Chapter Thirty
Haide
Black lace clings to every curve and I spin in front of the mirror, watching the sequin patterns glisten with different angles of light. Emmie did good. So fucking good.
My thumb brushes over one of the patterns. What even are these?
I tilt my head, studying the lines. That better not be a fucking flower…no. Funny. It almost looks like the angles of live plants that breathe oxygen into the ocean.
My examination continues up my torso, where the top cuts deep, my breasts nearly spilling out, and finally ending on dark black lips. At first, I was hesitant. Who rocks up to a royal ball with black lips? But then I remembered who the fuck I was.
Me. Haide. I’d rock up to a royal ball with black fucking lips.
My hair tumbles down my back, as black as the dress, but for the first time ever, this particular chaos is tamed. It no longer rages down my spine in a violent waterfall, but rather glides in sharp, heavy waves.
I look like a Queen.
I look like death.
I look like his.
The thought slams into me, unwelcome, and I bare my teeth at my reflection. Fuck. When did I start thinking like that? When did I start wanting to?
I drag a finger along the edge of the mirror, smudging the silvered glass.
The Haide staring back at me isn’t the same one he stole many weeks ago.
That Haide would’ve laughed in my face if I told her she’d ever entertain the idea of a mate—let alone a fucking Royal.
That Haide would’ve gutted me for even suggesting it.
But that Haide didn’t know him. Not like this.
I spin around, holding my breath with a pressed palm over my belly. Fuck. What have I gotten myself into? This world is so different than the one I came from. It’s twisted, and fake, and somewhat manic at times.
My fingers bite into my stomach.
“Pull some shit again, and I’ll show you exactly what it means to be mine.”
I should’ve stabbed him all the times he laid claim to me—as if I was some pawn in a game I didn’t care to participate in.
I wanted to.
But I didn’t.
My hands slam onto the vanity, fingers digging into the wood like I can carve my way out of this mess. That damn bond thrums under my skin—always there, always pulling—like some sick joke of a leash tying me to him.
I’ve fought it. Ignored it. Told myself it was nothing.
But you don’t get to lie to wildfire and expect it not to burn you alive.
And Legend? He’s not just fire.
He’s the goddamn match.
I close my eyes but he’s there. Memories of him embedded too deep in my brain for me to forget. The way his hands grip, the way his voice drops, the way his eyes go black when he’s two seconds from losing control. The way he looks at me. Like I’m the only thing in the room worth killing for.
I hate it.
And I hate that I don’t hate it.
Plain and simple, I crave Legend now. I’ve become obsessed with that maniacal man and I’m okay with that.
A knock at the door jolts me out of my thoughts.
I straighten, my hand instinctively going to the dagger strapped to my thigh beneath the gown.
Old habits. Not like they can’t see it through the mesh anyway.
I wanted it that way. I may be the mate of a royal, with powers I didn’t know I had slowly surfacing from deep within, but I’ll never be caught without my dagger.
Emmie’s head sticks through and I instantly relax. “Emmie, you almost ended up with a six-inch blade between your pretty eyes. Come in.”
She flashes a wide smile, closing the door behind her. “Wow, now look at you!”
“I feel weird. Uptight. Fake.”
Her hands land on both my shoulders. “You don’t look any of those things.” She tilts her head, taking in every inch of her fine work. “Are you purposely running late to this ball?”
“I’m late?” I try to find the little bag that she had paired with the dress. Some fucking bag since it has no band or strap.
She flashes me the small black leather—”Here’s your clutch. Do you have everything else you need?”
I pop it open and find the phone. These things would save a lot of walking on Exile Island. “Yes.”
“Good.” She steps back, arms crossing. “Well, off you go then.”
I stare at her, my hand frozen on the clutch. “Portal there?”
“Why not?” She shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The ball’s in the war room. You’ve been there before so you should be able to picture where you intend to go.”
My stomach clenches. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever pulled it off when we were in danger—”
“You do.” Her voice goes softer as she steps close. “You just have to believe enough in yourself, Haide. You are a lot more powerful than you even know.” Her hands land on my shoulders, turning me to the mirror. She holds my eyes. “Try again.”
She’s right about my magic. It’s a constant demand that won’t stop pulling deep in my gut, only over time, it’s spread like a virus, and every day I feel it in a new place.
