CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brennan threaded our fingers together, lifting our hands into the air in triumph.
The crowd roared and clapped, their shouts reaching a frenzied fever pitch.
I felt like I was in a daze, my heart thudding in my ears.
My lips hummed, hungry with unfulfilled desire, still drenched in the taste of Brennan.
I could still feel the perfect, soft fullness of his lips, the way his mouth had moved so expertly against mine.
And the scent of him. Gods. The mint on his breath lingered on mine, on my lips, my cheeks.
It was making my skin tingle. Making lower parts of me react the same.
I could sense it now. What it would be like between us. How our bodies would come together.
We had kissed. We had kissed …
Our hands remained joined, our palms pressed together, but his energy remained empty. Not a single emotion trickled into me. There was no lust coming from him. No further desire for me, or for more to happen between us.
The roars continued as we walked hand in hand.
I could feel the weight of his sigil ring against my fingers.
The noise of the crowd was growing along with the applause.
Several of the men sitting at the top of the raised bench seats released bawdy comments as we waved to their section.
But Brennan tightened his hold on my hand and hurried me past them, veering straight toward his father’s pavilion, to the king’s dais.
I could barely focus on the red and blue flags billowing above my head. Or on the presentation of House Lafir’s sigil everywhere I looked.
The blue moonstag, the red flames behind its wings. The symbol that led to the death of my mother.
“You should be comfortable here,” Brennan said quickly as he helped me step up onto the stairs. Carefully, he joined me at the top and turned to lead me to his family’s seats.
I started to shake then, not wanting to leave Brennan’s side. Not wanting to leave the sense of safety I felt with him. Nor did I want to be alone with the king—with my enemy.
But as Brennan squeezed my hand atop the platform, a man rushed over to us, and I was greeted by none other than the fucking Hermit himself. His eyes flashed indigo, and his mouth quirked into a self-satisfied grin that I wanted to smack off his face.
“Congratulations, Your Highnesses.” He bowed before us. “Princess Olivay. Prince … Jaron.”
“I thank you, Lord Brandon,” Brennan replied. He looked between the two of us, releasing my hand.
Instantly, I felt cold without his warmth, the skin of my palm tingling in remembrance of his touch.
“I do apologize, Princess,” Brennan said.
“I do not wish to leave you so soon.” A small blush crept across his cheeks, and yet still no emotion emanated toward me.
“But the presentation portion of the tourney awaits, and my squire is eager to saddle me.” Brennan nodded at the Hermit.
“I trust now you are safe and in good company here with my family—your family, too, now,” he said nervously, “as well as with your esteemed ambassador. Surely there are many who will seek out your attention for conversation while I step away.”
The Hermit waved him off. Then, in his most affected Lord Brandon voice, he said, “Have not a care as you present yourself to the tourney, my Prince. Princess Olivay will be well cared for by me and your family—her new family. I am sure of it.”
I could barely keep myself from snarling.
“I certainly know that I am eager to watch you on the field,” the Hermit continued. “As is your betrothed.”
Brennan bit his lip. “I shall endeavor in all my trials to bring honor to you, Princess,” Brennan said.
“And,” there was an almost flirtatious gleam in his eyes as he puffed out his chest, “I shall do my best to defend you as our Lady of Beauty.” He paused then, like he’d just seen something unexpected, his eyes looking into mine. No. Not into mine.
Through mine.
It was the same look on his face when we were at the lake—when he saw me—a version of me that was impossible for him to know about, and I still didn’t understand.
I froze, my heart thundering. I felt naked and exposed under his gaze. Like he knew. Knew exactly what I was—who I was. But that was impossible. Brennan could only see Olivay standing before him. Nothing else.
His vision at the lake had been from nearly drowning—nothing else.
He smiled. “Enjoy the games, Princess.” He sounded genuine, like he truly did hope I found some joy in my evening.
I nodded, realizing one thing was certain. Brennan might not have felt any romantic love for Olivay. But he felt something. He already cared for her as a person, and he would make sure she was taken care of.
And I … Gods. I liked that about him. I liked feeling that I was important to him, that I’d be protected, even if it was only out of duty.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my stomach turning. Fuck! I had to stop this. That offer of protection and care from him would end the second our baby was in my belly.
Brennan looked to his father, sweeping his hand across his chest as he leaned forward in a neatly curt, yet royal bow. King Tirian, who sat on his makeshift throne, nodded quickly at his son. Brennan’s movements in response were tense, before he smiled at me once more.
“Princess,” he said, his eyes hooded and lingering, yet distant, before they focused. “Until I am lucky enough to see you again.” Then he turned abruptly and headed back down the stairs, leaving me.
“My, my, my,” the Hermit said, pulling me close. “That kiss. I haven’t witnessed such a passionate display in decades.”
