Chapter 2 #2
“We’re still assessing the best approach, Cormac,” Eloria said, her calm voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Until a decision is reached, Araya will remain safely at Ithralis under Loren’s watchful eye. That should be enough to satisfy everyone for now.”
Cormac dipped his head, sinking slowly back into his chair. But the shadows hissed, wood splintering as frost crept across the table. Because Eloria hadn’t outright rejected his demand—she’d told him not yet.
“Loren,” Eloria murmured. “Please.”
He grit his teeth, digging his will into the darkness. But it fought, twisting against his command.
She is ours, they snarled, dark voices rising around him like a tide. Ours. Protect her.
“Enough.” His breath fogged the air in front of him, his hands clenched white-knuckled around the edge of the table. “There’s no fight here. Not right now.”
The shadows shivered, reluctantly curling back across the table. Loren dropped heavily into his chair, releasing the breath he’d been holding as they settled at his feet. But their threat lingered, clear in the brittle silence they left in their wake.
“And will you be remaining at Ithralis as well?” the Steward of the Hall asked finally, his voice polite but pointed. “The people need to see you, Princess. The mood in Lumaria—”
Eloria inclined her head, as calm as ever.
“Now that my brother is settled and recovering I’ll be spending the majority of my time in Lumaria,” she said, “Now please, let’s continue.”
The discussion turned to rations—hoarding, dwindling stores, the latest supply failure—it all blurred together, painting a grim picture of their chances for survival here.
Loren forced himself to listen. These were his people.
Their survival was his duty—but a flash of silver by the door caught his eye.
He stood, shoving his chair back so hard it screeched across the stone. The bond was a blade between his ribs, stealing his breath as he caught Ilyana’s eye. He’d asked the Healer to look in on Araya—if she was here now, something was wrong.
“Loren?” Eloria asked.
“Continue without me,” he said, already moving. He didn’t look back to see the disapproving looks he was sure were aimed at his back. He didn’t care. Let them judge him. It didn’t matter what they thought. Not when Araya needed him.
“How is she?”
“Physically? She’s recovered wonderfully.” Ilyana crossed her arms. “No lingering side effects from the concussion. She has full mobility in her wrist. Magically, her power reserves are recovering nicely. She’s having some growing pains, but nothing unexpected.”
Loren braced his hands on the back of the chair. “And mentally?”
“That’s a harder question to answer.” Ilyana let out a slow, measured breath. "Mental healing isn’t a straight path—”
“Try,” Loren growled, barely curbing the urge to bare his teeth at the Healer. The shadows at his heels stirred, as restless and unsettled as he was.
Ilyana’s head jerked up, her bright blue eyes sparking with anger.
“Spending all of her time alone in her room isn’t helping,” she snapped. “I’m a Healer, not a spy, Your Majesty. If you want to know how she’s doing you should try asking her yourself.”
“She doesn’t want to see me,” Loren snapped. “Maybe after her runes are removed—”
“She refused.” Ilyana crossed her arms, glaring at him. “She seemed…panicked by the idea. I told you it wasn’t a good idea to bring it up this soon—”
“She has to have them removed.” The bond twisted under Loren’s skin, digging its claws into him as the shadows hissed at his feet. “I don’t care if it’s dormant. I want it gone.”
“And she doesn’t,” Ilyana snapped back. “It’s not your decision, Your Majesty. It’s her body. We do not force anyone to have their runes removed before they are ready.”
Loren clenched his jaw. “The ly’ithra rune suppresses her magic. It was designed to keep her in submission—”
“And like I explained to her, it doesn’t work here,” Ilyana said. “As long as she stays on this side of the Shadowed Veil, it’s nothing but a scar. Unless the human mage that claimed her manages to cross the Veil and find her, she’s perfectly safe whether the rune is there or not.”
Loren exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair.
His shadows curled around him, echoing the frustration clawing at his ribs.
Ilyana had come highly recommended by Thorne.
She’d spent treating fae brutalized by the Arcanum, earning her place as a Healer trusted by refugees and warriors alike.
But she didn’t know Jaxon Shaw. Not like he did.
She had no idea how far Shaw would go to reclaim what he thought was his—or to break what he couldn’t control.
“What about the other fae who survived the camps?” he asked.
“She refused to speak with them.”
Loren’s grip tightened on the back of the chair until the wood groaned beneath his fingers.
The sharp creak echoed in the quiet room, but he barely heard it over the pulse pounding in his ears.
He had dragged her from one prison and placed her in another.
She was surrounded by strangers, in a world she had no ties to, and now… she was choosing to stay cut off.
“I don’t want her to be alone here,” he said. “She’s been having nightmares. Even if she wants nothing to do with me, I want her to have someone.”
