Chapter 31
Irace back to the reception, catching up to Miss Omon and the guard just as they’re reentering the throne room. “Axira?” she asks. “Are you alright? You’re sweaty.”
The Mercyenforcer and I exchange a glance. No, I’m not alright. Kade is involved with a Skyborn royal. I knew he was a liar. But this? It gives him a huge advantage. Not to mention evidence that he’s probably lying about why he’s here.
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
The guard stands back, allowing us to enter. The scene inside has changed. Everyone is seated at the long table as servers weave in and out to refill plates and cups. Everyone except Caelus. I dig my nails into my fist.
I help Miss Omon to a seat, begrudgingly sliding into a chair beside her.
“You should eat. The food is really good.” It pains me to say it.
Scents of roasted meat and fresh bread waft past me, but my stomach turns.
I need to find Caelus. I need to tell him about Kade, about Ivy, and make sure our plan can still work.
I need to see…that he is okay. Emotion wells up in my chest, and I bite the inside of my cheek to urge it back down.
I hate how much I think about him. How much it feels like I need him.
The Benevolent clears his throat—a soft, deliberate sound—and backs straighten.
Conversations die mid-sentence, movements still.
Draped in robes that shimmer like a promise everyone believes, he surveys the assembly.
He steps forward, hands clasped loosely behind his back, the glint of his jewelry catching on the sterile light overhead.
“I’ve forgotten my manners and have not formally introduced our leading contestants, who have settled on a match. ”
The doors creak open just then, and the Benevolent keeps talking over it.
But I stop listening as Caelus steps inside.
A ripple of excitement moves down the table among the Skyborn guests. But as he emerges from the corner of the throne room, the room swarms with whispers. A few rise from their seats as Caelus strides toward the table with a limping gait, each step uneven as if it’s tight with pain.
I grip my seat.
One of his eyes is swollen nearly shut, a deep bruise spreading across his cheek like a shadow that won’t lift.
Dried blood traces the corner of his mouth and a jagged cut splits his brow.
He’s dressed in fine clothes, draped in Skyborn purple and silver.
He walks toward the table, a clear signal that he is still one of us.
“What’s wrong with the prince?” someone holding a tray of plates shouts.
Caelus walks right past the contestants to his father. The Benevolent pats his shoulder affectionately. “Are you alright, son?”
“I am. Thank you for your concern,” he says, waving to the guests.
“And I’m sorry I am late. I am moving slower today.
As you all know, I am competing in the tournament to find a bride.
And well, I was a bit overzealous in the second trial and hurt myself.
” He squares his shoulders, but I don’t miss the tremor in his limbs.
I stand. He’s lying.
Caelus’s ice-blue eyes find mine, unblinking. He gives the faintest shake of his head. Frustration flares hot in my chest. I can feel his will pressing against mine, silently pleading. Sit down. Stay quiet. He wants me to play along, in whatever new game the Benevolent has just started.
I force myself to sit, fists clenched.
“I thank you for your concern, but Medic Buntin will get me all patched up, don’t worry,” Caelus says, limping off the stage to raucous applause, and approaches the other seat beside me. I pull out the chair, and he eases into it with a wince.
“Where was I?” The Benevolent strokes his chin.
“Are you alright?” I whisper.
“I will be fine, I promise you.”
“He did this to you?”
“He ordered it done.”
I tense. He runs his hand along the back of mine underneath the table, and for a moment I let myself savor the touch. Then I pull my hand away.
“I have so much to tell you,” I say into my shoulder, trying to keep my voice as low as I can as the Benevolent drones on about how harrowing the Trial of Loyalty was last tournament, ten years ago. And how brave his son is and how proud he is of him. “How do you pretend so well?” I ask.
“What other choice is there?” he murmurs.
“I was so worried he was going to pull you out of the competition completely.”
“He’s too smart to do that. He wants me to be killed in the tournament to keep his hands clean.”
“He fears his people.”
“He fears their power.”
“Because they love you.”
Caelus’s eyes slide past me, toward a crack in the stone, toward anywhere else.
