Chapter 24
An hour later,I’m walking down the now familiar stairs to the main level where too many people are already collecting in front of the throne room. Herinor hasn’t left his place at my side since the moment I stepped out of my room. The small nod he exchanges with Clio every time he takes over on the threshold has become a routine as much as the dreaded walks past the Tavrasian courtiers. He ushers me through the corridor forming where the lords and ladies part to make way for the stranger who’s supposed to become their new queen. I try not to think about what’s awaiting me today. If I’ll be executed or if there are more evil plans prepared that Erina hasn’t deigned to share, I don’t even want to know. It’s enough to be paraded around court at every opportunity without regard for the state of my stomach or my constant fatigue as side effects of the drug.
Today is no different. Erina’s guards stand at attention as we pass them, and the courtiers steal eager glances at my dress, whispering behind my back as I cross the threshold into the throne room. My hand itches to check for the thick, golden bracelet Clio put on my right wrist to cover the chain tattoo where the long sleeve might slip and expose it.
No one told me what today’s occasion is. Another lunch or a banquet, or merely an opportunity to humiliate me.
Erina is sitting on his throne, sepia uniform and crown perfectly in place, and smiles at me with that false curve of his lips most people mistake for kindness. Beside him, Ephegos stands in the position of honor right of the throne, and from Erina’s other side, Katrijanov smirks at me like he’s been gifted a particularly entertaining present.
The whispers of the audience ebb into silence as I drop into a curtsey hurting my pride more than my tired legs. My back is weak, and my arms lack their usual strength, and the seams of the dress itch across my shoulder. I resist the urge to scratch, focusing on straightening with enough grace to hide my otherwise obvious weakness. If I had my magic, I’d flood this room and wash away the white flowers decorating the small tables scattered along the edge of the room, the golden plates and crystal goblets. I’d shove the water down Ephegos’s throat before pulling it back out and doing the same with Erina and Katrijanov for their hand in my fate. For their capturing Myron and Royad and the third Crow whose name I yet need to learn. Not to forget Astorian.
It’s only when I lift my head again that I realize Erina’s gaze has drifted to the table closest to the dais. A table with three chairs, one of them occupied. My breath catches, and my heart stutters.
He’s sitting on the chair closest to the wall, dressed in sepia finery, hair brushed and tied at the nape of his neck. His skin is even paler than I remember, except for the purple and black bruises on his jaw and cheek. But his eyes?—
Myron. I mouth his name, voice failing as I meet his gaze.
It’s impossible to make out their color across the thirty paces separating us, but they are clearly no longer all-black.
The itch in my shoulder has returned—no, not itch. It tingles right from the edge of my biceps to the base of my neck where the bird is inked onto my skin by Vala’s magic, if Clio is to be believed.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a pained half-smile before he smooths his expression into the mask of the Crow King, and all emotion is gone. If it wasn’t for the way his hands clench in front of him on the edge of the table, I could have been fooled into believing he’s here out of his own free will.
But it’s Ephegos’s magic holding him in his seat. I recognize the way the Crow flexes his fingers in an obvious use of power and the way Myron goes rigid as the force of it binds him more tightly. There is no way for him to get to me if Ephegos doesn’t allow it.
I’m about to yell at him to release my husband and get to his knees before his king, but the fucking traitor grins and lifts his other hand a heartbeat before my breath leaves my mouth, an onslaught of magic sealing my lips so I couldn’t get a word out even if I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Katrijanov places a hand on the pommel of his sword as he steps down from the dais, marching to stand behind Myron, his smirk intensifying as he glances from Myron’s neck to his sword, then to me. A clear warning that he could slit Myron’s throat with one quick move and there’s nothing I could do about it.
While I ponder the merits of dragging the small knife that goes everywhere with me from my skirts, Erina summons me with a gesture of his hand. “Sit with me, Wolayna.”
Instead of pointing to the chair a foot next to the throne, right behind where Katrijanov was standing a moment ago, Erina gets to his feet and stalks down from the dais like his general isn’t threatening the love of my life and his traitor friend isn’t binding the King of Crows to a chair like a common criminal. The tirades of hatred I have for all three of them are ready to erupt the moment Ephegos releases his magic on me, and I refuse to take as much as a step while they are threatening Myron—not that I can articulate my intentions.
“Move,” Herinor orders in a low growl. The menace in his voice isn’t directed at me, though. I’ve known him long enough to tell when his frustration is with me. His anger is with the King of Tavras and the traitor Crow he made a bargain with. And now, he’s unable to help his true king, even when Myron is right there within reach.
Guardians, I want to run to him so badly. Want to touch him, just to reassure myself I’m not hallucinating, that he’s real and alive, and that the sensation in my shoulder isn’t only in my imagination.
