Chapter 62 Storm the Palace
(with a Flower Lord)
Arabella
The palace wards hit me like a wall of bricks, stopping us cold before we even reached the manicured gardens.
“Fuck,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead where I’d smacked into the invisible barrier. “That’s new.”
Sebastian winced beside me, shaking out his hand where he’d touched the magical boundary. “Auremar must have upgraded the defenses after your… departure.”
“You mean after I was kidnapped by my now-husband?” I shot him a wry smile. “Seems a bit like closing the stable door after the horse has already been stolen and married to a villain, doesn’t it?”
Thorne, ever the pragmatist, drew a knife and tested the edge of the barrier. The blade sparked violently against the invisible wall, leaving a brief shimmer of golden light in its wake.
“Can you break it, Lady Blackrose?” he asked, his gravelly voice low.
I studied the barrier, feeling the texture of the magic with my senses. It was stronger than I would have expected from Auremar’s mages. The magic had a familiar signature, though, something that tickled at the edges of my memory.
Through our bond, I could feel Kazimir’s battle rage like distant thunder, a storm of power and darkness that both thrilled and terrified me.
Triumph surged through the connection, and I knew his attack was going well.
I forced my fear for him aside, keeping just enough awareness to monitor his status.
“Lady Blackrose?” Thorne prompted again.
“I’m thinking,” I replied, my eyes tracing the golden shimmer of the ward.
The Palace Garden stretched before us, a riot of color and scent in the morning light.
Topiaries shaped like mythical beasts stood sentinel among beds of exotic flowers, their forms casting long shadows across the perfectly manicured lawns.
Beyond them rose Sunspire Palace itself, its white stone towers gleaming in the light, windows glittering like jewels.
I’d spent countless hours in these gardens as a child, before my father decided I was better off locked in a tower.
The memory of those happier times hit me with unexpected force—running through the maze with Sebastian, hiding from our tutors, watching the pixies that made their homes in the hollow centers of the topiaries.
Sebastian had kissed me under that oak tree, the one with the swing. It had been awkward and sweet and nothing like the consuming fire I felt with Kazimir. But it had been a moment of innocence before everything went to hell.
The palace, the gardens, the memories—they belonged to a different Arabella. A girl who believed in heroes and happy endings, who wanted to believe her father loved her, who didn’t know the taste of blood or the feel of shadow magic curling through her veins.
That girl was gone, burned away by betrayal and darkness and the love of a villain.
I was Lady Arabella Blackrose now. And I’d never felt more in control of my destiny.
“Stand back,” I said, my voice hardening as I stepped forward to face the barrier again.
Sebastian’s eyes widened. “What are you—”
“Just trust me.”
I closed my eyes, reaching for my magic. The light came first, as it always did—the healing power of my bloodline, bright and pure. But I pushed past it, diving deeper, searching for the darkness I’d discovered with Kazimir’s help.
There it was, waiting for me. Shadow and dominion, twisted together like lovers. I wrapped my will around it, drawing it up and out.
The Heirloom on my head grew warm, then hot, responding to my call. Power surged through me, far more than I’d expected, and I gasped at the intensity of it.
Show them what you’re capable of, a voice whispered in my mind. It wasn’t Kazimir’s voice, but it wasn’t entirely foreign, either. Break their pathetic defenses. Take what’s yours.
I opened my eyes, raising my hands toward the barrier. Shadow magic coiled around me, darker than night, shot through with veins of gold.
“Lady Arabella Evenfall,” I said, my voice echoing strangely in the still air, “daughter of this house, demands entry.”
The barrier shimmered, recognizing my bloodline, but held firm.
I smiled, a cold expression that would have shocked the girl I once was. “I thought not. Very well.”
I pushed, not with my hands but with my will, sending a surge of shadow magic against the barrier.
It struck with the force of a battering ram, causing the entire ward to flare golden in response.
For a moment, the two magics warred against each other, light against dark, creation against destruction.
Then I reached deeper, drawing on the Heirloom’s connection to the ley lines themselves.
Power flooded through me, raw and ancient, and I shaped it with the techniques I’d learned watching Kazimir.
Not brute force, but precision—finding the weak points in the ward’s structure and exploiting them, using dominion magic to command rather than destroy.