What would happen if Caelus became Ethyria’s leader?
When we talk about getting rid of his father, he never talks about taking his place.
But we have enough to contend with at the moment.
I am not going to pile questions about ruling Ethyria on top of it.
“He asked how matching is going,” he finally says.
“And—”
“I told him I haven’t made any decisions.
But he said if I don’t pick a match soon, he will provide one for me.
He will not eliminate me. I was beginning to think getting disqualified could be a strategy, but…
” His voice trails off, and after a beat he says, “He is going to make sure I make it to the third trial.”
“Why? What’s happening in the third trial?”
“My death, I suppose.” His eyes search mine, but something flickers there beneath the surface—something unguarded. It holds me still.
“Only one trial remains,” the Benevolent says loudly, and it steals my attention. “Which means our third elimination is upon us. To make it extra special, we will do it in front of our special guests.”
My heart stops.
“You’ve started to make connections, you’ve tried out a few people and are closing in on which contestant is your truest-love match, I hope.
Those of you with a solid match—well, you’ve already begun to distinguish yourselves.
Trust. Devotion. The spark of something real.
I want good Skyborn patriots bred out of our winning couple.
So we need strong matches.” He pauses, letting the word settle, watching our faces flinch with hope and fear.
“But those without a declared match?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Love isn’t a privilege granted lightly.
If you haven’t prioritized bonding with someone at your many given opportunities”—his gaze drifts across the room, landing on me—“your time is up. When your name is called, declare officially who you will partner with through the rest of the tournament. They must accept and confess feeling mutual. Then both of you may join us on the dais. If you do not have a match, you will be disqualified.”
Kade and I lock eyes across the room. He smirks nastily. We aren’t saving each other this time.
“Stonebound Talia Granthorn,” the Benevolent calls.
Jace rises at once. His broad shoulders are squared and his face shines with a kind of boyish confidence.
Talia confesses he is her match as he bolts up beside her, laughing, their fingers tangling instinctively like they’ve practiced it.
They run—not walk—toward the front, hands raised in a burst of giddy defiance. The room erupts in applause.
“Saltblood Rhythe Marek.”
The name cracks through the applause like a slap. He does not move. He sits motionless, a wall of muscle and fury, arms crossed over his chest like he’s daring anyone to call him out.
I look to see who is here at the dinner with him. But there is no one that appears to be with him.
“Ivy,” he says.
“Do you accept?” The Benevolent glares at him—long and cold—not even looking at her.
“Yes.” Ivy says something too inaudible to hear before scampering to Rhythe’s side on the stage. I watch Lira and Talia for a reaction, but they give off none.
“Grainfolk Mae Reaver.”
A gasp and then laughter. Dorian is already on his feet, sweeping Mae into his arms like something out of a story. He nuzzles her neck, murmurs something that makes her blush, and the two of them walk to the stage like they’re already winners.
I glance at Caelus, but he hasn’t moved. His jaw is locked. Watching.
“Grainfolk Kade Duvrou.”
There’s a beat of silence. Kade stirs in his chair before calling Callie’s name. She glances at Caelus, but he won’t look at her. She fidgets when she agrees, joining Kade’s side. I guess they have to pick someone or be disqualified and “help with Heartfiller research,” whatever that means.
“Saltblood Axira Merreri.”
My heart thunders in my chest. Caelus stares at me with a question in his eyes, a question that I don’t have an answer for.
I need a match if I am going to make it to the end.
The Benevolent’s left me with no other choice—declare I am in this with Caelus publicly or be disqualified.
It doesn’t have to mean anything at all.
He can’t have my heart. But he can have my hand.
“Prince Caelus Altair,” I say.
Whispers sweep through the contestants. Caelus’s eyes widen, staring at me in disbelief. His mouth parts, gazing from me to his father.
“Son?”
He swallows. “I, uhm, I accept.”
The world feels like it trembles beneath my feet as the crowd watches us, smiling through whispered conversations. The Benevolent watches me with a malice I can feel as I walk to the stage.