Chapter 8 #2
How long before they ran out of food to feed them all?
If he’d stayed in Eloria’s Small Council meeting he might have known the answer.
Instead, all Loren had was the guilt that gnawed at his conscience, the shadows stirring uneasily beneath his cloak as he slunk through the square without notice and mounted the steps to the Central Hall.
Once, this place had been a gathering place for the fae who dedicated themselves to the Goddess, a sanctuary where voices had risen in song and prayer. Now, Eloria held court here, making the decisions that kept their people alive one day after another.
At this hour it should have thrummed with voices—officials and petitioners alike gathered to be heard.
Instead, it stood empty, the hush that hung thick in the air all too similar to the oppressive silence he’d lived with beneath the Aetherium.
Even the shadows shifted uneasily, pressing against the confines of his cloak.
Loren’s frown deepened, but he didn’t slow, setting a quick pace toward the chamber where Eloria held her Small Council meetings. Ruling a country was nothing but administrative work—endless meetings and decision-making. If she was anywhere, it would be there.
He was almost to the doors when two guards stepped into his path, blocking his way.
One of them—an older male with the sharp, assessing gaze of someone used to measuring threats—held up a hand. “There is no court today. The Central Hall is closed to visitors.”
“I’m not here for court,” Loren said. “I’m here to see Eloria.”
“We have orders not to let anyone through.” The younger guard arched a brow. “If you have a petition, you can present it when the Princess Regent next holds court.”
“I don’t have a petition.” Loren ground his teeth, his jaw aching. “She sent for me. Tell her I’m here. She’ll want to see me.”
The older guard’s face didn’t flicker. “Our orders are not to disturb her,” he said evenly. “Like I said, if you come back when court is in session—”
The shadows stirred beneath his cloak, their hiss curling through his mind. This is taking too long. She needs us—
“This can’t wait.” Loren sucked in a breath, trying to steady them—and himself. “If you just ask her—”
The younger guard cut him off with a sharp laugh, his hand brushing the pommel of his sword as he stepped in close. “You think we’re running messages to the Princess Regent from every cloaked vagrant who wanders in? Back off before I—”
Enough.
The shadows surged forward before he could stop them, spilling out from beneath his cloak and spreading across the floor like spilled ink.
Both guards reeled back, steel singing as swords cleared scabbards.
Aether hummed, the tang of magic flooding the air as they called on their power.
But the shadows only laughed, rearing back in preparation to strike—
Loren cursed under his breath and ripped his hood back, baring his face. Better they recognize him than die because he couldn’t keep a leash on his own power.
“There’s no need for that,” he said, the words aimed at the churning darkness as much as the guards themselves. “Just tell the Princess Regent that her brother is here to see her.”
The younger guard staggered back a full step, his sword clattering to the stone floor. The older one kept hold of his sword—barely—his jaw slackening as his disbelieving gaze slid from the furious shadows to Loren and back again.
“Your Majesty—” he dropped into a hasty bow, his knee striking stone hard enough to make Loren wince. “We didn’t know—”
“No one knows,” Loren said. “And I’d like to keep it that way. I just need to speak to my sister—now. Please.”
The older guard exhaled sharply, straightening. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He turned on his heel, striding toward the doors of the Small Council chambers without quite meeting Loren’s eyes.
The shadows grumbled amongst themselves, slinking back to curl around his boots like chastised hounds. Loren fell back a step, the breath he’d been holding rushing out in a shaky sigh of relief. No one would die today because of him.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he ordered the younger guard. “I’m not what you think I am.”
The guard flinched, but didn’t drop his gaze, staring at Loren with the wide-eyed amazement people usually reserved for ghosts and legends. It made Loren’s skin crawl.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” the younger male said, his voice shaking. “I—I never thought—”
“Eloria is still regent.” Loren rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the tension from them. “I’m not the savior you think I am.”
“But you—”
“She’ll see him,” the older guard said, hurrying back. “Apologies, Your Majesty. We didn’t know—”
“Thank you,” Loren cut in, shoving by them.
They didn’t stop him this time, instead flattening themselves against the walls as the shadows surged ahead of him, restless and impatient.
They wanted this over, eager for him to finish this so they could return to the only thing that mattered to them—her.
But any hope that this would be a short visit died the moment he stepped into the room.
It reeked of salt, blood and death—two shrouded bodies stretched out across the scarred table where Eloria had held court just yesterday. His sister stood at the head of the table with her spymaster, her hands clasped behind her back.
