55
Chaos erupted.
My father cussed like I’d never heard before. King Cercaven laughed as if this were the most amusing thing he’d ever experienced. I heard Meront tell his mother to sit down before she fainted, and that the kingdoms were not about to die.
Again, Voran waited for calm.
As he did, I stared at his back in disbelief—wondering why and when he’d decided this.
Then my father growled, “You are unfit to make such bold choices. You have spent too many years in a cage to know what it means to lead.”
“And what is your excuse?” Voran drawled.
Cercaven snorted.
My father glared at him.
Through gaps between the wolves before me, I saw Coraldeen’s king wave a hand and murmur, “Apologies,” before snorting again.
Jaw gritted, my father returned his ire to my husband. “I have been the high king for nearly forty fucking years,” he spat. “Which is how I know we need that crown to keep the wyverns in line.”
“No,” Voran said. “You need that crown to make stronger kingdoms hoping to eventually receive a hatchling pander to you, but tell me…” He spread his hands, and the wolves retreated as one, taking a step back to stand with me. “How many wyverns remain?”
“You ought to know,” my father said. “You stole the last one.”
Voran asked again, “How many?”
No one answered.
Aside from Dusk and the Valadorn beast rumored to have last been seen along the coastline between Valadorn and Cloverleaf, they had all perished in the war. And any wyverns that might visit our kingdoms did as they wished—untamable since they’d matured.
“From this evening forward, no one lords over the spawning grounds,” Voran declared. “We cease interfering with hatchlings.”
“Then how are we supposed to tame any?” cried Cidon.
“That is the point,” Voran said. “We don’t.”
“But we have to. Wyverns protect Avyshla,” my father argued. “We must rear them and—”
“Must we?” Voran raised a brow. “Is it not more important that they exist and wish to stay?” he asked.
“For years now, we have seen that squabbling over their eggs has deterred them from breeding much at all. We are fortunate to keep one out of a handful of reared beasts. Most leave as soon as they become too large to be contained.”
As if looking for Dusk or the crown, my father sent his eyes around the room. “The remaining wyverns may revolt unless Cloverleaf blood is fed to that crown, and that blood-hungry beast of yours is still on the loose.”
“I am aware,” Voran said. “Once we are all in agreeance, Ayla will feed the crown before it’s transported to the isle.”
My father sputtered, “But this has never been done.”
Voran’s waning patience was only evident in his tensing back. His tone stayed calm, almost apathetic. “That doesn’t mean it cannot be done.”
“But it goes against all we have ever known. We cannot allow it. If you do not want the honor of holding the Scale Crown, and you do not want me to have it, then pick someone else.”
“We do not want it,” Cidon said hurriedly.
“Nor do we,” said Cercaven. “We lost our wyverns to a war we never wanted.” His tone deepened. “My kingdom grieves. We would like to see more grace our skies.”
Priestess Nellassa came to stand next to me. “That is three kingdoms in agreeance.”
“Raldin.” Voran asked, “Will you agree?”
“I will not.”
“Then I will,” said a familiar voice.
Evexon.
“I told you not to intervene.” My father glowered at him. “In fact, I told you not to come at all.”
“A good thing I didn’t listen, then.” Evexon grinned and lowered the hood of his cloak. “Or you might continue to get in the way of what our kingdoms need.”
Never had I seen my father’s face redden that much. He appeared beyond words as he glared at my half brother.
Uncaring, or merely acting as such, Evexon crossed the room. He gave a quick bow toward Voran with a flourish of his hand. “I am at your disposal, king of wolves.”
Without taking his eyes off the males before him, Voran asked Priestess Nellassa, “Can this be done with a prince?”
“I wish it were so,” the high priestess said. “However…” Her drooping shoulders swished her robes. “We do need a signature, in blood, from every king and queen.”
We needed my father’s approval.
Somewhat mollified by this, his features returned to their natural hue. He gave Evexon what could only be called a cruel smile. One that promised reprimanding once this ordeal was over.
“I’m done humoring you, Raldin. You have been outvoted. If you want our troops to leave your lands and peace to prevail, you will sign.” Voran didn’t wait for a response. He turned to the priestess. “Let the feeding of the crown commence.”
My father said nothing. Not because he did not wish to, I knew, but because this was another battle he could not win.
Wolves stepped aside to allow Nellassa into the antechamber.
A scream turned every head toward the door behind the throne. As soon as the high priestess stumbled back through it, warriors rushed into the antechamber.
One turned back, features drawn. “My liege.”
Voran was marching behind the throne before the shifter could finish speaking.
Elynia.
Dusk.
And the Scale Crown.
I made to follow Voran—when an arm, banding around my waist, pulled me against a body. The familiar scent of cloves and rain filled my nostrils. Cold met my throat at the same time my father’s voice met my ear. “Behave. The last thing I want is to harm you.”
