Chapter 3 #2
I grab the glass and settle back into my chair. “To your pride, then. May it suffer quietly.”
I take a gulp and my body sinks into the soft cushions as if ready to disappear into them.
“Do you know anything about the last Trial of the Bound?” I ask.
I’d intended to ask Eva. Her husband is a general in Calcatra’s army, and anything he knows, she makes her business to know, but she hasn’t come to see me yet. “All I remember is that there are four Challenges among the six Champions, and—”
“Five Champions,” Mael interrupts. “The Church of the Goddess of Blood and Decay hasn’t had devotees since she cast the curse over Calcatra. No Church, no Champion. Same as it was with Azrakel’s faith after he fell.”
A drop of wine slips down my lip. I catch it with my tongue, and when I blink, Mael’s dark eyes flick back on his plate.
“Which one will you be supporting?” he asks, and the question catches me off guard.
“I—” I tap a finger against my glass, faltering.
For so long, prayer to Demetria had been a repetitive and automatic daily ritual. It takes me a moment to remember I no longer have to say them. Not with the Archpriest gone.
By law, the populace must spend at least an hour each day praying to the reigning Sovereign god or goddess at the temple.
Our collective devotion feeds their power, which in turn sustains the magical defenses that protect the kingdom from outside threats.
From time to time, rumors surface of someone caught whispering prayers to another god behind closed doors, but the practice is frowned upon.
Our realm thrives upon a foundation of unity, even when our beliefs are deeply flawed.
Now, I can devote my prayers to any of the gods. My voice, added to thousands of others, will strengthen the chosen Champion’s magic in the Trial. Shape the future.
“I’d like to understand their values first,” I say slowly. “One of them will become the next Archpriest or Archpriestess. It’s not a choice to be made—”
I stop, catching the slur in my words. A laugh escapes me, light and soft. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, pressing my fingers to my lips. “The wine is making a fool of me.”
Which is exactly what I shouldn’t let happen. Not in front of him.
“You’re no fool, Raylane,” Mael says, watching me with a glint of amusement. “This Trial will decide the future of our kingdom.” He lifts his glass. “And for what it’s worth, you might be more entertaining drunk than sober.”
I blink, my vision swimming slightly before it clears. The room feels too warm… or maybe I’m slipping deeper into it, the wine and exhaustion pulling me under.
I push to my feet, ignoring the tilt of the room. I cross to the table where two tall candles burn in heavy brass holders. I take a deep breath, my head spinning.
“It’s time for you to go,” I say without turning, more to myself than to him. “You’ve fulfilled Ryker’s request to check on me. But being here for so long, it’s improper.”
He hums behind me. “So was grabbing the Warden’s arm in front of the entire plaza,” he murmurs. “And yet you did it. Fierce. Unrepentant. Improper in all the best ways.”
I whirl to face him, regretting it immediately when the motion sends a slow, syrupy wave through my head.
Mael’s no longer lounging in the chair, watching with that amused glint in his eyes. He’s closer now. Too close.
A familiar metallic tang reaches my nose, and I wrinkle it in response. Where have I smelled that before? But my thoughts are too shapeless to grasp, and I let the question go.
“I’m not asking,” I say, frowning with as much authority as I can muster.
“Little queen. On the precipice of power, and still a child,” he purrs. “I find contradictions fascinating,” he adds, taking another step forward. His gaze is steady, assessing. “And you, Ray, are full of them.”
My heart beats a little harder, though it’s a distant thing, like it belongs to someone else. I shake my head, as if I can shake him off, as if I can shake off whatever this strange feeling is clawing through me. Too thick, too slow.
I step back. A single, deliberate move.
Mael steps toward me.
The flickering candlelight dances over his refined features, the lazy tilt of his mouth, the glint of something unreadable in his dark eyes.
The room feels stifling, the warmth pressing into my skin.
His hand lifts, slowly, deliberately. For a breath, I think he’s reaching for my throat, but instead, his fingers brush a stray lock of white hair from my face.
He lingers just a second too long, his knuckles hovering near my cheek, the ghost of a touch skimming my skin before he finally pulls away. Unease grows inside me at the boldness of his gesture.
“I realized today that you don’t fit,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not among the sneering nobles, nor with the plainspoken commoners. It’s as if fate couldn’t decide which side of the line to place you on. Perhaps it wanted you on both.”
My breath stutters, but I keep my expression blank. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
His lips curve. “Maybe it’s a gift.”
I swallow hard and turn away, forcing my body back to the chair. Sitting feels safer, steadier.
Mael follows, but this time he doesn’t press closer. Instead, he watches me settle, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
I exhale slowly, pressing my fingers against my temples.
Focus. “It’s late, Mael,” I say with a yawn.
“Now that you’ve caught me without Eleanor’s presence, you can hold this little secret over my head.
Is that what all this is about?” I force my spine straight, setting my empty glass down.
“Or you can tell the court your new sister-in-law is a wine-drinking adventuress. I’m too tired to care. ”
“Oh, I don’t trade in petty gossip, Ray,” he says, a wicked grin curling across his face. “Because what is family without secrets?”