
Bastian stiffened, but the reaction was so slight and snuffed out so quick, Sage was sure no one else detected it. The princess wasn’t as skilled. Her eyes shot to her father, seeking answers where there were none.
The tightness that coiled in Sage’s gut at those words found space, the full gravity of it taking shape and finding breath. Her mind raced backward in time, doing the math, seeking out the loopholes.
The battle waged in Anu twenty years ago. The outcome ended a reign in place since the dawn of time. The elite prince had gone into hiding, his mother and father slayed in the fighting. Xavier Diaboli.
Her relative…
He couldn’t be. Only Gideon and she remained . Sage had lived at Woodlock castle, her cousins’ ancestral home, for five years after the genocide of their people. Surely, she would have known if any other family had been spared.
Unless he’d lied to her. For decades.
Sage kept her mask in place–not a single emotion marred her face–and reminded herself who she was. Lady Kerrington . She knew everything her cousin knew. Why ever would she not? She was charming and well-bred, and worthy of a crown.
This surprise was a punishment. A punishment, and a test. For deviating from her cousin’s plan. For his incessant jealousy and her required submission to him. For daring to let the mask slip.
“What an interesting family tree you have.” Bastian held her cousin’s stare, his cultured voice cool, indifferent. But his eyes… He stared right through Gideon. Like he could see beneath his skin and bones, to his withered, dead soul. “Is he here?”
Sage had the distinct feeling of being led into a web, the Chosen One drawing them closer to its center. If Gideon sensed it, too, he didn’t let on.
Her cousin replied, “Xavier will be arriving tomorrow.” He turned his attention back to the princess. “I do hope you won’t mind sitting the tournament out. These sort of games are no place for nobility.”
Sage’s magic twined around her tendons. She curled her fingers. Bastian’s hawk-like gaze went straight to the movement. Lightning forked across his eyes in answer.
Mekale whirled on her father. “I am free to choose. You promised.”
“I have changed my mind.” Calian’s voice was hard. “Pray that I don’t change it again.”
The princess turned to Gideon, her lips pulling back from her teeth. “I do not accept. Tell your nephew he has been misled.”
Her cousin replied, “You’ll come around.” Then he addressed the king, dismissing the princess completely. “I brought you a gift to honor the union.” He lifted a hand, and the entrance doors opened.
Two guards stepped over the threshold, a prisoner shackled and bloodied between them, short black hair hanging limply over her downturned face.
The room went so quiet Sage wasn’t sure a spell hadn’t been cast over it. Indeed, she had to check her own breathing to confirm the numbness she was experiencing was due to the image at the top of the stairs, not because some form of magic had slipped in.
The guards descended the steps, hauling the prisoner with them. With every step closer, Sage went further into herself. The unfeeling, sober, sturdy mechanism of her body took over, shielding her from any visual tells that might give away her creeping dread.
Gideon’s gaze slid to her, monitoring the control he possessed over her.
Wilkes hadn’t met her before the ball as planned. Sage waited for him on the beach as long as she dared. Had Gideon warned him off? Had he done far worse?
“I present to you, Your Majesty,” her cousin declared, loud enough for everyone to hear. “The Queen of the Rebels.”
The guards let go of Sage’s one-time best friend.
Spade collapsed to her knees. Her night-dark hair was matted with dried blood and dirt. Her shoulders were purple, every inch of visible skin bruised .
One of the males put his boot in her back and spat. “Kneel before your king, traitor.” He kicked her forward.
Hands bound behind her, she didn’t stand a chance of curbing the impact. Her face connected with the marble and the crack of bone echoed around the room.
Sage flinched. And the memories came rushing back.
The Hornhall solider forcing himself between Spade’s legs. Her friend, so young, thrashing and biting, despite the other males holding her down.
Sage didn’t take her eyes off Spade. Even as her own wrists were crushed under the punishing hands of their lieutenant. She didn’t blink as the violence continued, one after another, until the minutes dragged into hours.
The sable-haired girl fought them all relentlessly. Sage sobbed for her to be still–to surrender, to endure–from where she had been forced to watch.
Tears blurred the images across the campfire, but Sage didn’t look away. She remained present through it all, bearing witness. When it was over…when they finally finished… Sage crawled to her friend’s side.
Only then did she fall apart.
The guard reached down to grab a fist full of Spade’s hair. The motion brought Sage back into the present. He yanked up her head, wrenching her neck back against her spine.
Spade’s forehead was split open, blood leaking from the wound, filling her eyes, muting the red stain of her lips, dripping off her chin and onto the polished white floor–like black pearls undone from a chain.
So much pain. So much they had endured together. So much they had lost.
A strange numbness settled over Sage. Their joint path had divided after that night in the woods. Spade harnessed her hatred, revenge navigating her steps, veering further and further off the path they started on together. It became black and white for her. The fae of Ventus were either firmly on the side of the rebels, or they were carrion.
Sage did what she did best, for better or worse, and kept the steady pace she’d set for herself–for their people. She didn’t want the families of the soldiers to suffer for what those males had done. She wanted to change the dogmatic, fear-based world that had taught them such hate.
‘ Steadfast to a fault’ , Spade once hurled at her.
Now ebony eyes stared up at her, still raging despite her brokenness. Still biting at the world.
Something warmed in Sage’s palm. A whisper of fire–Spade’s magic reaching out to her.
Then her one-time best friend mouthed, “Run!”
T he ballroom exploded.
Bastian’s ears hollowed out, the ground ripped from beneath him and the ceiling rained down. But he was already moving, his instincts faster than the ballroom crumbling around them. Blood scented the air, fae were shrieking, and dust and debris annihilated visibility.
His vampire speed registered all of it. A split second later, he vaulted over the balcony railing.
He landed on the beach below, cradling Sage tightly in his arms. She blinked twice at the sand and ocean around them. And then her gaze shot upward.
She pushed out of his arms, her expression shifting from shock to dread as she stared up at the gaping hole in the side of the castle. “Mekale!”
“Your cousin shielded her,” Bastian said, his mind not quite caught up with his mouth. “He tossed some barrier around himself and her…”
Because the bastard had known .
Or at the very least, he had anticipated something going awry. It was the only possible way he could have released his magic in time. Just for himself and the princess.
He had wasted no energy on Sage.
Bastian clenched his teeth. “We have to go.”
Her eyes sharpened. “We can’t leave her.”
“We’ll come back.” Bastian reached for her.
She stepped away. “Glenton was in there, too. The prince. And…”
“ Your friend ,” Bastian filled in the blank. He had felt her connection with the rebel queen the second the guards brought her in. Sage stared at him, her silence palpable. “We’ll come back for them,” he assured. “All of them.”
Outside, guards were shouting, racing along the upper walkway toward the ballroom, their armor reflecting under torchlight. The wind whipped Sage’s long hair around her face. She was shell-shocked he realized. His own senses were still reeling from the blast. Hers, along with every fae in that castle, were at a greater disadvantage.
Which was why they had to leave. Now!
Bastian grabbed her around the waist, tossed her over his shoulder, and shot into the sky.