“Don’t you mean centuries?” I spat.
He laughed and pretended to fan himself with his hand. “Have you been practicing? With the way things were looking between you two, I’m surprised you didn’t invite the crowd to be an early witness of consummation.”
My cheeks heated.
“Oh please,” he said. “Spare me your innocent dramatics. I know where you were employed all these years. What you were doing.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue, his eyes moving across the pavilion to the throne.
“It’s come in handy. It seems our new king is rather pleased with how convincing your little performance was.
But I can’t decide if you truly are that good of an actress—or, as I’m more inclined to believe, you were simply … enjoying yourself?”
That was it. Fire surged through my veins, and my body lunged forward, though there was hardly anywhere for me to go.
We already stood so close. “You knew!” I hissed.
“You knew the prince was Brennan all along. Knew exactly what I was swearing to do when I swore the oath when I agreed to—to … fuck.”
He smirked. “To fuck, indeed.”
I snarled.
Lord Brandon rolled his eyes. “Of course, I knew. I told you.” He shook his head.
The usual snake-like shifts of his neck now stiff, as if he really were some stodgy old nobleman.
“And you gave your poor, poor aunt such a hard time.” His eyes turned to slits, and for a second, I could see the Hermit peeking out of them.
See the ancient male witch looking down on me.
“You truly like your betrothed, don’t you? ”
“You already knew that! And you knew I’d have to be the one to do it, to kill him. When I swore. Go to fucking hell.”
“If only I could.” He grasped my wrist in his hand, his hold light enough to not arouse suspicion around us, but enough for him to use whatever Godsdamned magic he possessed to make the blood oath scar ignite and burn in the veins of my arm.
The fire spread within, and tears welled in my eyes. “Let me go.”
“I will. When you understand one thing. Everything you do now is my fucking business,” he said, his voice dangerously low.
“Your ability to remain convincing in your role, and to stop the prophecy, depends on every little move you make, Olivay. Now get yourself together. Your father-in-law-to-be awaits your greeting.”
I shook my head, willing myself to be calm. “Why?” I asked. “Why did you let me believe it was Jaron?”
His dark brows drew together before he adjusted his face, becoming Lord Brandon once again.
“I never let you believe a thing. You did that yourself. It’s not my fault that House Lafir can only think of one fucking name to gift all their sons.
But I will tell you this. Who the prince was, and who you believed him to be, never mattered.
You have a job to complete, and that hasn’t changed—even if your groom now just so happens to possess a face that is handsome enough to your liking. ”
“It’s not just his face!” I snapped. It was him. All of him. I cared about Brennan. “He’s a good person. He doesn’t deserve to—to—” I looked away.
“Oh? You think I sentenced him to death? That I chose this? I just see what the Gods deign to show me, and then I do what I can to warn those who can shape things.” His eyes flashed. “Will you risk the lives of every innocent in Eley for him? For one man? One you barely know in this life?”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I didn’t think so. Remember that when your doubts creep in. Matters of the heart cannot stand in the way of your mission,” he said.
My skin burned, a fresh wave of pain emanating from the blood oath.
The Hermit’s face softened slightly. “I know you care for him. You care for many, more than you ought to. I think that’s why you’re here.
So I will say only this as someone who has lived through enough lifetimes to learn some truths.
My magic and knowledge run far deeper than you know.
My prophecies always come to pass. Always.
Though not necessarily in the way we understand them.
That being said, House Lafir’s reign,” he hissed low, “Will end as it must, as it is destined. And when it does, it will be a direct result of your joining with the prince.”
My eyes burned with unshed tears, my whole face hot.
He will die.
The Hermit clucked his tongue in admonishment.
“Enough. Stop this. You have no time to grieve in advance. What you need to do is make yourself pretty for the king.” Already he was leading us forward, smiling graciously at the nobles of House Lafir and waving as we approached the throne.
“Remember, it’s not all doom and gloom. It’s his reign you’re ending. ”
I stood up straighter. He was right. And so I looked boldly into the king’s eyes.
They were gray and tired. And cold. I imagined they were once as green as his son’s, but that age and evil had stolen their pigment.
Because how could such a beautiful color be allowed to live in the face of a tyrant?
The man who drove the witches into the wilds of Azeal, who cut us off from the resources we needed to survive, and banned us from visiting the ocean that renewed our magic.
Who abandoned us to the violence of the chimera.
Who sent his men into the woods to kill my mother. Whose actions left us defenseless against the beasts that mauled her. Who created a culture that allowed men like Jaron to flourish.
I eyed the Hermit and nodded. Brennan was innocent in all of this. And it was likely going to destroy me. But at least I wouldn’t be alone in my destruction. I would have a way to avenge my mother’s death.