50. Just Believe
CHAPTER 50
Just Believe
Hawke Stormblood
The library door closes behind us with a soft click. I guide Melinda to a nearby settee, my hand never leaving the small of her back. Her face is pale, but her eyes burn with a determination that makes my heart swell with pride. This is my wife, my queen, facing the storm head-on.
At her right stands Kellan, silent but vigilantly supportive. Boaz, Ares, and Fenrir flank the room's edges watching the angry royals with concern. Even Wraith seems on edge.
This is my first moment as king. The responsibility has never felt heavier. Everyone is arguing and yelling and shouting about what they want. What is better for them. Safer for them. No one is thinking about how all of this will affect us as a whole.
My father moves to stand behind his desk, taking my mother with him. Around us, the kings and queens of the different worlds settle into an uneasy silence, letting their attention fall to him first instead of me. Which is fine, he has been king for two thousand years. I’ve been king for two hours.
"We find ourselves at a crossroads," my father says. "Julius Darkwood, formerly of the High Council, is dead after attempting to assassinate my daughter-in-law, the new Queen of the Fae."
My father's words hang in the air, heavy with what remains unsaid. I notice the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze skims over where my brother usually stands next to his desk. But Destrien wasn’t invited into this conversation. Does he share my unspoken fears about Destrien's involvement? I can't be certain, but the omission speaks volumes.
Our eyes meet, and he gives a subtle nod, passing the mantle of leadership to me. My heart pounds against my ribs as I step forward, Melinda's hand warm in mine. Countless eyes bear down on us. I scan the room, my gaze sharp and searching. I'm looking for tells–a furtive glance, a bead of sweat, a trembling hand–anything that might betray guilt or complicity in the attempt on Melinda's life.
There’s nothing.
"This was a declaration of civil war within the Fae." My fingers tighten around Melinda's, drawing strength from her presence. She squeezes back, her grip firm despite the slight tremor in her hand. "He tried to assassinate the first soulmate match in centuries. My wife."
The words taste bitter on my tongue. Rage simmers just beneath the surface of my calm. "Some of you here may have allies who conspired with the traitor. Make no mistake–any treachery festering in our own cities will be rooted out and crushed without mercy. This is not the first attempt to take her from me."
My gaze sweeps the room once more, slower this time, more deliberate. Where before I sought guilt, now I'm searching for something deeper. King Lorakian's fingers drum against his thigh, a nervous tic I've never noticed before. Queen Kergadras meets my eyes unflinchingly, but there's a glimmer of... is that approval? To my left, I catch a subtle nod from one of the lesser lords, his expression grim but determined.
It's not just traitors I'm looking for now, but allies. Those who understand the gravity of what's at stake. I see it in the tightened jaw of one of the lesser Lords of Sigilford. The future of the Fae–of all our worlds–hangs in the balance, and I refuse to let it crumble on my watch.
Queen Sahsa Kergadras leans forward. The silk of her gown rustles as she shifts, drawing all eyes to her. "My sources tell me that the golems could've been created only by mixing Elven and Fae magick."
The room crackles with tension. Melinda stiffens beside me and her fingers tighten around mine. My jaw clenches as I brace for the inevitable explosion.
King Galathar Lorakian surges to his feet, his face flushing a deep crimson beneath his pale skin. "You dare to implicate my people in this treachery?" He slams his fist on the arm of his chair. "Golems sound more like something Hades would bring to life."
As if summoned by his name, Hades materializes from the shadows. The temperature in the room plummets, and I pull Melinda closer. "I'd warn you to leave me the fuck out of this, Galathar." Hades' voice is soft, but it cuts through the air like a blade. Flames of blue anger dance in his eyes. "If I had wanted to assassinate King Stormblood's wife, she'd be dead. And I wouldn't be here listening to all of you whine about the unfairness of life."
The god's words hang in the air, heavy and threatening. A shudder runs through Melinda, though her face remains impassive. Pride swells in my chest at her composure, even as my own anger simmers dangerously close to the surface.
King Lorakian snarls, his lips peeling back to reveal teeth that seem unnaturally sharp in the dim light. He doesn't move, but the tension in his body screams of barely restrained violence. "Will we elect new council members?" he spits out, each word dripping with venom.
"We have the Knights. We don't need another fucking High Council! We never should've had them in the first place." King Jarlath Kergadras stands abruptly, nostrils flaring wide. His wife stands beside him, her eyes turned crimson and glittering dangerously in the dim light.
King Lorakian pins King Kergadras with a hateful sneer. "You have a family member as a Knight. We didn't get to pick a Knight from our family to serve." He takes an aggressive step forward.
