Chapter Segment
Alivar, as usual, is a study in indifference, leaning casually against one of the marble pillars. With a flick of his fingers, he conjures a small flurry of snow, the flakes swirling idly in his palm.
Fenris runs a hand over the side of his head, his tattoos flexing as his muscles ripple with the motion.
His eyes burn with barely contained fury; he looks like he’s about one wrong word away from tearing someone apart.
Raiden, on the other hand, stands in complete contrast—calm and composed.
He crosses his arms, watching me as I draw nearer, a small, knowing smile playing at the edges of his mouth.
“Your Majesty,” he says in a voice as steady as steel.
“General,” I reply, drawing to a stop in front of him. I want these rebels to know who they are dealing with. Though I’m sure everyone in Faerie knows Raiden. “What’s their excuse?”
Raiden turns, beckoning me to join him as we walk around the group until we are standing in front of them. Fenris follows, his dark presence making the kneeling fae shrink back.
I glance directly at one of the rebels, and his eyes widen at my attention. Then I slowly let my gaze travel over the others. Some seem fearful, while from others a deep-seated anger emerges.
Before Raiden can speak, one of them spits at my feet, a sneer twisting his face. “You must die before you ruin us all.”
Another shouts, “It’s the only way to ensure the Shadoweaver doesn’t escape.”
Fenris shifts in an instant, his menacing black wolf towering over the rebel, jaws snapping at his face.
“You think if you kill me the threat will be over?” I question.
“Yes. It’s your blood that unlocks the prison.”
Nolan storms forward, his hand lashing out and hitting the fae man across the face. “You’re a fool. You're all fools.”
“We are thinking of the realm!”
“You should be killing her, not crowning her!” another shouts.
My pulse kicks up and I frown, my eyes traveling over the group of rebels.
Nolan looks about ready to explode, but it’s Alivar who steps in.
“The old man is right. You're all fools.” There’s a calculated look in his eyes as he moves down the row of rebels. “The queen will be the one to bring peace, not destruction.”
“But her–”
Alivar’s hand reaches out, the ice sword forming in his hand poised over the man’s throat.
“The Shadoweaver cannot simply use her blood to unlock the prison. She must be willing.”
My eyes widen as the realization sinks in. Willing? What the hell does that mean? I feel a surge of frustration and confusion.
“Wait, what?” I blurt, stepping forward in disbelief, but Raiden’s hand lands firmly on my arm, holding me back.
Alivar inclines his head, his long white hair falling like a curtain over his face, hiding his expression for a moment.
When he finally looks up, it’s with a predatory gleam in his eyes, focused on the rebels who kneel in front of us, bound and utterly bewildered.
They stare back at him, their expressions shifting from defiance to uncertainty.
“You should know all the facts before mounting an attack against the crown.” Alivar’s voice is as cold and menacing as the snow flurries swirling around his sword. The air around him seems to grow even colder, and the rebels shiver, visibly unnerved.
A ripple of murmurs spreads through them as they exchange uneasy glances, doubt beginning to overshadow their initial bravado. They’ve realized, perhaps too late, that whatever plan they’d devised was missing a crucial detail—one that could change everything and tip things in our favor.
I turn to Nolan. “Did you know this?”
Nolan rubs his temples. “I did.”
I frown. “Then why not tell me? It seems like something I should know.”
“I happen to agree with her.” Raiden’s wings flare out in a quick display of irritation. “If this is a choice, then we don’t have a problem.”
Nolan scoffs, shaking his head dismissively. “She is weak,” he argues, the words laced with disdain.
The insult hits me like a slap, and I rear back, my fingers flexing at my sides as I fight the urge to lash out.
“Weak?” My voice cuts through the room, and I can't hide the disbelief in my tone. Vines of ivy encircle my arms, snaking down to my wrists, their leaves brushing lightly against my skin.
“Yes,” Nolan presses, his gaze unwavering. “You still have the mentality of a human.”
A ripple of tension runs through the hall. Fenris, who has shifted back into his human form, steps forward, his expression hardening.
“Not here,” he growls, his tone low and dangerous. It’s a warning—a barely veiled threat to keep a lid on this rising conflict before it spills over somewhere anyone could hear.
“He’s right.” Raiden’s gaze shifts over the kneeling rebels, calculating and calm. “Take them to the dungeons.”
At his command, the guards stationed around the room close in, forming a tight formation around the rebels. Alivar steps away, his sword vanishing in a flash of light, as if it were never there. He watches the rebels, his cold expression betraying no sympathy, no pity.
“Fine,” I snap, the decision coming fast and furious.
“I want answers, and I want them now. Meet me in the war room in ten minutes.” I turn on my heel, my steps carrying me swiftly out of the hall.
I can feel my anger thrumming through the air, a force so intense that even the ground beneath my feet seems to tremble, as if it, too, can sense the storm forming inside me.