Chapter 9 #2
It took some time before Madan realized Luce had stopped speaking and that the only sound still pressing in on his eardrums was that of the snapping logs in the fire. Ehrun hadn’t spoken a word as he endured Phulan’s tattooing process. No one had. Like Madan, everyone merely watched.
Watched and waited.
And as the light faded, the ink settling into his skin, Ehrun’s red eyes softened. For the first time in over a hundred years, Madan looked upon the man who once treated him, a vampire amongst dhemons, like any other.
Ehrun took in each of them, strangers who’d plucked him from the darkness of his own mind, before settling on Madan, the only familiar face amongst them.
His lips parted for a long moment, the tips of his sharp teeth glinting in the firelight as he looked at all Madan had become—truly seeing him after decades of blind hatred.
Then all at once, the great dhemon—the Crowe’s fiercest general and terrifying false king—sank to the ground and wept.
Air rushed from Ariadne’s lungs as Loren’s heavy weight landed fully on top of her, unmoving.
She choked out another sob and peeled her hand away from her face.
Being there, on the floor with someone she hated so much holding her down…
everything about it had taken her right back to those moments in the cells of the dhemon keep.
Phantom hands—except that this time, they were not phantom. They were Loren’s.
And he had planned to do precisely what those monsters had done to her.
Another shuddering cry cracked through her lips as she pushed away, desperately working to put distance between herself and the motionless King of Valenul.
Crimson stained his silver hair on the side of his head, though it did not gush like a fatal wound.
Only when she had pulled her legs free and her back pressed against the arm of a chair did Ariadne take in the rest of the scene.
Nikolai Jensen, the King’s Sword, stood behind Loren holding a dagger, the blunt hilt shining with blood. His brown eyes rounded like saucers as he looked from Loren—his best friend and King—to Ariadne, mouth agape in horror at what he had just done.
But it was not the first time Nikolai had saved her.
Indeed, mere weeks ago, he had stopped Melia from well and truly beheading her.
He had swayed the wicked mage by promising he would return Ariadne back to Valenul.
Back to Loren. Yet even so, he had not followed through.
Instead, he let her go, instructing Phulan and Kall to hide her away where Melia would not find them.
And then he ran. He returned to Laeton empty-handed—a dangerous place to be with Loren Gard on the throne.
This, however, far exceeded Nikolai’s previous transgressions against the Crown. Rather than claim to have no knowledge of her whereabouts despite helping her escape, he went so far as to attack the very King he had sworn to protect.
“Why?” she breathed, the air hitching from her lungs as she clung to some semblance of calm. Tears continued to fall, the warm streaks of liquid carving new paths down her cheeks from her upright position.
At her question, Nikolai looked down at the dagger in his hand and back at Loren. “He… I could not let him…”
Ariadne shook her head, attention split between the two men before her and the open doors where anyone could walk in on them. “He is your—”
“He is cruel.” The words left Nikolai so fast, even he appeared shocked by them. He snapped his mouth shut. For a long moment, he studied her before whispering, “I could never stand by and watch as anyone tried to…”
“Nikolai…”
“He was my best friend,” he continued, gazing back down at the unconscious Loren.
“But he is not who he once was. And you…” His voice trailed away for a moment as he collected his thoughts.
“I know who he has become, and you and the people of Valenul mean more to me than a stolen throne. It is why I came back after Algorath.”
Her breathing finally regulated, Ariadne reached behind her to hook her elbow over the armrest and haul herself up. Still, her legs shook as she righted her skirts, the bodice of her gown hanging uncomfortably loose. “You came back for a stolen throne?”
“I came back,” Nikolai explained, “to stop him before he could do something terrible.”
At that, Ariadne eyed the sword at his hip. “Then kill him.”
Nikolai’s face twisted in pain. “You know as well as I that it is not so simple.”
Because killing a King in cold blood without the support of an entire army meant suffering the very permanent consequences.
Someone else would rise to the vacant throne in his place.
The new General, perhaps, or even Lord Damen Gard, who would be, quite possibly, even more vengeful with both his sons dead.
She and Nikolai would not live to see the dawn.
“Come with me,” Ariadne urged, pushing back against the chair to rise up on her feet. “You can escape with us. Help us. Help me.”
For a long moment, Nikolai stared back at her, face pale.