One step too close to my mate. Every muscle in my body coils, ready to spring.
Melinda’s breath catches. Her fingers twitch against mine, a silent signal of her unease.
I’ve got you, I assure her through our bond and draw her closer, my body angled to shield her from the room's hostility. Let them see, let them understand–she is my queen, my heart, my very soul. To threaten her is to invite my wrath, and I would move mountains, part seas, and yes, set this entire realm ablaze if it meant keeping her safe.
"We didn't pick Wraith, either! The World Tree picks knights." Queen Kergadras tries to step forward, but her husband tucks her slightly behind his body the same way I’ve done with Melinda.
Before those two can start a physical fight, I'm moving. In two quick strides, I place myself between Lorakian and Melinda and the Kergadras King and Queen. Galathar and I are nearly nose to nose, our eyes locked. The heat of his breath whispers against my face.
"Back the fuck down." I'm acutely aware of Melinda behind me, her presence both a comfort and a catalyst for my protective rage. "You are in my home. You are a guest."
He doesn't move for several agonizing heartbeats. Almost imperceptibly, his chin dips. He steps backward, retreating to his wife's side, his eyes never leaving mine.
The peace lasts a mere second before the room erupts into a roar of new accusations and denials ricocheting off the walls. The tension is a living thing, writhing and growing with each shouted word.
I step back, turn and move Melinda with me. Her face is drawn tight, but I see the storm raging behind her eyes. She's handling the stress remarkably well, and her magick isn’t creeping out at all. Kellan stands watchful only a few steps away, but he doesn’t look worried about her either.
My gaze flicks from my brothers in arms, checking in with them before I finally land on my father. I move closer to my father and speak quietly so the rest of the room can’t hear. "Where is my brother and his new wife?"
"I sent them to their rooms. He does not deserve to be a part of this discussion."
"He is now the leader of the city of Lunaris, but I don’t trust him." The words taste bitter on my tongue. I hate how my brother has manipulated his way into more power, cloaking his ambition in the guise of righteousness by killing my wife's would-be assassin.
My father's expression hardens, the lines around his mouth deepening. "He will do as he is bid. I don’t think he’s a threat to you or Melinda, but I don’t think he will help you either." His eyes narrow as he surveys the chaotic room. "It's Sigilford we need assurances from. They did not answer our invitation to the wedding."
"I agree."
My gaze darts between my father and King Lorakian, who's locked in another heated exchange with King Kergadras. I knew war was coming, I’m just disappointed it came smashing into our lives on the first day of my reign. I’d much rather be relaxing in my bed enjoying my wife.
“She is an outsider. It’s her fault this all came to a head now.” King Lorakian has pushed my hospitality too far.
I step toward him, straightening to my full height. He’s at least a handbreadth shorter. "Was it just your council representatives that attacked my wife and family? Sent golems to kill us?" My voice rises with each word. "Or do you wish me ill while you sit in my hall and eat and drink and dance with my family?" The moment the words leave my mouth, there’s a flicker of shame. I'm stooping to their level, hurling accusations like a novice in the political arena.
Melinda's sharp intake of breath behind me is barely audible, but her concern radiates loudly enough.
King Lorakian's face contorts, his lip curling into a snarl that reveals unnaturally sharp teeth. "You Fae think you're so special because you built Camelot," he spits, each word dripping with centuries of resentment. "That you should be in charge."
Ares' voice booms from the corner, shaking the very foundations of the room. "The knights are supposed to be the ruling authority when the kings and queens can't agree." His words cut through the chaos like a blade. "If the knights before me and mine could see you, could see what this self-appointed, self-righteous council has done to the order of the eight worlds... They would curse us all as fools."
My gaze meets Ares. His jaw is clenched and I can see the fire in his eyes. He’s making this fight worse. He’s losing control of his wrath and it's spreading to all of us.
I need you to go, I mouth the words to my brother in arms.
He curls his lip at me like a rabid animal, but suddenly an understanding dawns in his expression and he silently slips out the back door of the study.
And with him goes the overwhelming desire to scream and yell and punch something. At least I know now why the royalty of all eight worlds was bickering like a bunch of petty ingrates–myself included.
“That they would.” Nimue steps out of the shadows, picking up where Ares left off.
Fuck, where did she come from?
“You’re all fools, letting the so-called High Council call the shots for as long as you did.”
"The Fae ruined Earth for all," a man shouts from across the room.
Nimue whirls around to face the voice. "But they lost their home," she hisses, her words carrying a dangerous edge. "It is time to forgive and move on. It is time to open the door and heal Yggdrasil. The glitches with the wormholes, the broken magick... It's only going to get worse."