“And who have you talked to?” Ilyana asked gently. “She’s not the only one at Ithralis who suffered at the New Dominion’s hands, Your Majesty.”
Loren flushed, suddenly all too aware of the vivid scars that still branded his throat and wrists. “We’re not talking about me,” he snapped.
Ilyana frowned, but whatever answer she might have made was silenced when the door burst open, slamming into the wall with enough force to rattle the lamp hanging from the low ceiling.
“Loren!” Eloria stormed into the room, her green eyes blazing with a fury that could have melted stone. “You cannot just walk out on the Small Council. You are the prince!”
“And you are the regent,” Loren retorted. “I had something I needed to do.”
Eloria’s expression darkened, her gaze flicking to Ilyana. “And how is Araya?”
“Why do you want to know? So you can brief your advisors on her?” Loren turned his back on her, glancing back at the Healer. “Thank you, Ilyana. You can go.”
“Stay,” Eloria said. “Just for a moment, please. I think my brother needs a reminder of the intricacies of the mate bond. Can you give us an overview?”
On some level, Loren was aware of the Healer staring at him, her mouth hanging open in disbelief—but his immediate attention narrowed on his sister. His reckless, impudent sister. Who had just carelessly handed over yet another secret that wasn’t hers to share.
“This isn’t necessary,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.
But his heart thundered in his chest, the shadows at his feet pulsing and coiling up his legs like restless serpents.
He gritted his teeth, trying to force them back down.
They weren’t in any danger here—Araya wasn’t in danger.
But they fought him, hissing words he couldn’t quite understand as they fed on his shame, reflecting it back into the world with every flicker of darkened aether.
“Go ahead, Ilyana.” Eloria turned her back on him, apparently unconcerned by the murderous darkness churning around him.
“I’m especially interested in revisiting the consequences of an unreciprocated mate bond—say if one half of the pair took the other’s blood and name in order to escape the New Dominion. ”
Ilyana’s blanched, her wide eyes flying to Loren. “Tell me you didn’t.”
But he had. He’d taken her blood without her consent, binding her name to his. It had been the only way to save her life, but that didn’t change the horror of what he’d done, turning a sacred gift into just another cage.
And no matter how much he despised himself for it, he couldn’t take it back.
“Does she—” Ilyana asked.
“No,” Loren forced the word through clenched teeth, his voice rough. “She doesn’t know.”
“Goddess,” Ilyana whispered, her face pale.
“You have to tell her. If you’ve claimed her…
the bond isn’t going to stop trying to drag you together.
She’ll think she’s going mad.” Her eyes flicked to the shadows that had risen around his boots.
“It will tear you both apart. Emotionally—magically. The longer it drags out, the worse it will get.”
“Father only made it two years after Mother died,” Eloria said quietly. “And look what dara’el has become. Is that what you want your legacy to be?”
Loren could only look away, shame burning like rot under his skin.
“Thank you, Ilyana,” Eloria said finally. “You can go.”
The Healer turned so quickly she nearly stumbled, yanking open the door with shaking hands and disappearing into the hall. Loren didn’t watch her leave. His jaw clenched, the shadows curling restlessly around him, whispering as they fed off the storm inside him.
“You had no right to do that,” he spat.
“I have every right.” Eloria folded her arms across her chest. “You should be here—in Lumaria, where your people are. This is where you belong. Both of you. Not hiding in that crumbling castle ignoring each other.”
Loren opened his mouth, but she raised her voice, cutting him off.
“You walk out on the Small Council whenever it suits you. You refuse to step into your role as prince.” Her voice sliced through the air like a blade. “Our people are refugees in our own kingdom, crammed together like rats on a sinking ship, clinging to the last dry planks. And the children—”
She stopped, taking a deep breath.
“I know you think keeping Araya in the dark protects her,” she said more quietly.
“But parents are already making impossible choices. If this continues… they’ll beg the New Dominion to take their children.
Just so they’ll have food in their bellies.
She grew up in one of those camps. Do you think she could live with that? ”
“I already stole her choice once,” Loren snapped. The shadows slipped his grip, spiderwebbing across the walls in dark veins that pulsed in time with his ragged breaths. “I’m not going to use starving children to manipulate her into accepting another chain.”
Eloria sighed, her expression shuttering as she stared at the writhing shadows.
“You should still tell her the truth,” she said softly. “Just… tell me you’ll consider it, Loren. Please. I hate seeing you like this."
“Just go, Eloria,” Loren ground out. The shadows bucked at the edges of his control, their hissing voices drowning out the pounding of his own heart. “Leave me alone.”
Eloria just shook her head, staring at him like she didn’t recognize the male he’d become.“I’ll see you tonight, Lorendrael,” she said softly. “It’s your homecoming. Try and show up for it.”