“Where is your mate?” she demanded.
The shadows hissed, the bond jumping under his skin at her tone.
“She’s at Ithralis.” Loren glared at her. “You don’t summon her, El. Not without an explanation.”
For a heartbeat, Loren thought she’d snap back at him. But Eloria’s expression only hardened, her dancing green eyes cold. “Remove the shroud for my brother.”
Eryn reached forward, even his composed expression strained as he deftly folded back the white linen to reveal the faces and shoulders of two fae females.
“Two fishermen pulled them from the water this morning,” Eloria said. “Do they remind you of someone?”
Loren swallowed hard. Both were young and red haired, with pale skin and clipped ears. Even worse, while one of the female’s ears were old and scarred, the other’s were raw and unhealed—as if someone had mutilated her ears right before they killed her.
“It could be a coincidence,” he said.
“A coincidence?” Eloria barked out a short, humorless laugh. “Look at this and tell me you still think it’s a coincidence.” She yanked the shrouds free completely, revealing the full extent of what these females had suffered.
Loren’s stomach lurched, bile burning his throat. Fishermen might have pulled them from the water, but they hadn’t drowned. Lash marks split their flesh, a rainbow of bruises blooming across their throats, arms, and thighs where the inquisitors had held them down.
And after everything he’d endured, Loren knew with sick certainty they’d still been alive—still screaming for mercy—when the inquisitors burned their message into the soft flesh of their bellies.
RETURN HER
Eloria turned to him, her expression like ice. “Well?”
Loren shook his head. He couldn’t speak—couldn’t breathe. His lungs spasmed in his chest, the racing drumbeat of his heart twining with the shadows’ hissed demands for vengeance until he couldn’t tell where he ended and they began.
Never, they hissed. Never. Never. Never—
Loren grasped the edge of the table so hard wood creaked under his hands, his knuckles whitening.
He sucked in one deep breath. And then another.
This was a message—a direct threat against his mate.
But he had to breathe. To steady himself before the fury boiling under his skin took shape. Or he wouldn’t be able to help her.
“I need a moment with my sister,” he said through gritted teeth.
Eryn didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. He only lifted a brow, flicking his gaze to Eloria—because Loren’s orders meant nothing to him. Loren might be the prince, but it was Eloria he answered to.
Loren stared at his little sister, begging her without words to understand. To give him this.
Eloria held his gaze for a long, unreadable moment. Then, finally, she gave a small, deliberate nod.
Eryn inclined his head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Loren waited until the door shut behind him, listening for his footsteps to fade beyond earshot.
“We’re not sending her back,” Loren said.
“Of course we aren’t,” Eloria scoffed.
Some of the tension in Loren’s chest eased—but not enough.
“She can’t know,” he said. “If you let them question her about this—it will push her right back into his arms.”
Eloria’s gaze cut back to him. “You think she’d still run back to him if she knew what he’s capable of?”
“She knows. He’s hurt her before. And she was the one who patched me up after he…” Loren looked away, unable to stand the pity that softened her stare. “None of that kept her from trying to go back to him after you ambushed her with that awful dinner.”
Eloria stilled.
“She nearly died, Eloria,” Loren said, his voice rough. “The zal’vorr were herding her into the forest. If I hadn’t gotten to her in time…”
“I’m sorry.” Eloria murmured. “I—it wasn’t my intention to put her in any danger. She’s your mate. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” Loren exhaled, trying to focus as the shadows hissed in his ears. “I told her about the bond.”
Eloria’s head snapped up. “And?”
“And she completely lost control of her power.” Loren shook his head, clenching his jaw. “She’s a danger to herself and everyone around her. Seeing this—” he gestured at the bodies, his stomach twisting “It would only make it worse.”
Eloria bit her lip, staring down at the bodies. “I can try to delay calls for her to be questioned, but…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I won’t be able to protect her from them indefinitely, Loren. You need to fix this.”
Loren bristled, the shadows snapping at the command.
“I’ll help her learn to use her power, but I won’t use that to manipulate her into accepting a bond with me,” he snapped. “It’s wrong, Eloria. Mate bonds are sacred. They should be freely given—”
“We’ve all had to do things we don’t like in the past twenty years, Loren.” She leaned forward, gathering the shroud in her hands and spreading it gently over the bodies. “How many pyres do we have to light before you stop wallowing in guilt and start trying to fix this?”