Fated
GAbrIEL
Shouts rise all around me, but they might as well be in another language. All I can hear are those four words cycling through my mind on repeat. They swirl around me, faster and faster, until each word is a clap of thunder in my mind.
By.
The.
Gods.
Bound together by a force larger than ourselves, a bond that predestined us both. Radiant suns save me. It feels like a curtain has been ripped away inside me, revealing a truth that has been there all along.
That thing inside me hums frantically, as if saying Yes. This. This. It’s why you need Wren. Why you’re drawn to her. Why she’s yours.
I should’ve known. I should’ve figured it out the moment I first looked into her violet eyes and she peered back into my soul.
Honestly, I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together earlier.
Grandmother used to tell stories about fated connections that bound people together, threads of destiny woven into the tapestry of their lives.
But like the dragons in my nightmares, I’d always assumed they were stories of times long gone. Myths. Legends of old, nothing more.
How many of Grandmother’s other stories are real? How many were warnings, premonitions of what was to come? I’m not sure, and honestly, I can’t think too hard about it. Not right now when I have a gods-damned fated mate.
Wren is still on the other side of the room, eyes locked on me. Why is she so far away? Every inch separating us suddenly feels like a mile, and the council chamber is a canyon keeping us apart.
I take a step towards her, needing to get closer.
A sharp yank on the chains reminds me that bond or not I’m still a prisoner.
Unwilling to waste another second, I turn towards the one person who might help me.
Alaric’s face is stony, but his eyes are soft, and there’s the barest hint of compassion in them.
“Please,” I say desperately. “I have to get closer to her.”
I need it more than I’ve ever needed anything.
His eyes sweep over mine. “She really means something to you, doesn’t she?”
“She is mine.” The claiming words tumble from my lips. The moment I say them, something is righted in the depth of my being. As if a part of myself has been out of place since birth, but now it’s fixed.
Alaric inclines his head and studies me before saying, “All right. I’ll take you.
” Hector makes a sound of displeasure, but the captain shoots him a look.
“Enough. The Hunter is not armed. Besides, you heard the seer. He is bound to the Blessed woman, and who are you to fight against the hands of fate?”
“I—”
“You are a good soldier,” Alaric says, shaking his head. “But I have made my decision.”
Hector mumbles a curse under his breath, but he doesn’t put up any more of a fight as we cross the room. We’re halfway across the space when Wren releases the chair she’d been holding. No one stops her as she runs towards me.
My chains slacken, and I look over my shoulder to see Alaric pulling his guards back a few steps. The illusion of privacy is appreciated, and I make a mental note to thank the man later, soldier-to-soldier.
Wren flings her arms around me, and I grunt. “Careful, Birdie.”
There is no sting in my words. She could’ve shoved me to the ground for all I care. I wrap my good arm around Wren, dragging her against me.
“Gods, little bird,” I murmur into her hair. “I missed you.”
My chest lightens as though a heavy weight has been removed from it, and it feels like I can finally breathe again for the first time since I woke up in my cell, alone. That soul-deep pain that has been plaguing me for days vanishes like a ghost in the night.
We hug for an eternity, my body finally feeling whole now that Wren is back with me.
“Are you okay?” I pull back and cup her face with my good hand, running my thumb down her cheek. Dark shadows are under her eyes, and she’s paler than before. Even her Mark seems subdued, cloudy and dull.
Her violet eyes sweep over mine. “Me? I’m . . . fine. I was thirsty, but they gave me something to drink.”
A growl rumbles through me, but it cuts off as she raises her fingers, trailing her hand down my face. I flinch when she touches a cut I had forgotten about. “Don’t worry about me. What did they do to you?”
“It’s not important.” I will endure a thousand more days of torture if it means Wren will be protected. “You’re here. That’s all that matters now.”
Wren draws back, a frown marring her beautiful face, and I hate that. If I had my way, she’d never frown again.
“Your definition of ‘okay’ must be different from mine, Gabriel,” she mutters. “Did you miss the manacles we’re wearing? The weapons around us? The chains wrapped around you? This is so far from okay, we might as well be in a different realm.”
“But we’re alive.” She’s alive, and that’s the most important thing.
