Chapter 5
TERRAN
“Why is she here?”
My father wasted little time questioning me. The moment I walked into the throne room where he’d just finished doling out both rewards and punishments to villagers who revered, and were terrified of their king, he began his interrogation.
Unlike my brother, I disliked the cavernous and cold throne room. He saw the floor, carved from a single block of dark stone, embedded with bloodstone and onyx, as a symbol of the power and wonders of Gyoria.
To me, it represented the man who sat on its throne, one who I was forced to defend even as his actions became indefensible.
“I am uncertain.”
Unfortunately, Lord Valdric stood as if he were my father’s sentinel beside the throne. His closest advisor, the Gyorian nobleman was never far from his king. I liked him less than Kael, and Kael despised Valdric enough to challenge him openly once, incurring our father’s wrath.
“Uncertain?” Valdric’s beady eyes narrowed.
He cared about little except his own ambitions which were unmatched.
He’d been given land, status, titles… I didn’t know what more he wanted but was fairly sure there was something.
Otherwise, he’d not be here. He agreed so readily with my father that he’d stopped questioning the king’s motives.
“I’ve sent her to the Watcher’s Keep and will question her further there.”
“Why?”
My father’s tone was underlined with the harshness that came from centuries of mistrust of any Aetherian.
“She’s traveled far and is a guest.”
“A guest?” Valdric spat. “You confuse guests and enemies, my prince.”
Despite the nod to my title, his words were anything but deferential.
I don’t have a deferential bone in my body, Terran. As well you know.
There was little time to dwell on those words, or any other, Lyra had spoken. First, I needed to ensure her safety.
Not bothering to conceal my displeasure with him, I turned my attention to Lord Valdric.
Known for his deep connection to the land and his strategic mind, the nobleman was valuable to my father’s rule.
He had also harbored a deep mistrust of outsiders for as many years as I’d been alive and strongly believed in Gyoria’s isolationist policies that began even before the Aetherian Gate opened. Or so I was told.
“She is an emissary of a neighboring clan, one whose land will border ours for as long as Gyoria endures. Were we an island, perhaps we could afford the arrogance of turning away a respected noblewoman without food or shelter. But I was not raised to mistake pride for strategy.”
“Two insults in one fine speech,” he shot back. “Well done—”
“Enough,” my father bellowed. “Learn why she’s here and find out what you can about the Tidebreaker Fleet defending a human holding.”
I’d already planned to do as much. Most importantly, I wished to know if my brother had an inkling his right hand was half-human. The entire incident with Dren did not sit well, especially coming on the heels of so many other strange happenings.
Princess Mevlida among them.
“Aye, my lord.”
My father’s eyes narrowed. “And then bring her to me.”
I’d planned to do that as well, but something about the way he commanded it…
There.
Valdric’s eyes shifted to my father, for the briefest of moments, in a way that did not sit well. There was something more to this exchange.
“In the morn, I will escort her to you myself.”
“Bring her to me tonight.”
Father often kept visitors waiting, a habit born from calculation. I had no notion what he planned to say, or do, to Lyra, but something was most certainly amiss.
“She’s requested an audience,” I said evenly, “but we gain nothing by dragging her in tonight, weary and unguarded. Let her rest, and tomorrow, we present her on our terms with the dignity this court demands.”
It was a weak argument, but until I understood better what piece of the puzzle I was missing, I would not allow my father to put our entire kingdom at risk. Would he actually harm Lyra? Perhaps not. But his actions had grown increasingly unpredictable.
“Very well. Return with our guest,” he said the word with unmasked disgust, “after you break your fast. In the meantime, she remains under watch.”
“By my guards.”
Valdric’s hand twitched. I’d not seen him this unsettled in some time. Since it was customary for the king’s heirs to govern our own halls, there was little my father could say without breaching tradition.
His quick nod of approval, though expected, was clearly not welcome by Valdric.
Without another word, I bowed to my king and spun from them both, taking deep strides to move quickly out of the throne room.
Taking a left at the arched corridor just beyond the throne room, I passed the towering banners of Gyoria, the echo of my boots sharp against the polished stone.