Bonded, Clio’s diagnosis comes back to me. We are bonded. Whatever that means, I hope we’ll get the time to find out. Right now, all I can do is try to keep air flowing in and out through my nose as I keep myself from doing anything rash that could mean Myron’s end.
I don’t even try to calm my racing heart as I take one unsteady step after the other with Herinor’s blade at my back, my gaze never drifting from Myron’s. With every pace forward, the tingling in my shoulder heightens, becoming a pulsing, an ache matching the one in my chest at the proof of violence on my Crow’s skin.
Erina reaches the table first, seating himself in the chair closer to Myron, leaving the one across for me. The throne room feels like an endless tunnel of sepia and gold, the resuming whispers of the courtiers reminding me that this is all a show. They cleaned Myron up and put him in finery fit to dine with a king. To a human who’s never seen magic at work, he must look like he’s the king’s dear guest, receiving the extra protection of General Katrijanov. Erina even smiles at him as he whispers something I can’t make out with my human ears.
Just like he does to the rest of the court, I must appear like Erina’s guest of honor with the way he’s been parading me at such events. Little do they know that, in a different world, it would have been my father on this throne instead of Erina. In a different world, I would have been the Princess of Tavras. But in this world, I’m someone whose claim to the throne is about to be annihilated. I won’t be a threat if Erina gets his will. I will be a pretty breeding tool to pop out heirs that will secure the continuation of his own line. And the way he’s putting Myron on display to show me his cruelty has no bounds, I’m inclined to say he’ll get his wish.
But what will happen once he has what he wants? What will he do to Myron? To Royad and Astorian and the nameless Crow down in the cell? Are they still alive? Or has he gotten rid of them because he believes Myron is all he needs to keep me in line? Or is there something more he wants that I yet need to figure out?
Ten more steps and I’ll be sitting at the table with the male I’m married to and the man who believes it’s all right to steal someone else’s bride. I can only imagine Myron’s rage equals my own as I finally reach the table and slide into the chair Erina pulls out for me like a caring partner would. The gesture is disturbing and disgusting in equal parts.
Yet, I can’t bring myself to look away from Myron now that I finally have him in front of me, and his eyes…
His eyes are blue like the ocean.
My breath catches for an entirely different reason, and my voice dies even as Ephegos’s magic releases me.
Beautiful. His eyes are beautiful. Like the waters of the Quiet Sea. The same shade of turquoise-laced blue reminding me of gentle waves and caressing breezes.
He must see it in my gaze, for the mask he so carefully crafted slips, and for a moment, it’s all there: the love, the despair, the hope… It’s the hope that kills me as I try not to crumble at the sight of him.
Alive.
Ignoring my throbbing shoulder, I lean back in my chair, awareness prickling along my skin wherever Myron’s gaze wanders as if in search of something. His posture hasn’t changed, but his eyes are burning like the sun itself, and within those blue irises lies freedom. I can almost taste it as I keep staring at him like a complete fool. Freedom, and the call of the ocean.
I don’t know how many minutes have passed when Herinor clears his throat and Myron’s gaze ices over, as does his face.
“Herinor.” His voice… Like silk sliding over the edge of a blade… Goosebumps rise on my arms beneath the fabric of my gown, and my heart thunders in my chest in response to the most significant sound in the world.
But it’s not my name he spoke. Herinor. He recognized his kin behind me, and whatever warmth lingered in those eyes retreated beyond the mask.
“Good to see you alive, Myron.” I can tell Herinor means it, and judging by the glare Ephegos throws in Herinor’s direction, the Crow traitor knows it, too. A dangerous game Ephegos is playing. And I still don’t know what he gets out of it.
“Myron.” Erina inclines his head in fake politeness, his hand drifting across the table to catch mine where it’s resting beside the golden plate. “May I introduce to you my fiancée, Wolayna.”
I could swear the ice in Myron’s eyes turns to death. There is nothing of the male left of him, only the monster, yet, he can’t shift into his Crow form with his magic sedated with the same drug they are giving me.
“Pleasure.” As if trying to hide the slip of emotion, Myron doesn’t look at me, but the muscles in his jaw flick beneath his bruised skin, and I know he’s ready to sink his teeth into the King of Tavras.
“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Erina puts on his regal smile as he stands from the table, addressing the entire room. “Make it known in the entire realm that King Erina Latroy Jeldnedyn has found a bride.”
The audience explodes with cheers and claps, Odja shuffling over to congratulate His Majesty on his excellent choice. It’s embarrassing and awkward and so utterly wrong that I still don’t have words when servants enter from the side doors, carrying platters of little cakes and bottles of bubbly wine. It’s the traditional meal for an engagement party, which, I realize, this is.
And Myron is here as Erina’s secret weapon. One threat at the Crow King, and he knows I won’t refuse.