“You just want your magick back, siren,” someone else sneers.
Nimue's eyes flash. "I have my song. I have no use for a soul match. Sirens sire children with strangers. We do not mate. It is the rest of the world that suffers without our abilities to help you."
Queen Sahsa leans back against her husband. "We can't know what opening the door to Earth now would do. We've been gone from Earth so long. Their world is likely unrecognizable to the one we left." Her gaze slides to Melinda, sharp and assessing. "What can you say of Earth, Queen Stormblood?"
Melinda’s body stiffens. Her hesitation clear. Our eyes meet. "Speak," I encourage softly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Tell the truth, my love. They all need to know."
She turns back to Queen Sahsa, her chin lifting slightly. "Magick is hunted on Earth," Melinda begins, her voice steady despite the shake in her hand. "The Inquisitors burn those found to have magick. Or the Enclave catches you and you're forced to use magick to fight the Inquisitors and criminally take advantage of humans without magick."
A collective gasp ripples through the room. Queen Sahsa’s composure cracks for a moment. "I never imagined it getting quite that bad."
Melinda's grip on my hand tightens. "Not only are you either hunted and killed or hunted and recruited, magick itself is cursed. Using it costs life."
I know she's thinking of the curse she warned me about. That she couldn't have a child without it killing me. I don’t believe it to be true, but her fear is real. She believes it with her whole heart. But she's here now, in Avalon. She's not on Earth. Yggdrasil filled her with magick. She's not hurting anyone. She's not cursed. Not anymore.
“Cost life how?” My mother asks from behind us.
Melinda takes a deep breath and turns to face my mother. "When magick is used, people get sick. Plants and animals die. Sometimes when enough magick is used at once, people die too… When a magickal baby is born, the father’s life is the cost."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can almost hear the collective intake of breath as the gravity of her words sinks in. The air is heavy, charged with shock and horror.
"Yes. Yes. It's all quite sad." Nimue shatters the stillness. She throws her hand up in the air. "That's why we need to open the Earth-Realm door and restore Yggdrasil's connection. We can fix it!"
No one answers her. And strangely they all look directly at me.
Like I have the answers.
But I don’t.
Queen Sahsa breaks the silence first. "Opening the Earth-Realm door could bring that curse upon us all. We cannot risk it until we know more about what happened on Earth."
King Lorakian nods in agreement, his eyes sharp. "We must consider the safety of all our realms."
My father leans forward, putting his hands down on his desk. "Perhaps there's a way to cleanse the magick before attempting to open the door, but I agree that we need more information."
The room's focus on me intensifies. My mind races, assessing the dangers of rushed action against the risks of complacency. The fate of eight realms hangs in the balance, and one wrong move could spell disaster for multiple worlds. Especially if the tainted magick from Earth can spread. I hadn’t considered that possibility and am grateful for my father’s input. We do need more information.
"I agree the wise advice of my father. We should not act rashly."
Most of the gathered royalty nod as well, a ripple of reluctant agreement spreading through the chamber. Finally they’re actually thinking semi-logically instead of just arguing.
"Let's plan to convene again soon to discuss our next steps. For now, I ask that you all return to your realms. The Fae will get our house in order, and I expect each of you to do the same." My gaze sweeps the room once more, daring anyone to challenge this decision.
“You’re all just going to do nothing?” Nimue steps forward again. “We need that door open. We found your mate. The other missing soul shards have to be on Earth, too.”
She is likely right, but I can’t outright agree with Nimue, not and keep the rest of the royals at least somewhat on my side.
“We?” King Lorakian narrows his gaze on the Siren queen. “What do you mean we ?”
“I mean, my sirens found Melinda Mayweather and I brought her to Avalon.”
“And you did all of this without opening the Earth-Realm door?” Queen Sahsa tips her head waiting for Nimue to answer.
“Yes, we sirens can travel just as we always have, but if we collectively don’t decide to agree and open the Earth-Realm door, Yggdrasil’s connection to Earth remains broken.” Nimue crosses her arms over her chest and glares at the other queen.
“I disagree. The World Tree didn’t need Camelot. The Fae built it as a convenience for the eight worlds.”
“But the magick… The degradation of the tree started with–”
“Nimue.” I glare right at her. “That is quite enough.”
Maybe Ares didn’t walk far enough away…
“Why do the Knights struggling more than anyone else?” King Galathar speaks again. “Is something wrong? Is that why Fenrir shifted during the wedding reception and couldn’t shift back. Should we be worried about them?” He glances over at Boaz who is standing quietly next to Fen. “What’s wrong with you?”
