Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Eloria.
The name sat like a stone in Araya’s chest, heavy and cold. Only a lifetime of schooling her reactions kept her expression neutral as Eloria grinned at her, those green eyes—so clearly the same as Loren’s now that she saw them side by side—still sparkling with mischief.
“I told you they’d be cross,” the princess said in a loud whisper. Then, with effortless grace, she swept across the room and claimed the empty seat beside the golden-haired male at the head of the table—leaving only one unoccupied chair.
Right beside the glowering prince.
“I don’t want to impose.” Araya took a half-step back, not daring to meet Loren’s scowl. “I can eat in my room—”
“Nonsense,” Eloria said, slicing through her protest with a wave of her hand. “That would be a very poor way to thank you for returning my brother to us. Please—stay.”
Araya hesitated, her mouth watering as the scent of roasted fish and fragrant herbs filled her nose.
The meals here hadn’t been bad, but after spending an afternoon talking and laughing with El—no matter how much of a deception it had been—the idea of going back to her room to eat alone by the fire made her chest ache.
Araya eased into the empty seat beside Loren, careful not to brush against him. Fury radiated off him in waves, mirrored in the shadows that pooled at his feet, shifting restlessly. One reached for her—a single tendril brushing against the hem of her dress before it whipped back, torn away.
The golden-haired male was already filling another plate, piling it high with roasted fish and vegetables steeped in a fragrant sauce. He held it out to her, but before Araya could reach for it, Loren snatched it from his hands and set it in front of her himself.
The other male sighed, shaking his head, but his blue eyes sparkled as he caught Araya’s gaze. “Here I was, trying to make a good impression, and I’ve already made an enemy.” He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Should’ve known better than to get between a male and his…plate.”
Loren’s head snapped up, the shadows hissing at his feet—but across the table, Thorne choked on a laugh, failing to muffle it with his fist. Nyra nudged him sharply with her elbow, but it was too late—the tension had cracked.
The strange male leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the polished wood. “I’m Galen,” he said. “Eloria’s mate—husband, as the humans would say. You know Loren, obviously.—and Nyra and Thorne. And I suppose you know Eloria now, too.”
“El and I had a lovely afternoon,” Araya said, her smile brittle. “Until I found out about the title she conveniently forgot to mention.”
Galen shot Eloria a look, his brows lifting as he leaned slightly toward her, lips quirking in a crooked, indulgent smile. “El always means well,” he said dryly. “She just—”
“She just sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong,” Loren cut in, setting his wineglass down a little too hard.
“Don’t take it out on Galen, Loren,” Eloria said. “Just eat.”
Loren bared his teeth, but no one seemed interested in fighting him. Around them, conversation resumed. The bright, lilting tones of common spoken with fae accents flowed through the air like a swift, glittering river, sweeping Araya along without ever truly including her.
With everyone’s attention elsewhere, she dared a tentative bite of the fish.
The delicate flesh flaked easily against her tongue, a burst of briny citrus easing the tight knot in her chest. Araya let out a long breath, some of the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding finally draining from her limbs.
But beside her, Loren hadn’t moved. He didn’t join in the chatter, didn’t reach for his fork. The shadows pooled beneath the table, muttering darkly amongst themselves as if they shared his foul mood.
No one spoke to either of them until an elderly fae female stepped into the room, her silver hair braided into a crown and coiled neatly at the nape of her neck.
She set a covered tray down in front of Loren, lifting the lid to reveal a dark, honey-glazed cake.
A dish of stewed fruit in a fragrant syrup sat beside it, the scent of cinnamon and clove curling through the air.
“Welcome home, Your Highness,” the female said warmly. Then, to Araya’s surprise, she bent down and kissed Loren on the cheek, as if he were her own child. “I made your favorite.”
Nyra made an exaggerated noise of protest, setting down her fork with a theatrical clatter. “Excuse me! I’m the one leaving, Veria. Shouldn’t the cake be for me?”
Veria straightened, her bright eyes crinkling at the corners as she fixed Nyra with a mock-stern look. “I would never forget you, girl,” she said, tapping Nyra lightly on the shoulder as she passed. “Your cakes are already on the ship, where you can’t eat them all before you go.”
Laughter rippled around the table, and even Loren snorted into his wine.
“Thank you, Veria,” he said, the tension draining from his shoulders as he smiled warmly at the older female—a startling transformation from a male who had been so full of anger just moments ago.
Then, without another word, he picked up a serving spoon and passed a portion of the cake and fruit to Araya as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Thank you.” Araya stared down at the plate, the warm, spiced scent of the honey-glazed cake curling up to meet her.
Loren didn’t answer, but the tension between them seemed to ease slightly as he picked up his own fork, and for the first time since she had woken up here, Araya let herself believe she was just…
eating dinner. She took a bite of the cake, and for a moment, she wasn’t a prisoner or a problem to be solved. She was just a guest at the table.
“You should ask Loren to show you Lumaria,” Eloria said suddenly, her bright voice cutting through the fragile peace Araya had found.
“Oh—” Araya laughed nervously, resisting the urge to glance over at Loren. She wanted to get to Lumaria, but not with him looming over her. “I’m sure Loren has better things to do—”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Eloria laughed, ignoring the way the shadows at the edges of the room darkened. “Of course, Lumaria’s nothing like it was before—it was just never meant to hold this many people.”
Araya opened her mouth, not quite sure what to say in response, but Eloria breezed on.
“We do the best we can, of course,” she said.
“Food is rationed, and we build everywhere we can—but every year more of us are lost. Now, with the New Dominion blockading the few shipping routes we had left…” She trailed off, lifting her glass.
