Chapter 51
Chapter fifty-one
Keerian
He hated her.
Keerian seethed with quiet rage as he sat upon the white marble throne next to Queen Adara, unable to speak due to some godsforsaken spell from Adara’s book that rendered him completely mute.
If he could use his voice, Keerian would roar for the court assembled to run. They were here under the guise of a special celebration for Carra’s Soul Moon, unaware they were sheep being led to their slaughter.
This was so fucked. His thoughts were a garbled mess.
The False Queen at his side was portraying them as a pair, a couple.
But really, Keerian was bound with invisible chains upon the throne the late King Scottrell had ruled from.
It felt wrong, dirty, to sit on this throne–like he tainted the image of the great fae king that he had sworn his life to serve and protect. Even if sitting here wasn’t his choice.
But the King was dead, the Queen was dead, and Esmeray, his love, his mate, had disappeared into the night kissed wind.
Up to gods only knew what.
Esmeray had been silent, barely more than smoke and whispers, over the last year.
The only way he got any information about his mate’s whereabouts was through the bits of gossip he overheard from the Opal Palace’s guards stationed outside the small room where Keerian had been held.
The guards tended to disregard Keerian completely while he was imprisoned, unless they were bored–then they goaded and mocked him, trying to get him to smash against the invisible barrier keeping him contained.
Keerian patiently watched, listened, and waited, identifying each guard by their individual scent, and made a mental note to seek bloody retribution on every single one.
Okay, he was male enough to admit that patient may be a strong word, but he only allowed the digs to get under his skin once, and when he had bounced against the barrier, his nose broken and bleeding, he vowed to keep a much tighter leash on his temper.
For Esmeray.
If he ever got out of this predicament. Adara had locked him in a tower, outfitted with a single barred window, warded so thoroughly that even Keerian, with no magic besides what he had been blessed with as a gargoyle, could feel the wards sapping his strength.
Queen Adara sat next to him now, poised on her own throne, her pure white wings clasped tightly behind her back. Keerian threw a seething glare to the False Queen besmirching the name and throne of the late Queen Elera.
Adara was dressed in an elaborate yet modest gown of snow-white lace, the material hugging every inch of her too-thin body.
A crown of silver and white diamonds circled her head, and her horns peeked out from her unbound hair.
She would have looked beautiful, demure, if the monster lurking under her pale skin hadn’t stained her soul.
Queen Adara visited his room, his private dungeon, daily, disappearing quickly when she found him not inclined to play nice. When he had been chained, gagged, and ushered to the throne room this evening, he knew something dark was going down–that Adara’s fucked up soul tie plan was in effect.
Keerian struggled fruitlessly against the invisible shackles that encircled his wrists, keeping his hands planted firmly on the arms of the throne, earning a soft hiss from the Queen. The bonds tightened.
“If you fight it, I will put an invisible chain around your throat.” Queen Adara breathed, her voice lilting and soft, sounding as if she innocently asked if he was enjoying the party, not threatening to choke him.
He directed his fuming instead towards the intricately carved opal pillars that framed massive windows overlooking acres of royal gardens. To the untrained eye, it seemed elegant, ethereal. Keerian knew it was nothing more than a well decorated cage.
The court milled about the giant throne room, enjoying drinks and food, chatting with each other, none the wiser that, come midnight, a large portion of them would be dead.
Every thought screamed at him to fight, his gargoyle instincts–his Sentry–howling, thrashing, against her magical hold on him.
Keerian had miscalculated Adara’s cunning and played right into her claws.
Every time she darkened the doorway of his prison, they played a game, where he would ask where her spell book was hidden, she would refuse to answer, and he would taunt her, trying to get her angry enough to slip up, to cross the threshold of wards and trap herself in that small room with him so he could snap her scrawny neck.
But she never did, and all he’d gleaned was that the book was hidden from sight. He had no idea where.
Keerian hadn’t cared about being locked up. He had no qualms for his own well-being, only that of his beautiful mate. Every morsel of information he heard regarding Esmeray was his sustenance, his nourishment, more so than any meal the guards forced him to consume.
And Adara, at the apex of the full moon, would rip his sacred soul tie from Esmeray and transfer it to herself. Binding Keerian’s soul to hers for eternity.
Death sounded better.
Adara had gloated, mere hours ago, about her plans. Which was why he was currently sitting mute, her magic a nasty metallic tang against his tongue.
The power needed for the spell would be obtained through a drop of his blood, a drop of Adara’s blood, and the life blood of twenty pureblooded gargoyles and fae.
Forty beings would die in an instant, and a spell was already snaking through the room, unseen, choosing the beings that smelled of the purest blood, marking them for death.
Keerian could catch the silver glimmer as it twisted between beings, but if he hadn’t known what to look for, the spell would’ve gone completely unnoticed.
And it was currently going unnoticed amongst the revelers in the throne room.
If his death didn’t mean the death of Esmeray as well, he would’ve taken many more reckless liberties during his confinement.
It was too late now.
Keerian stared down the False Queen, sitting so annoyingly proper and regal next to him, and mouthed the filthiest curses he knew at her. Adara didn’t even spare a glance in his direction.
He hated her.
Queen Adara stood, clapping her hands twice. The court quieted, all faces turned towards their Queen Absolute. Keerian noted who looked afraid, and who looked at the Queen with delight. He made his own marks of death.
“My dear court.” Adara raised her hands, her dull blue eyes stopping to take in each face as the silvery shimmer of her spell coiled around her, whispering the names of the ones chosen for her sacrifice.
Her smile turned serpentine. “I am so blessed to have you all gathered today to witness a miracle of our time.” Poisonous words wrapped in beauty.
Miracle. “Our Goddess, Carra, has admitted to me that Sir Keerian was soul tied to the wrong Queen.” Whispers began though the room, some faces nodding along with Adara, enraptured with her beauty, her presence.
A few royals looked disgusted, and Keerian guessed those were the beings Adara had her Queen’s Guard personally round up and force here.
Adara continued, raising her arms wide, her slim white wings fanning out. “Carra has given me the power to correct this…unfortunate situation. My traitorous sister used her illusion magic to steal a soul tie that was rightfully mine, and tonight, I will take it back.”
Keerian narrowed his eyes, hate simmering in his face. He felt helpless–he had been caught by a powerful spider and she was not letting him out of her web anytime soon.
And the Queen wasn’t stupid, even mentioning the word ‘spell’ would cause panic and the reaction of disgust to grow throughout the assembled court. If only they knew the Queen was using a highly forbidden form of magic. He tried his voice again–still nothing.
Tilting his head to the side as much as he dared, he glanced out one of the large windows, his heart darting into his throat. The full moon was almost at the height of its journey through the night sky.
He had run out of time.
The transfer would happen any minute now. He prayed Esmeray would survive. Somehow, he would find her again–if not in this life, the afterlife.
Next to him, Adara pulled in a sharp breath, bringing him out of his too short prayer.
A group of beings closest to the entrance doors screamed as a flash of golden light barreled through the throne room.