What’s wrong with him? Nothing. I want to scream. I want to stab the crabby old king right through the heart and be done with his selfish nonsense. But I don’t. I don’t dare open my mouth to say a single word.
Boaz gives the Elven King a courteous bow. “Nothing, your majesty. I’m quite well. Fen is fine too, he got caught up with the chaos surrounding the assassination attempt and struggled to regain control. It was an unusual circumstance. He is very protective of Melinda and Hawke.”
Nimue gives me a hateful glare, but I don’t give a shit what she thinks right now. I’m just trying to avoid an all out war between eight worlds. She can’t expect to waltz in and just order everyone around. Neither can I.
King Galathar looks less than convinced by Boaz, but the rest of the royal couples have already started filing out of my father’s study and he leads his wife along after them anyway, even though I can tell he’d still rather be asking more questions.
Questions I don’t want to answer. And questions that no one would be asking if it wasn’t for that insufferable siren queen who thinks she knows better than everyone. I owe her for finding Melinda and bringing her to me, but I don’t owe her enough to put the entire Fae people openly at risk.
As the last of the guests file out, the tension in the room dissipates like mist in sunlight. My parents linger quietly near my father’s desk. Kellan has moved and stands sentinel by the door, while Boaz and Fenrir exchange quiet words in the corner. Wraith, as usual, seems to meld with the shadows.
Melinda sags against me. I wrap an arm around her waist, steadying her and the tremors of exhaustion running through her body.
"You did well." I press a kiss to her temple. She manages a weak smile in response.
The door opens, and Ares strides in, closing it behind him with a soft click. "The servants are seeing your guests to their rooms for the night," he announces, a wry twist to his lips. He gives a cursory bow, then brandishes an ornate bottle, its golden filigree catching the light. "And I brought the good stuff. After that lengthy and ugly debacle, I figured we could all use a drink. Dear old dad sends his best wishes."
I guide Melinda to a nearby settee, and we sink into the plush cushions. The simple act of sitting is a luxury after everything that’s happened today. "Your father sent ambrosia wine?" I hadn’t seen a bottle of the special honeyed wine in centuries.
“The very finest. It’s not every day a king is made and married.” Ares pops the cork off the top and walks to the side table where glasses are neatly arranged.
Melinda Mayweather
Domina, you can't have any of that wine.
Siva's sudden interjection catches me off guard. Why not? I ask, trying to keep the disappointment from my mental voice. A glass of wine right about now sounds perfect.
Well, I didn't want to say anything, but...it's just that... sorry, it might be nothing...
Siva's uncharacteristic hesitation makes worry bubble in my gut.
"Siva, just tell me." I whisper, my voice barely audible, but everyone turns toward me like I shouted.
“Tell you what? What’s wrong with your guardian?” Ares' voice cuts through the quiet.
Kellan steps closer and kneels in front of me. “ Domina , what’s wrong? What is Siva saying?”
"I–well–" My throat constricts as I search for words. The room seems to shrink, closing in around me. Hawke's hand finds mine, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my palm.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Hawke's mother leaning forward with concern etched on her face. Her husband places a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"Nothing, sorry." I force a brittle smile onto my face. "Just ignore me. It's been a crazy few hours and I'm wiped."
Isolde's brow furrows. "Wiped?"
"Tired," I explain. Understanding dawns in the queen's eyes, but the tension in the room doesn't dissipate.
Kellan stands and crowds me on the other side of the settee, now I’m squished between both men. I wish there was a bed. I just want to go lay down. In Hawke’s arms. Yes. That would be preferable.
“What did Siva say, Domina?”
“She just told me I couldn’t have the wine and clammed up.” I let out a loud huff of frustration. “But I’d really like to try it. A glass of wine after all this sounds just about perfect to me.”
Ares raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. He approaches, a small glass of the special wine in hand. My heart rate quickens as he nears.
Suddenly, Siva bursts from my wrist in a swirl of emerald energy. The baby dragon, now an outline of light and energy, plants herself between Ares and me. Her growl reverberates through the room as she spreads her wings, a clear warning.
What the actual hell? What is her problem? “Siva!”
"You win, baby dragon." Ares concedes, downing the glass of ambrosia wine himself.
The silence stretches on from everyone else, thick and suffocating. Fen and Wraith and Boaz all exchange glances with Hawke, concern clearly written on their faces.
The worry that was bubbling in my stomach now starts to roll up my throat. “Somebody better explain. You all look like you know why she’s being this way. A little wine isn't going to hurt me."