I close my eyes, reaching for that dark current that’s been building in my chest. It leaps to my call, hungry and immediate, as if it’s been prowling beneath my skin just waiting for me to unlock the cage.
“Just…focus on where you want to go,” Emmie says, her voice drifting in and out. “Picture it.”
The war room materializes behind my eyelids in a pair of massive doors. The bone table in the middle and the way shadows dance across ancient stone. I can almost smell the weight of old magic, the signature scent of a room as old as time.
My power surges, electric and wild, and my fingers tingle as reality begins to bend, space folding in ways that should be impossible.
I crack my eyes open and there it is.
A jagged wound in the world, throbbing with the same black fire that’s been eating me alive from the inside. Fitting. Of course my portal would look as damaged as me.
It’s alive, writhing and blowing heat waves into my face. Embers crackle off the dance of flames that curve, reaching for solid ground. It stinks of gasoline and ash, and all the hungry places of the Earth.
And fuck holy shit, the flowers.
Blackened petals, half-rotten, but still clinging to life. Roots twist through the dark vines like veins, pulsing with something that shouldn’t be there. Something that refuses to die.
Again, like me.
Emmie’s breath hitches beside me, sharp and startled. “Haide—”
I don’t answer. Can’t. My throat’s too tight, my pulse wild. Because this? This isn’t just magic.
This is mine.
The middle is an open wound, throbbing, weeping…whispering?
“Holy shit.” Emmie’s voice sounds far away.
My pulse kicks hard, slamming into my ribs. Me. I just ripped through space like it was nothing. My magic. My hands. My power.
“Go,” Emmie whispers. “Before it closes.”
I step through, the world lurching sideways as magic carries me across space. My heels click against stone as I stumble out the other side, the portal snapping shut behind me with a sound like crashing waves.
Here I am. Right in front of those damn war room doors—the same ones Legend hauled me through that first night when my whole world flipped upside down.
Some fancy-ass music seeps through the cracks, all prim and proper, the kind that makes my jaw clench. And the voices? Just a bunch of rich people talking over each other; it’s a hollow noise that makes me want to punch something.
Only now, this is my life. Only now, this is my future.
I smooth down my dress, checking that my dagger is still secure against my thigh. The blade’s weight grounds me, familiar and dangerous. Mine.
Through the crack beneath the doors, golden light spills across my feet, the music only just drowning out chatter.
My hand hovers over the door handle. Once I walk through, there’s no going back. No pretending this is all some twisted game. No more hiding behind sarcasm and violence. No more pretending I don’t feel exactly what Legend has been begging me to feel all this time.
Inside that room, he waits. His brothers wait. His entire world waits to judge whether I’m worthy of standing beside their king and it won’t matter, because he chose me. The bond. The Gods. They all chose him to be mine.
And now, I’m finally ready to stake my claim.
I grip the handle, metal cold against my palm, and push the doors open with as little effort as possible.
And fuck…
This isn’t the war room I remember. It’s like someone cracked the world open and spilled magic everywhere, leaving it to harden into something beautiful and deadly all at once.
The ceiling disappears, giving way to a night sky stuffed with stars that shouldn’t be there, shining too brightly and way too close.
They aren’t just tiny dots of light, they dangle like diamond encrusted chandeliers, all fire, silver, and ice.
Ripples spread beneath my boots—not stone, not wood, but something caught between liquid and light, each footfall sending frozen waves through depths that shouldn’t exist. The bone table is still there, only…
Its bones ripple like vertebrae when it shifts, the head turning to me. Only it’s fucking alive.
Damn. That’s cool as shit. Okay, so maybe I jumped to conclusions a little when I first imagined this ball.
Figures glide between floating candles, their flames bleeding colors I’ve never seen.
Violet, poison green, the soft blue that can’t decide if it’s green.
Shadows twist along the pillars, alive, wrapping around carved bone and stone while vines slither upward, unfurling flowers that wither before they hit the ground.
A fawn with a woman’s face tilts her chin as she passes, hooves clicking against the impossible floor.
What the fuck is she supposed to be? I don’t stare long, swiping a drink from a table.
I sip without inspecting the drink, since right now, I’d take anything. I’d take damn Emmie with a bottle of Fae Juice more than this. Where the hell is Legend?
Then everything goes quiet.
Not suddenly, but like someone turned down the volume—conversations trailing off, laughter cutting short, until all that’s left is this eerie, half-heard music. Like violins playing from another room.