Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Araya had expected nightmares.
She should have dreamed of shifting shadows and sightless eyes—mist-cloaked monsters moving in the dark. She should have woken up with the crypt’s damp chill sinking into her bones, leeching the warmth from her skin.
But instead, she woke warm, cocooned in the comforting scent of rain and stone.
Loren.
Araya sat up, suddenly wide awake. She scanned the dimly lit crypt, searching the shadows of long-dead kings and queens for any sign of the fae prince, but nothing stirred.
He wouldn’t have abandoned her here.
Would he?
Araya stood, pulling the cloak he must have draped over her at some point during the night tight against the chill. But it couldn’t shield her from the stone stares of long-dead fae kings and queens, their judgement weighing heavily on her shoulders as she set off in search of their lost prince.
She found him standing in front of the last two statues, her steps faltering as she realized who they must be. She wanted to hold on to her anger—but the way he stood in front of his parents’ statues, his head bowed and shoulders stiff, made something in her chest tighten.
She hesitated, hovering on the edge of turning back. But, without looking at her, Loren shifted slightly to the side—leaving just enough space for her to stand beside him if she wanted to.
Araya cleared her throat, sliding his cloak from her shoulders. She bundled it in her arms, holding it out even as she already mourned the loss of its warmth. “Thank you for letting me borrow this.”
Loren glanced at her then. “Keep it.”
Araya frowned. “You’ll be cold.” He only wore a thin shirt and pants—more appropriate for sleeping than rushing through the woods. As if he’d only stopped long enough to grab his cloak and shove on boots before pursuing her.
A shadow of a smile crossed his lips. “I’m used to being cold.”
The words were quiet, spoken without self-pity, but they lodged deep in Araya’s chest anyway. Twenty-five years in a stone cell. Cold had been his only constant.
“These are your parents.” Araya hugged the cloak to her chest, staring at them. They hardly looked like the joyful family she’d seen in the painting. The king’s gaze was shadowed, his features thinned by grief. And the queen…
Araya blinked hard, looking away. The proud tilt of her chin was all Eloria—but the mouth, the sorrow carved deep into her features… those belonged to Loren.
“My father wasn’t weak or cruel,” Loren said. “He ruled for nearly a century before the Ascendancy. Like the kings and queens that came before him, he welcomed humans when their own people cast them out.”
“What happened?” Araya asked softly.
“For a long time? Nothing.” He shrugged, his shoulders sagging. “We gave them land. Let them practice magic beside us. And for decades, that was enough.”
A shadow flitted across his face, his voice turning bitter.
“But humans always want more. They weren’t satisfied with the aether they could harness naturally. They started using fae blood and bone to strengthen themselves—until my father banned the use of amplifiers altogether. The Arcanum called it as oppression.”
Araya swallowed, but the lump in her throat refused to ease. She knew how this story ended. She had heard it told a thousand times before—from the mouths of the victors.
“They’d been gathering influence for years,” Loren continued, his gaze going distant.
“Waiting. And when they saw their chance, they struck.” His jaw tightened.
“Did you know they took me right from the Aetherium? I never even left the building. One moment, I was the crown prince. The next, I was a prisoner.”
“I didn’t,” Araya whispered.
“My mother… Queen Lysa. You know she was one of the first to fall.” He swallowed hard, his voice thick.
“But what the Arcanum wouldn’t have taught you is that they didn’t want her dead.
They wanted to capture her—turn her into a weapon they could wield against my father. But she chose death instead.”
Loren stared at his father’s statue, his whole body rigid.
“My father felt every second of it. And when she was gone, something inside him died too.”
“He…felt it?” Araya glanced at the stern male carved in stone, trying to imagine it.
“They were mates, ael’sura.” Loren looked at her then, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Magic binds powerful fae together, joining us with the people the seeds of the relationships we need to survive. To lose your mate in such a way…”
He trailed off, his voice thick with grief.
“They must have loved each other very much,” she said softly.
“They did,” Loren’s voice dropped to a whisper, raw with all the pain he hadn’t shown in the past twenty years.
“He tried to hold on—for Eloria, for the fae who escaped. But his control was already fraying. And when he tried to use the shadows to defend against the New Dominion…” Loren exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
“No one knows exactly what happened. But shadows covered the battlefield, killing fae and human alike.”