Siva turns, her gaze meeting mine. Then she looks to Kellan, and I do as well.
The shock on Kellan's face mirrors every other person in the room. My chest tightens more. Bile burns at the back of my throat. What am I missing?
Hawke’s surge of excitement is quickly overshadowed by dread. But he’s not talking either.
“Just tell me. Nothing is worse than this fucking silence.”
Ares finally breaks it, his words falling like hammer strikes. "Fermented ambrosia is dangerous for a woman carrying a child. It's never really a problem because we have ways of knowing as soon as a woman is pregnant... Therefore, we would never offer it to them and they would never take it accidentally."
“No. No. No. I can’t. I just–I can’t.”
Kellan looks at Siva. "Are you sure? And why can't she tell? She is magickal. I think that's been well established."
The little dragon bobs her head up and down.
How can Siva know? Hawke and I only were together… it hasn’t been long enough. No one could know. I can’t be pregnant. I can’t lose Hawke. I should’ve had more time to figure this out. No. No. No. The denial repeats in my mind, a desperate loop against the truth that's slowly, inexorably sinking in.
“Oh, Melinda, this is wonderful.” Isolde claps her hands and smiles widely. She’s excited. I can see it in her face. She’s only thinking about how she’s going to be a grandmother. She’s forgotten that it will kill her son. She’s forgotten that she’ll hate me.
My vision blurs as tears well up. I try to breathe, but it's like my lungs have forgotten how to work. Each gasp is shallow, insufficient. The room spins.
"Melinda. You're safe." Hawke's arms encircle me, and his warmth is usually a sanctuary. But now, it only amplifies the horror building inside me. I continue to gulp for air, feeling like I'm drowning on dry land.
In nine months, when this child is born, I'll lose him. Hawke–my love, my mate, my husband–will be ripped away forever. He'll never hold our baby, never see their first steps, never hear them laugh.
And it's all my fault.
The guilt is a vise around my heart, squeezing until I think it might burst. I should have been stronger. I should have pushed him away, no matter how much it hurt. Now, because of my weakness, I've sentenced the man I love to death.
My mother always warned me. Over and over she’d warned me not to have a child with a man I loved.
“No. No. It will kill you.”
Melinda. Hawke's voice echoes in my head, a lifeline I cling to desperately. Sweet girl. Do not put blame on yourself. You told me what you feared. I had a choice and I made it. I wanted to be with you. I needed to be with you. We are in this together and we will find a way to remove the curse, if it even still exists.
How can he still have hope? How can he not hate me for what I've done?
"I'm going to lose you," I choke out, burying my face in his silken shirt. “There’s nothing I can do. My curse will kill you.” My fingers clutch at the fabric as if I can keep him here by sheer force of will. Sobs wrack my body. I’m spiraling into a darkness where the only certainty is the knowledge that I've destroyed everything I love.
Again.
Isolde's strong, steady voice cuts through my despair. "No, my dear. We won't let that happen."
I lift my tear-stained face from Hawke's chest, hardly daring to look at his mother. Where I expected to see hatred, disgust, or blame, I find only fierce determination and compassion in her eyes?
A sob catches in my throat. How can she look at me like that? Doesn't she understand that I've just sentenced her son to death? That I've robbed her of the chance to see her grandchild grow up with both parents?
"I don't understand," I choke out, my voice raw and trembling. "You should hate me. I've doomed him. I've doomed your son."
Isolde moves closer, and kneels before us. She takes my free hand in both of hers. "Melinda, listen to me. You are family now. We face this together, all of us. And we’ll fix this together."
Fresh tears spill down my cheeks as I struggle to reconcile her kindness with the self-loathing that burns in my chest. How can they not see me as the harbinger of destruction I know myself to be?
“My love, listen to me.” Hawke takes my chin and tips it up so I have to look at him. “Do you feel the connection we have? Do you feel our bond?”
I nod, hiccuping through a sob.
“You are not on Earth anymore. You are my heart and my soul. Do they have soul-matches on Earth?”
I shake my head. No. No, they do not. My mother never mentioned it, ever. And she would’ve.
“I need you to believe in us, Melinda. We are bound forever. I will not leave you." His words are fierce and determined, even as tears glisten in his eyes.
I know he believes what he’s saying. But I’ve also seen death. I’ve seen magical babies born. I’ve seen grown men drop dead when their child draws their first breath. I’ve seen the curse take so many lives. How can I not believe what I’ve seen?
“We can beat this.” He kisses me on the lips. “Say it.”
“W-we can beat this.”
“Now you just have to believe it, Melinda. Reality is malleable. It is what we make it to be.”