Chapter 34
A day had passed since her encounter with Lyon. A whole day, and still his words twisted through her mind. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard them before—it was just that, for some reason, they struck deeper this time.
It occurred to her that spending so much time with Xander—seeing the way he looked at her, spoke to her, treated her—had made her forget, if only for a moment, the true weight of who she was.
The darkness within her.
Because no matter how hard she tried to reason with it, to absorb it, the truth remained.
She was Ruin.
She had ruined countless lives, and would likely ruin countless more before the King’s reign was brought to an end… and her with it.
She lifted her head as she moved through the kitchen.
It was late, and the cooks had long since retired to their quarters. The air was still, the silence so complete she could hear nothing but the quiet rhythm of her own breathing.
Sleep felt foreign tonight.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t coax her mind into stillness, so she had retreated to the kitchen in search of a drink. The chalice was cool against her palm as she hoisted herself onto the counter and took a long lug.
The silence was so thick she could hear every swallow as the ale slid down her throat.
She wasn’t going to sleep tonight.
Not with Lyon’s words replaying over and over in her mind.
Not with Xander in Relenthia.
That was worse.
Not knowing whether he was safe. Whether he would return at all.
Xander had somehow quieted something inside her.
Her visits with him, though often painful, cut through the monotony of the black and grey she had grown so accustomed to.
They gave her something she hadn’t realised she was missing.
Like a gulp of fresh air after spending too long beneath the surface.
She hadn’t realised how much she had come to look forward to those nights. How much she liked being with him.
Until he wasn’t there.
Ellaryn shivered as her boots echoed across the marble floor, each step carrying through the empty halls as she made her way towards the vast pantry in search of more liquor.
The heavy door groaned as she pulled it open, and she eased it shut behind her, wincing at the noise.
Inside, shelves stretched into the darkness, stacked high with sacks of flour, baskets of fruit and produce, and crates of meat packed into the cold storage.
The latest imports sat amongst them, untouched since their arrival a few days ago.
It was strange to think so much food could exist beneath the same roof as so much hunger.
The King never came down here.
He left the slaves and cooks to their work, never bothering himself with the things that kept his castle running.
There, tucked neatly along the far wall, were bottles of wine, ale, and something considerably stronger.
Ellaryn smirked to herself before wrapping a hand around a dark bottle. Usually, she would never have been this bold. This defiant.
But after sneaking through the city with Xander, plotting the King’s demise, stealing a bottle of liquor seemed almost… tame.
She unscrewed the lid and pressed the bottle to her mouth, taking a long swallow.
It burned pleasantly down her throat. Then something else caught her eye. Something familiar.
The entire bottom row of the shelf was filled with blackened bottles, each marked with intricate gold-and-red detailing.
The King’s wine.
No one else in Cinders drank it. Not the guests. Not the Chancellors. No one.
Ellaryn stared at the bottles, a small, reckless smile tugging at her lips.
Just one sip, she thought to herself. A silent fuck you to the dark bastard himself.
She set the bottle of brown liquor aside, balancing it carefully on a nearby barrel, then crouched in front of the shelf.
The leather of her trousers gave a faint squeak as she lowered.
She froze; the noise sounding impossibly loud in the silence of the castle, and Ellaryn found herself holding her breath, just listening for a moment.
To her relief, there was nothing—no sounds, no voices, no people.
Slowly, she exhaled and reached for one of the blackened bottles. Her eyes darted around the pantry as she lifted it, fingers tracing the ornate labels and engravings. She popped a grape into her mouth, breaking it from a vine and then another.
Then she pulled the cork, the faint pop seeming deafening in the quiet. Her pulse quickened, and only seemed to thrum harder when she lifted the bottle to her lips, relishing the thrill.
But then—
everything stopped.
Cold swept through her body, making everything go numb. Her heart stuttered uncontrollably, fingers shaking around the neck of the bottle.
The smell reached her first—sharp, metallic… painfully familiar.
Then her stomach lurched. She knew that smell. She had known it her entire life. It haunted her. Followed her like a shadow that never waned.
Slowly, Ellaryn lowered the bottle and peered inside even though every bone in her body was telling her to let it go, to get out, to put the bottle back where she’d found it.
She tilted it towards the dim light, one eye shut as she glanced into the narrow tube.
At first, she saw nothing.
But then, small bubbles rose through the liquid. No. Not bubbles. Something else. Dark clots floated beneath the surface, thick and congealed, breaking up the crimson.
Her breath caught.
No.
Her mind rejected the answer before it even formed.
But she knew in that moment.
Every time the King held a chalice in his hands, every party, every torturous meal—the King was drinking blood.
The realisation struck like a blow to the chest, and before she knew it, before she could even rationalise it, the bottle slipped from her fingers, shattering against the marble.
Red liquid exploded across the floor, splashing over her boots, her trousers, her hands. It seeped into the cracks between the marble tiles, spreading in thin, crimson veins as though the floor itself were bleeding.
Ellaryn just stared at it.
Blood.
Everywhere. Enough to keep her awake at night, and every night after that.
Then, A light flickered underneath the door, and voices followed—murmurs and heavy boots.
The Knights were coming. They had heard the glass, heard the thud.
Ellaryn’s head snapped towards the doorway, her heart hammering so loudly she could hear it in her eardrums.
There was only one entrance to the kitchen.
One way in.
One way out.
And they were coming straight towards her.
Think.
Her boots crunched over the broken glass as she backed away.
Too late.
There was nowhere to hide.
The knights were going to find her, and the King would punish her.
Then her eyes caught the window above the sink, and she made the decision before she had time to question it; her feet carried her across the room.
She scrambled onto the counter and reached for the window, prying it open.
Her trembling fingers caught the latch. She shoved it, silently praying to the Gods for the first time in her life, and… it moved.
Relief barely had time to register before she hauled herself through.
She slipped onto the other side, pulling the window shut behind her just as the sound of footsteps grew louder inside.
She pressed herself against the outer wall, barely breathing, then she ran.
Keeping to the shadows of the courtyard, she moved along the castle walls until she reached the balcony of her chambers.
The vines.
Her hands found them immediately.
She grabbed hold and hauled herself upwards, fingers burning as her boots scraped against the stone.
She didn’t look down. Never looking down.
Her nails dug into the ropes as she dragged herself higher, refusing to stop until she could feel the edge of the balcony beneath her hands.
With one final pull, she swung a leg over the railing and collapsed onto the stone.
She didn’t move. She just sat there, allowing her heart rate to settle.
Her chest heaved, and her throat scratched as she leaned her back against the balcony wall, dragging in ragged breaths.
For a long moment, she did nothing but breathe until slowly, surely, the tension began to drain from her muscles.
She was safe.
For now.