“And that’s when the Shadowed Veil formed,” Araya whispered, the pieces clicking into place.
“Our savior and worst nightmare all in one.” Loren’s lips quirked in a bitter smile. “His body was never recovered. They tried…but in the end, Eloria moved her court to Lumaria. And I—” his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his voice rough. “I rotted in that cell.”
He broke off, his shoulders sagging. In that moment, he looked younger than Araya had ever seen him. He wasn’t a prince or a warrior—just a boy, grieving his mother.
“Being his mate killed her,” he said. “It’s the only reason the Arcanum wanted her. If she hadn’t been his, she’d be alive today.”
Araya hesitated, the urge to reach for him battling with every instinct to keep her distance.
Her sympathy for this lost and broken prince had already cost her enough.
But something in the rigid set of his shoulders—like one breath might shatter him completely—pulled her closer despite her best intentions.
She reached out, sparks of magic sizzling at her fingertips as they brushed the back of his hand. Heat blazed at the point of contact, racing up her arm. It curled in her chest, her heart suddenly thundering against her ribs.
“They killed my mother right in front of me,” she whispered. “And she wasn’t anyone’s mate.”
His hand closed around hers, their fingers tangling together like he just couldn’t stop himself any more than she could.
“I didn’t understand that humans could lie,” she said, staring down at the intertwined hands. “For a long time, it didn’t even feel real—like I was living in someone else’s nightmare. So…your grief—however you feel it—it’s exactly what it needs to be.”
Loren stared at her, his expression raw. “It wasn’t your fault, ael’sura.”
“Neither was what happened to your parents.”
Loren’s head dipped, the harsh line of his jaw softening. For a heartbeat, he was just another person who had suffered and lost at the hands of the New Dominion, the sharpness in his eyes turning softer, vulnerable.
Before she could second-guess herself, Araya reached out with her other hand, giving into the temptation to run her fingers along the curve of his jaw. His eyes slipped closed, the shadows around his feet stilling like even they were holding their breath.
“Araya,” he murmured, her name a soft, reverent whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. He opened his eyes, his gaze rooting her to the spot as he took a half-step closer.
Heat pooled low in her belly, the air between them taut with possibility. His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, his gaze dropping to her lips. For a dizzy, breathless moment, she thought he might close the distance between them, might lean in and—
“Do you have a mate?”
The question tumbled from her lips before she could stop it, shattering the fragile moment.
“Gods—” Araya stumbled back, pressing a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean—I’m so sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
“No—it’s a fair question.” Loren took a small step back, like he needed the distance as much as she did. “The answer is just…complicated.”
Araya blinked, her heart pounding in her chest. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t even look upset, just… conflicted.
“I do have a mate,” Loren said. He raked a hand through his hair, not quite meeting her eyes. “But she hasn’t recognized me. And I haven’t told her.”
“Oh.” Something twisted in her chest, squeezing her heart. “Well—you should tell her. Don’t you think she deserves to know?”
Loren laughed humorlessly, the bitter sound scraping from somewhere deep in his chest. “I’m telling her now.”
Oh. Oh. Araya swayed where she stood, her vision narrowing around the edges. Loren didn’t reach for her, but his shadows crept forward, curling around legs and whispering words she didn’t understand.
“I—” her voice shook so badly she had to stop and take a breath. She wanted to say it was’t possible. That it couldn’t be true—but the words wouldn’t come. Because somehow, deep in her chest where that strange pull she felt toward him lived—it made sense.
“How long have you known?” She asked instead.
“Since the first time you touched me in my dream.” His gaze searched hers, pleading. “That kind of connection isn’t given to just anyone, ael’sura.”
“But—that was before I even knew you were real.” Hurt sliced through her shock, sharp and angry. “Are you saying you knew the entire time? And you said nothing?”
“It’s not that simple.” Loren’s throat bobbed, his voice shaking.
“I’m not the male I thought I would be. Being my mate—look what happened to my mother.
If the Shaws or Hale ever figured it out…
” He looked at her then, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
“In my worst nightmares it’s you locked in that cell under the Aetherium, trapped and powerless. ”
Araya gaped at him, every word lodging somewhere deep in her chest, twisting and tearing at her heart.