Likely the only reason no one else had come to assist their King was due to the Sword’s presence and the quiet that had descended after her struggle with Loren.
If he was seen with a bloody dagger in his hand, very accurate assumptions would begin to crop up, and he would be found a traitor just like her. He had no other choice.
“Us?” Nikolai finally whispered. “Us? You mean dhemons?”
Her heart sank.
Between them, Loren groaned, but still did not move. They stilled, watching and waiting for him to open his eyes. Only when they were certain he was not yet healed enough to come to did they refocus on one another.
“You helped us before,” Ariadne pressed. “We could use your insight.”
“And by that,” he said, a crease forming between his brows, “you mean you can use my knowledge of Loren’s plans.”
“Well…yes.”
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he shifted his attention back to the prone figure on the floor. “He is still my best friend. I will find another way.”
Ariadne shook her head again, the bruise on her face throbbing from the motion. “Friends do not treat each other like shields to protect themselves.”
As though on cue, two sets of rapid footsteps had Ariadne holding her breath. Ribs aching from where she was kicked, she looked again at the bloody dagger and stretched out her hand. “Give it to me.”
Nikolai shifted the weapon out of her reach. A hardness returned to his gaze—resolve to remain in his position, no doubt—and it was his turn to shake his head at her. “You will kill him. I still have to keep him safe.”
The unspoken for now hung heavy in the air between them.
“If someone finds you with it,” Ariadne hissed, taking a step forward, “you will not be alive to protect him at all.”
Yanking a kerchief from his pocket, Nikolai wiped down the hilt before shoving the blade back into place at his hip. The cloth appeared and vanished within seconds as though he had more than enough practice of wiping down weapons to keep himself safe.
The footsteps grew louder as they hurried in the drawing room’s direction.
Ariadne’s chance to escape was dwindling fast, and something told her that Nikolai would continue to play his role as a good little guard dog for as long as he needed.
So long as he was there, she would not be able to get to Loren… or to escape him.
Rather than argue with a soldier determined to uphold his duties to a King whom even he claimed to be cruel, Ariadne said nothing as she took a step towards the balcony doors.
Then another. She needed to put distance between them and hope that maybe, just maybe, he would let her go long enough that she could get her friends safely out of Laeton.
As though summoned by her thoughts, Revelie and Camilla slid through the door to the drawing room. The former had fire in her eyes as she took in the scene before her. The latter’s face had swollen to the point of closing one of her eyes entirely.
“We need to go, Ari,” Revelie said, finding Camilla’s hand with her own and pulling her farther into the room, edging around the unconscious King and his Sword.
Ariadne’s heart stuttered, and she turned back to Nikolai. “Stay out of our way.”
“I cannot let you leave.” The mask of an obedient soldier returned, cutting off the fear and uncertainty that had slipped through the cracks of Nikolai’s facade. “Do not make me stop you.”
Shouts rose up in a cacophony of confusion outside.
A bell rang. Screams of terror and a booming voice calling for order had all four of them freezing and turning towards the sound.
The curtains had been drawn, what with morning’s impending light, and meant that those outside were Rusan soldiers—often last to be trained and used as shields for the night-walking Caersans of the Society.
“Guards to me!” Nikolai called as he edged toward the covered balcony door closest to him, drawing his sword. Within moments, a thunder of footsteps echoed through the corridors, signalling the rapid approach of more soldiers who would bar their escape.
Ariadne sucked in a sharp breath. How dare he? She cast her sights around the room in a desperate search for something—anything—they could use to protect themselves from the sun. They needed to leave and run if they must.
A quilted blanket caught her eye, and Ariadne ran to it, her ribs screaming in protest from the movement. As though reading her mind, Revelie and Camilla followed suit, flinging open a chest in the corner to reveal more blankets, which they could drape over themselves like makeshift cloaks.
The balcony door burst open, letting in a massive shadow that bore down on Nikolai with red eyes and spiraling horns.
Lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing sharp teeth and even longer, more lethal fangs.
A huge blade swung down at the King’s Sword, who blocked the attack with vampiric speed at the same moment the summoned guards poured in through the hallway door.
Azriel took in the arriving adversaries, noted Camilla’s injuries and Revelie’s fear. Finally, his attention found Ariadne’s bruised face and torn wedding dress, and his face twisted with a deeper loathing than she had ever seen from him before.
Then, with a roar, all hell broke loose.