Chapter Two
KAEL
My hand trembles when I lift the decanter. The motion is ritual—pour, stall, swallow—because saying anything will break something worse than silence.
I wrap my fingers around the cup; nothing steadies the desperation that riots through my chest. My muscles coil so tight the cup trembles against Council Hollow’s table.
Everyone notices.
Their eyes are fixed on my traitorous grip that belies my calm exterior.
The tension in Council Hollow is thick and oppressive. Every council member holds their breath. Waiting for me to speak. Truthfully, I don’t know what to fucking say. I haven’t spoken in days. I can’t. She’s gone.
She’s the wound that never closes—always bleeding somewhere beneath the armor.
Therion’s unwavering presence to my right offers companionship I sorely need, because the wrath that emanates from Ronyn drenches the room—the full weight of it meant for me.
It’s Lady Sylvaine who speaks first, cutting through the silence. She clears her throat, pulls her shoulders back in that regal way only she can. “Prince Kael, what of Princess Nalya? What is her condition?”
I sigh, exhausted. “She’s in the dungeons.” My voice sounds like someone else’s—not the voice of a king, and not the voice of a protective brother, either. It’s the voice of a coward.
Eldric cuts in. “The dungeons? Why in the Stars is the true Princess of Zerynthia in the dungeons?” The old courtier is a stickler for propriety, despite operating in the trees.
I’ve been waiting for this—the questions. There are so many fucking questions. “She bears the Mark of Morrathys. She’s…” I trail off, searching for the right words to tell them everything’s gone to shit.
“She’s drifting between her true self and her Marked self. She’s dangerous,” Therion offers. “Rubi has her on a purifying tonic, but she’s not herself. Occasionally lucid, but mostly… violent.”
Eldric recoils, shock palpable.
Ronyn curses something indecipherable under his breath.
Lady Sylvaine huffs a disbelieving breath. She shifts in her seat, steeling herself for whatever she’s about to say. “And will we finally be given an explanation about what in the Stars happened after your return from the lost kingdom?”
“He fucking gave up my best friend—that’s what happened!” Ronyn snarls, teeth bared. “Zerynthia at the cost of Dravara, isn’t that right, King Kael?” he spits my name like a malediction.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel it snake through my bloodstream, insidious and damning.
I take a long draw from my cup, letting the liquid burn all the way to my stomach as if it can chase away my pain. As if anything can.
“You all wanted me to stick to the plan—Elyssara for Nalya. That’s what you got.” I aim for bite, but it comes out hollow.
Like everything else now.
Ronyn’s fist slams against the table, his eyes bloodshot and inflamed, still wearing the deep cut on his forehead from Maldrak’s army.
“Did you think to tell her? To fucking prepare her for walking into a trap? You used her, you fucking bastard!” He launches himself across the table, but Daelen leaps to his feet to restrain him.
I don’t even flinch. Let him hit me. Let him tear me apart. I deserve it.
“Of course he fucking thought about it, Ronyn,” Therion snaps in defense, shooting to stand, and bracing his hands on the table. “He changed the plan not three days after meeting you all. This was never meant to happen. Rhyven fucked us. Let’s not lose sight of the real enemy.”
Ronyn shakes his head with barely leashed rage.
“Elyssara was retribution for Zak. It’s my fault,” I breathe, and I can’t stop the memories of her naked form, her torn clothes, Zak’s entitled face.
I shake my head to dislodge it and fail.
“Oh, fuck off with that. Son, any one of us would’ve hung him for what he did to the poor girl.
Rhyven will get what’s coming to him, but you have to stop feeling sorry for yourself and lead us out of this,” Merrik says.
“Be the king we want back on that throne. Be the king we’ve all fought with our fucking lives for,” he pushes with conviction.
He’s right.
Merrik is always fucking right.
He was right about Rhyven.
“I need to know why you did it,” Seren’s hushed words cut through my thoughts as sharply as if she’d yelled them. “Why did you let them take her?”
I meet her gaze. Tears rim her eyes, but her jaw is set. Defiant. Strong. I know I owe her the truth.
“Nalya was held at knifepoint out of view of Elyssara. If I didn’t say what he wanted me to say, he’d kill her. It was her life or Elyssara’s trust. And I chose the only thing that would let them both live—even if it killed me.”
It did kill me.
It is killing me.
I feel empty without the tether. Like I’m missing a limb; my other hand keeps searching for what’s no longer there.
I don’t tell them the whole story. After Torvyn, Zak, Rhyven—I don’t trust anyone anymore. Trust is like a blade—you only know its edge once it’s already in your back.
“Regardless, we need to make a plan,” Merrik says softly, and I note the hint of sympathy in his tone, and I fucking hate it.
I don’t want pity.
I want retribution.
I want her.
“Maldrak will be trying to break her mentally—just like he did with Nalya. He’ll start with making it look like you gave her up willingly, Kael. We know how he works—twisting, distorting…,” Therion murmurs, his voice low and quiet. Like he still bleeds for the way Maldrak destroyed what was his.
A single tear runs down Seren’s cheek, but she sits a little straighter. She wipes the tear away with the back of her hand, eyes defiant and raw. “Then we get her back.”
Silence settles over the room, heavy and expectant.
I might hate myself for what I let happen.
But there is no one—god or mortal—that will stand between me and my Starbound.
“That’s the plan.”