Wren scoffs. “For now.”
Something in her tone has alarm bells ringing in me, and I clench my jaw. “Did someone threaten you?” I scan the room.
“Not in so many words,” she says slowly. Her tone has my hackles rising. “But these people don’t seem friendly, Gabriel.”
“There’s a reason for that.” A tall man with dark brown skin, a thick beard, and a shorn head strides into the council chambers. His footsteps ring as he moves towards us, carrying himself with authority. “We have many reasons to be distrustful.”
The man goes to stand next to Evelyn, resting his hand on the back of her chair. More people file in behind him, including Cedric, who glares daggers at me from his spot against the wall.
I hold Wren tighter. Even with my injuries and lack of weapons, I’ll be damned if they take her from me without a fight.
“A Blessed and an Inherited. Both suns-kissed. Tell me, Marked One.” He looks at Wren, and his tone has a warning snarl rising in my throat. “Do you believe the Given are gods-blessed?”
Wren bristles, and she shifts so she’s facing the front, her back pressed against my chest. I keep my good arm wrapped around her, the touch the only thing grounding me.
“Not that it’s really any of your business since you haven’t even told me your name and you’re obviously holding us prisoner, but no.” Her voice rings across the council chambers, and pride runs through me. “Absolutely the fuck not.”
The man’s expression doesn’t change, but beside him, Evelyn’s lips twitch, and her Mark shines. She nods in approval in Wren’s direction.
“I see,” rumbles the stranger. “And you.” His piercing eyes turn to me. “A Hunter. One of the king’s own.”
There’s a threat in his voice, a thinly veiled hint of violence. A promise that even though the soldiers have stepped back, our position is precarious at best.
Gods, I wish I had my weapons. A sword or a dagger. Even an axe wouldn’t go unused in this setting. I am well versed in hand-to-hand combat, but with my arm in this state, that option is far from appealing.
“I no longer hold that title,” I say, repeating the same thing I told Cedric and his merry band of torturers. “I am being hunted as much as she is.”
I’ve been answering these questions for days. Again and again, I’ve reiterated that I am not here to share their location, nor am I acting as the king’s agent. My father’s shadow followed me here, and I am beginning to realize I may never escape it.
Several beats pass before the man shakes his head.
“The gods must be playing with us.” He crosses the room, standing a few feet in front of Wren and me, scowling. “You sought us out, Hunter. We watched you for several days—you were following the Trail of Wilted Roses to our mountain. Why?”
Wren shifts in my arms, and I can feel her looking up at me. The answer comes easier than any other I’ve given during my time here.
“For her.” My words resonate through the room, and in the essence of my being. “She needs help with her magic, and she’s fleeing the king. I thought if anyone could help her, it would be you.”
I didn’t know that the rebels had Marked Ones among them, but I figured that if they were able to hide from my father, they would be Wren’s best bet.
“Evelyn?” The man’s scrutinizing gaze remains on me, even now. “Is he speaking the truth?”
The elderly woman rises from her seat, hobbling towards us, leaning heavily on her cane. She stops a few feet away. Her Mark flares, washing Wren and me in its light, and her eyes turn a milky white.
The temperature drops, and a cool breeze that has no business being in this windowless room brushes past me. The hairs on my arms raise. Someone behind me mutters a curse.
Wren stiffens, letting out a soft gasp, but I don’t let her go. I’m not sure I could even if she asked me to.
The violet light pulses thrice, each time more vibrant than the last before the film clears from the seer’s eyes. Evelyn exhales shakily, and her hands tremble, reminding me of my grandmother. She stumbles back, dropping into a seat that someone brought over for her.
“What did you see, Evelyn?” someone asks from the crowd.
The seer looks up. Pauses, seeming to weigh her words. Then she proclaims, “The Hunter speaks the truth.”
A hushed silence washes over the crowd.
“It is as he says,” Evelyn continues. “She has power that needs to be controlled, magic that is unchecked.”
Murmurs rise from around us.
“You do not need to chain the Hunter, Captain.” Evelyn looks at Alaric. “He will not leave the Blessed, nor will he risk endangering her.” The seer’s eyes meet mine, and a shiver runs through me. “After all, she is his.”