The weight of the conversation clung to me, but I didn’t slow.
My chambers lay just beyond the eastern wing, and her modest, but guarded one had been placed close by under my orders.
Guards straightened as I approached. I offered only a curt nod, my focus fixed on the door just ahead. Rapping on the heavy iron-cladded door, I was surprised how quickly it opened.
Alive for centuries, the beauty of one Aetherian woman—my enemy—should not have the ability to stop me short, especially when I’d seen her not long ago.
But it did.
Always had.
Elegant and graceful, Lyra’s long silver hair flowed behind her as if the wind she commanded had just blown through it. Piercing, pale-blue eyes waited for me to speak.
Dressed as she’d been earlier, Lyra wore a flowing tunic of deep midnight blue belted at the waist with silver cord, the fabric catching the firelight like moonlight on water.
“May I enter?”
It was a formality as I’d planned to do so no matter her response. I wanted answers, and would have them.
She stepped aside.
If she were not Aetherian, I’d have asked about her travels.
Her comfort. If she’d enjoy the meal that had been brought to her.
But her family had campaigned to have my father removed from his position.
Her king’s actions had destabilized Elydor, killed my mother, and taken my brother from me.
So instead, I asked the only question that mattered.
“Why are you here? And why is my father so intent on speaking with you?”
Instead of responding, Lyra raised her chin stubbornly.
Feigning a calm I did not feel, I glanced around her chamber.
Though modest by royal standards, it was warm and well-appointed.
A carved stone hearth crackled softly, casting a golden glow across the woven tapestries lining the walls.
A narrow writing desk stood near the window beside a small table set for two.
The bed, draped in deep green and silver linens, was simple but inviting.
It was the kind of room chosen with quiet intention…
close to mine, yet private enough to avoid suspicion.
“Lyra,” I warned.
“We have much to discuss.”
“Aye, we do,” I agreed.
She looked at me as I did her. With suspicion. A measure of trepidation. And perhaps a hint of longing.
“I expect you sent a copious amount of honeymead and an extra mug for this purpose?” she asked.
A quick glance at the table confirmed her words. Silently thanking my men, I neither confirmed nor denied her words.
To a Gyorian, there was no worse offense than a lie. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Aetherians, who were as slippery with their words as they were with their allegiances.
“If you’re offering, I accept,” I said, striding toward the table. Pouring two ales, I waited for her to join me.
“A comfortable chamber,” she said, sitting. “So close to your own quarters. I assume used for such purposes as this?”
Whether she intended to goad me or not, I couldn’t be certain. But I took her bait gladly.
“This?” I deliberately misunderstood her insinuation. “It’s rare I host an enemy so close to my quarters. More often, ’tis the opposite.”
I sat across from her. The chair, unlike most things in Gyoria, was soft. Meant to cradle and relax. It had been created by my great-grandfather, a leatherworker, and his designs permeated our palace.
“Do you host many… guests?”
We did have much to discuss, but I would play her game first.
“Why do you ask? Jealous? Or do you wish to join their ranks?”
I expected her to laugh. Or offer some coy, Aetherian response. Instead, Lyra sipped her ale, long black lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes above the mug’s rim.
“So elusive, as usual. Let me be clear, Lyra: I would lay you down on that bed and make you scream louder than you have in the long life you’ve lived and be happier for it.
You know well the urge to do so, against my better judgment, has been there for as long as we’ve known each other.
What I don’t understand is the reason, for the first time in memory, you pretend otherwise. ”
The urge to unsettle her was so strong, I would likely say, or do, anything to make it happen. Alas, she remained unaffected.
Would anything rattle this woman? I doubted so.
It would be entertaining, however, to discover if such a thing were possible.
“I’ve never pretended otherwise, Prince Terran. Not this eve, nor earlier, nor any time we’ve been in each other’s company these past many years. But I’m not here because I find you unsettlingly attractive, despite your foul demeanor. We’ve more important matters to discuss.”
Unsettlingly attractive.