“Dissipate,” I whispered, my voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.
The barrier hesitated, as if the magic itself was considering rebellion. Then it unraveled, threads of golden light dissolving silently into the morning air like mist under sunlight. No alarms. No shattering. Just a ward that decided—or was convinced—it had never existed in the first place.
I staggered, suddenly lightheaded from the effort. Sebastian caught my elbow, steadying me.
“That was—” he began, then shook his head, apparently at a loss for words.
“Impressive,” Thorne finished for him, a rare note of approval in his voice. “Lord Blackrose has taught you well.”
“Let’s not stand around congratulating ourselves.” But as we hurried forward, I allowed myself to feel a moment of pride anyway.
We slipped through the gardens, keeping to the shadows. The palace grounds were eerily empty—most of the guards had likely been called to defend against Kazimir’s attack. Still, we moved with caution, aware that even a single alarm could doom our mission.
The service entrance was just where I remembered it, a modest door set into the base of the east wing, partially hidden by a trellis of climbing roses. Two guards stood watch, looking nervous and jumpy.
Only two—that didn’t bode well. I’d expected many more to guard the captive heroes.
“I’ll handle this,” Thorne murmured, drawing a pair of wickedly curved daggers.
“Wait,” Sebastian said, his voice barely audible. He gestured subtly, and I watched as tiny seedpods fell from his sleeve, landing silently near the guards’ feet.
Within seconds, the pods burst open, releasing a cloud of pollen that the guards inhaled before they could react. Their eyes rolled back, and they slumped to the ground, unconscious.
I raised an eyebrow at Sebastian. “Sleep pollen? That’s new.”
He shrugged, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I’ve been experimenting.”
“Experimenting is Griffin’s job,” I said with a small smile. “But I’m not complaining.”
Thorne moved forward, checking the guards to ensure they were truly out. With a practiced motion, he slit their throats quickly and silently.
Sebastian winced but said nothing.
“Sorry,” I said, not really meaning it. “But we can’t afford to leave enemies at our backs.”
“I know,” he replied quietly. “I just… never mind. Let’s keep moving.”
We slipped through the service door and into the palace. The corridors were dimly lit and deserted. I led the way, navigating the familiar passages with ease despite the years since I’d last walked them. My newly restored memories made it easier, and if I didn’t remember a turn, Sebastian did.
The wine cellar was located deep beneath the palace, accessible via a narrow staircase that wound down from the kitchens. We encountered two more guards on our way, dispatching them as quietly as we had the first pair.
The cellar door was locked. I placed my palm against it, feeling for the mechanism with tendrils of shadow magic. A moment later, the lock clicked open.
“Useful trick,” Thorne murmured.
I shrugged. “Kazimir taught me. Apparently, Dark Lords have strong opinions about locks being suggestions rather than obstacles.”
We descended into shadows thick with dust and the musty sweetness of centuries-old vintages.
As we entered the main cellar, magical sconces along the wall flared to life with bright flames, sputtered, and then almost died.
When they stabilized, they were dimmer than I’d hoped, creating deep pockets of shadow throughout the large space.
Even the magic of Sunspire was struggling in the wake of the ley lines’ corruption.
Row upon row of bottles stretched into darkness.
Ancient oak barrels lined the walls, some large enough to hide a body—or several.
I ran my fingers along the cold stone walls, searching for hidden catches while Thorne tested each barrel with soft taps.
Sebastian moved between the towering wine racks, his violet eyes scanning for anything of interest, occasionally pressing his palm against a rack as if feeling for a hidden lever.
No sign of the prisoners.
We searched methodically, moving deeper into the vast cellar. The air was cool and damp, heavy with the scent of aged wine and earth. But as we reached the far end of the chamber, it became clear that there were no captives.
“They’re not here,” Sebastian said, stating the obvious.
“I can see that,” I snapped. “The question is, where are they?”
A noise at the entrance made us all freeze. At the sound of several pairs of boots clunking down the stairs, I slipped into a dark alcove and pulled shadows around myself like a cloak. Thorne and Sebastian were silent as they hid, as well.
Four guards entered at the far end of the cellar, carrying torches that brightened up the area better than the sconces.
“I swear I heard something,” one of them said, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Probably just rats,” another replied. “This place is infested with them.”