“Time is running out. That’s why you coming here means so much to us. ”
A chill crept down Araya’s spine. She set her goblet down carefully, her fingers tightening around the stem. “Excuse me?”
“Most humans see the fae as little more than a resource to bleed dry,” Eloria went on, still smiling. “But all of our reports suggest you lived rather comfortably, didn’t you? Especially compared to the other fae females in Aetheris. Is that because of the work you did for Jaxon Shaw?”
Araya flushed, shrinking back from the pointed words. But Eloria didn’t give her a chance to answer.
“You must have been very valuable to him.” Eloria leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “And imagine, he didn’t even realize who you were.”
“I—” Araya glanced around the table, desperate for an ally.
But no one met her eyes. Nyra studied her wine.
Thorne’s expression had gone unreadable.
Galen looked suddenly very interested in the stitching of the tablecloth.
Only Loren looked up—but not at her. His glare was fixed on his sister, fury etched into every line of his face.
“That’s enough, Eloria,” he snapped. “Leave her alone. She’s not your game piece.”
Eloria ignored him. “We could make it worth your while,” she said, her gaze never wavering from Araya’s face.
“What did Jaxon Shaw offer you? Safety? Comforts? We can do all of that. Goddess, if you can help Loren take control of the shadows—” she laughed, shaking her head. “I’d happily crown you queen.”
“I don’t want to be a queen—” Araya glanced warily around the table, lingering on Loren’s dark fury. “I just want to go home.”
“Ah,” Eloria’s expression softened. “That’s something I cannot give you, Araya. But I can give you freedom. Here, with us. Where you’re more than a source of power for some human.”
Freedom. Araya stared at the fae female, the word scraping across something raw inside her. There was no such thing as freedom—not for someone like her. Not with Jaxon still searching for her.
Whatever Eloria was asking her to do…she couldn’t. Not even Jaxon would be able to save her from the consequences of betraying the Arcanum so openly. And Eloria? She’d already lied to Araya once, all without ever speaking a false word.
Araya swallowed hard, her hands curling into fists in her lap. The fae were playing as much of a game with her as the Arcanum. Neither of them cared about her—only what she could do for them.
She opened her mouth, ready to refuse—but Loren stood so suddenly his chair fell backward, shadows swirling around them both.
“You will do nothing of the sort,” he hissed, his sharp glare cutting across the table like a blade before settling on her. “I won’t allow it.”
“You won’t allow it?” Araya shoved to her feet, heat flaring in her neck and ears. He had no right—not after everything he’d done. Not after tearing her life apart. “And who are you to command me? You aren’t my prince.”
“You don’t understand the game she’s playing,” Loren growled.
Shadows peeled away from him like smoke, dark tendrils brushing over her skin in a cool caress totally at odds with the fury blazing in his eyes.
“Just because she can’t lie doesn’t mean she’s telling the truth.
She wants you to do the same thing for her that you were doing for Jaxon Shaw. ”
Araya bristled, the judgement in Loren’s voice slicing deeper than it should have. As if she didn’t already know exactly what they all thought of her.
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” she said coolly, holding his stare without flinching. “I did a lot of things for Jaxon Shaw.”
Gasps rose from around the table. A chair scraped back, Galen moving to put himself between Eloria and her brother.
But Loren paid no attention to his sister.
“You’re very ungrateful for someone who was rescued from a nightmare of her own making.” He stepped forward—so close that his shadows engulfed her, hissing words in a language she didn’t understand. They reached for her, wrapping around her ankles and crawling up her arms to loop around her throat.
“You think I should be grateful?” Araya laughed in his face.
“You didn’t save me, Loren. I know what it feels like when someone takes my power.
You used me.” She rubbed her lip, the phantom taste of his lips and her blood coating her tongue.
“Was the kiss really necessary, or was that just for fun?”
The room was utterly silent. Galen stood frozen in front of Eloria, whose calm mask had cracked, unease flickering over her face. Even Thorne had tensed in his seat, his amber gaze locked on the shadows like he would throw himself across the table and rip them from her throat.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Loren said. His voice shook, not with rage now but something more fragile and broken.
“Don’t I?” Araya demanded. She stared up at him, meeting his blazing gaze with unwavering defiance. “I’ve spent my entire life making the best choice I can. I understand what you did and why. But it was no different than what Jaxon did to me.”
Something in Loren’s expression shattered, his shadows sliding from her skin like water. “Araya—” he started, her name strangled on his lips.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she cut him off. “So unless you plan to compel me again, I’ll be making my own choices. And you’ll just have to deal with it.”
Loren recoiled like she’d struck him. His mouth opened—then closed, twisting in a snarl.
He turned on his heel, his shadows lashing out in a violent wave that sent dishes clattering to the floor and shattered goblets.
He stormed out of the room without another word, the door slamming behind him with a deafening crash.
For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound in the room was the slow drip of red wine, spreading across the white tablecloth like blood. Araya’s heart pounded, her hands shaking. But she held her head high, refusing to cower in front of them.
“Thank you for the dress, El,” she said, dropping her napkin beside her ruined dessert. “But I’m not feeling very sociable right now. If you’ll excuse me.”
She didn’t wait to be dismissed, shoving through the same doors Loren had slammed. Nothing had changed. These people weren’t her rulers. She couldn’t trust any of them. Just like in the New Dominion, the only person here who cared about her safety and happiness was her.
She wouldn’t sit here, waiting to be played like a piece in their game. Nyra’s boat was leaving tonight—and she intended to be on it.