Warriors snarled, advancing with caution.
Celestine ran to me.
“Stop,” my father ordered. “Someone get me the crown.”
From somewhere behind us, Ruvus said, “Quite possibly your gravest mistake yet, Raldin.”
My father merely growled, “Get me that fucking crown.”
I wasn’t sure I breathed. Wasn’t sure if it was shock or hurt that caused tears to flood my eyes. I closed them and drew in a slow breath, terrified of swallowing as the cool steel firmed against my skin. “Father,” I pleaded. “It’s just a crown.”
His grip at my waist tightened. “My crown.” Then, he warned, “Not another step, you treacherous beast.”
I opened my eyes.
Voran stood before the throne. Hands coiled at his sides. Eyes bright on my father. “To upset my wife is to guarantee my eternal hatred, but to threaten her life…” His accent nearly rendered his words too thick to discern. “A death sentence.”
Warriors watched on with similar stances, golden gazes flicking between my father, Voran, and me. Waiting and assessing.
Noticing, my father said, “Take one step toward me, and I will open her throat. Try to harm my son or me, and I will put this blade into her heart.” When Evexon tried to speak, he shouted over him, jostling the dagger.
“Let’s see if you can follow this order, Son.
Fetch me my crown from that antechamber. ”
I flinched. Blood trickled down my throat.
Voran’s form seemed to shake. To ripple as if he were fighting the urge to shift. “You will not find it there.”
Evexon froze.
Silence battled the hoarse breaths my father took.
Then Voran said, “All you will find is my sister and one of our guards, unconscious and bound on the stone floor.”
“Horseshit,” spewed my father.
High Priestess Nellassa neared, pale and touching the stone on her forehead. Her auburn eyes narrowed. “You no longer seem worthy of what you seek, King Raldin.”
“Save your divine drivel, Nellassa,” my father said. “Did you really think I would just allow someone else to feed my crown?” A humorless laugh. “Or worse, let you lot ignore Avyshla’s wishes by getting rid of it altogether?”
Nellassa’s tone sharpened. “The crown is not here. You have destroyed your relationship with your daughter and this Unseelie kingdom for no reason.”
My father didn’t respond.
Voran flashed his teeth. Menace oozed from his voice. “Go and see for yourself.”
“I am no fool.” My father jerked his head at the warriors standing with Evexon. “All of you.” He ordered, “Let my son see that chamber.”
After a nod from Voran, they did.
While we waited, Meront broke the stifling quiet. “Raldin, everyone knows you would never wish Ayla harm.”
But I now knew that wasn’t exactly true. Otherwise, my father wouldn’t have agreed to surrender me with the war. He wouldn’t have sent me to deceive his enemy with only a driver after unearthing his spare heir.
And he wouldn’t have asked me to kill my mate.
“Please,” Meront urged. “Let us all agree that you’ve had too much wine and we can just pretend this—”
Evexon returned. “They speak true,” he said. “The crown is not in the antechamber.”
I felt my father still.
Fierce thunder rumbled over the palace. Trays and goblets shook and clattered on the tables.
Over the noise, my father bellowed, “Then where is it?”
“And where is Cercaven?” asked Verlana.
Darcen’s goblet hit the stone as he cursed. Wine splashed his boots, the goblet kicked as he hurried to the doors.
Without taking his eyes off my father, Voran ordered, “Gore, see that the fish prince is followed. If Cercaven has had the crown taken, then it’s no longer in the palace. Have every inch of the grounds hunted and send reinforcements to all exits.”
Footsteps pounded over stone and faded in the hall outside as some warriors left with Gore.
“Release my wife, Raldin, and you may live,” Voran said. “For tonight.”
My father gave another mirthless laugh. “Let me leave, and I will let her live.”
Voran’s chin rose. Finally, he met my gaze. A storm brewed within his eyes, darkening them to near-black.
I wanted to believe my father wouldn’t kill me. But he’d backed himself into a corner, and he was no wolf. He was a king accustomed to people falling over themselves to please him. I would know. I’d been one of them.
I gave Voran a small smile. I still wasn’t sure I could trust him with my heart, but after his effort to bring change for the kingdoms and the wyverns, I was certain I wanted to try.
His eyes darkened even more.
Ruvus stood at his side. “The call will be given. He will not make it through the city if he does not release her, alive and well.”
But Voran didn’t speak. He didn’t move.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t risk letting me leave this throne room—his line of sight—and he couldn’t risk forcing my father to let me go.
Carefully, so as not to jostle the blade, I said, “I will go with him, and I will be released when he reaches the city.”
Before Voran or anyone else could protest, I was escorted through the throne room doors, the blade nicking my throat with my father’s hurried steps.