Foul demeanor. Her words did little to improve it.
“Then cease fluttering your lashes, Lyra. And answer my question.”
There. A spark of… something. Finally.
Did she guard herself so carefully because it was an honored tradition in her clan, especially among the nobility? Or because Lyra hid something deeper that she allowed few to see? With no evidence for the latter, I’d always imagined it might be so.
What, I could not be certain. But the urge to prod her to reveal more had never quite gone away, even though I’d willed it to do so many times in the past.
“I do not,” she insisted, “flutter my lashes. As well you know.”
A fact that mattered little. Leaning into her irritation seemed prudent.
“Nay? You’ve done all but say, ‘Fuck me Terran,’ since you’ve arrived,” I said, using the crude human word a’purpose.
“You are confusing your own desires with my own,” she said coolly.
“I’ve not denied mine, unlike you.” Leaning forward, I reminded her of an interaction she likely had forgotten, but I had not.
“The Festival of Tides, at the ceremonial banquet. You watched the water dancers, barely clothed, as their erotic movements which stirred more than one cross-clan coupling—”
“You stood behind me,” she said, as if we spoke of the most mundane of topics.
I gave her the same look now as I had that eve. If Lyra had turned toward me, away from the dancers, I’d have taken her into my arms, and my bed, that very eve.
I had known it. She had known it. The look that passed between us was one of night-time awakenings after dreams of a kiss that never happened.
“You remember.”
I was no Aetherian, but even I could sense that the rate of her breath had increased.
Three times in as many moments, I’d struck gold. And would not relent. Unfortunately, Lyra had caught onto my game and was no longer playing. The cool facade was back, and it seemed we’d be back to discussing matters of more import.
“Well done, my lord,” she said, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“Now tell me why you’ve really come here.”
She refilled us both. Slowly. Smoothly. Every movement like a whisper in the wind. We could not be more opposite. Perhaps that was why she intrigued me so.
Sitting back, Lyra studied me.
Measured me.
“If you’re thinking of a way to say what you’ve come to say without revealing your true intentions, reconsider,” I said, understanding her better than I should.
“You are my enemy. Would it not be wise to carefully consider my words, Terran?”
I thought back to my father’s behavior these past days. Lyra’s arrival was no coincidence. Something was afoot and had been since Princess Mevlida arrived. Which meant it could be just one thing…
“It’s tied to the Gate? To reopening it. Aye?”
She was clever, but the briefest blink of her eyes told me I was right.
There was no victory in my guess. King Galfrid had been attempting to reopen it since the day my father closed the portal to the human realm.
His daughter’s arrival brought more questions than answers, for our spies in Aetheria confirmed it had not reopened for anyone but, apparently, the princess.
“Lyra—”
“I will tell you, on the morrow.”
That was not what I’d expected.
“Why not now?” She was up to something. Aetherian’s always were, but I could not guess this one’s game.
“I am weary from travel and need to gather my thoughts first.”
I downed my ale, watching her as intently as she did me.
“We will break our fast here, and you’ll tell me then. Before I take you to my father.”
She revealed nothing.
“Am I confined to these quarters?”
What are you up to, Lady Lyra?
“You are a guest, not a prisoner. Go where you may. But be aware… my father and his men are not as gracious a host as I.”
Her elegant brows raised, but she said nothing.
Leaning forward, I made myself more clear. “You are free to go about as you please, but remain in the Watcher’s Keep if you value your immortality. ’Tis not a threat, Lyra. Whatever reason brought you here agitates the court in ways I’ve not seen in many years.”
I had her full attention.
And liked it.
Damn her, but something about this particular Aetherian stirred me like none other.
“Your father would start a war if he harmed an envoy.”
Standing, I told Lyra what she already knew. “The war has already begun. I will be back at sunrise. Good eve, Lyra.”
I waited until she rose, as was custom, to take my leave.
“Good eve, Terran.”
Nodding, I left her chamber. There would be little sleep for me this evening. Preparations needed to be made.
War wasn’t coming. It had arrived. In the form of a beautiful, but deadly, adversary.