Chapter 10 #2
In the middle were the third and fourth princes.
Both were exact replicas of each other. Twins.
One leaned in to whisper something in the other’s ear, and their easy laughter carried across the room.
Imani arched a brow that their father allowed them to continue on in such a playful manner in front of his subjects.
Everything about them told Imani that Magnus indulged them often, and they were spoiled because of his favoritism.
They were broad-shouldered, like the others, and had dark hair and green eyes like their brothers, and they wore circlets like Saevel and the second prince.
Kiran’s signature was so distinct it alerted her that he was there without even seeing him. Indeed, Imani felt him the moment he neared the throne room.
Imani shuttered her expression into practiced indifference, as if the four brothers did not fascinate her beyond belief. As if she was not haunted by visions of the sixth one, the Serpent Prince, controlling her forever, watching her every move and judging, ensuring complete obedience.
But where was the fifth prince? She vaguely remembered his name was Respen. He was decidedly absent as the youngest prince slowly made his appearance in the doorway.
She forced herself to watch him head-on and let her gaze travel downward, taking him in. She needed to properly assess him in his home environment.
If Kiran was nervous, he did not show it, and neither would she. She could not afford to show any discomfort or uncertainty at this moment. Not here.
Without glancing at the crowd, he strode out, wearing a classic notch lapel jacket made of dark green velvet and, like his brothers, a black-diamond jeweled crown sat on top of his head.
It hadn’t really hit her that Kiran was an honest-to-gods prince until he wore his crown, and this revelation sent butterflies rushing through her.
His dark hair was different from last night.
It was shorter on the sides and a bit longer on top.
The new style showed off the harsh lines and angles of his face.
His cheekbones were sharp enough to carve open a few hearts, and his facial hair was also mostly gone, except for a slight shadow that only served to enhance his rugged appeal.
Imani tried to gaze at anything else, yet seeing him there, looking as he did? Well, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, even standing amongst his handsome brothers. Even when his features were set somewhere between boredom and irritation.
Still, while he hid it well, Imani sensed a bit of unease in his blank expression. As if he were not quite as used to the attention as his brothers were. As if he’d rather be in the background, like usual.
He moved to stand next to Saevel, and they both whispered something to each other, their expressions unreadable. Kiran gave his brother one nod before staring absently out into the crowd. Their friendship still puzzled her, but it was undeniable.
The room hushed, and the king was announced.
As with Kiran, she could feel Magnus drawing closer to the room, but only because the throne began humming ever so slightly.
Her hands tensed into fists, knuckles cracking.
His boots were near silent on the marble floors as his shadow appeared around the corner.
A handsome man, his black hair was longer and tied back, and heavy scruff cut along his strong jawline, displaying his full bottom lip. His unnerving green eyes—just like those of all his sons—slowly slid over the room like fingers caressing a body.
Even with his elven features, Kiran looked more like Magnus than any of his brothers. He was undeniably his father’s son—those questioning it were idiots. Both father and son had the same predatory glare that was halfway between a smirk and a scowl.
Dropping to her knees with everyone else, she bowed to the king of Niflheim without hesitation as he moved to sit on the massive throne.
“Rise.” His voice was gruff and thick.
Even after only watching him for a few brief moments, Imani could tell that Magnus effortlessly managed to intimidate everyone who crossed his path.
His presence, his height, his strength, his magical signature, his position and title, the harsh tone of his voice—they all ensured that anyone with less power cowered before him.
Imani couldn’t think of anyone with more power, except the dead queen of Essenheim, Dialora.
She didn’t account for Tanyl since his succession was obviously not.
Magnus sat casually on the throne, but his discerning eyes took in every inch of the new witches. He was watching them all like a deity, his gaze implacable, except when his eyes landed on the Norn witches in the middle.
The king frowned, and an angry line etched his forehead. Imani did her best to remain unmoved, but her shadows were thrashing under her skin at the look Magnus gave them.
Could he sense the echo shield? Could he sense the flesh magic hiding her brands and the crown of her head?
She didn’t get the chance to ponder it more, because Magnus held up his hands, and everyone’s gazes snapped forward instantly. “A word of warning before I officially welcome you to our kingdom—you witches are here by my grace, by my mercy. I can unmake you all.”
The way he said witches dripped with disdain, and there was a rumbling of conversation.
The king glanced around the room again with an intelligence gleaming behind his discerning gaze, a familiar look she’d seen on Kiran before. A few whispers tittered through the crowd.
“Silence,” Magnus commanded.
All noise ceased.
“I have a vision that one day our two kingdoms will be united as one. For so long, we’ve been plagued by war, starvation, darkness, and death.
This marks the beginning of the end of Essenheim, and as a show of my goodwill toward you, I’m pleased to announce I have found a chosen mate for my youngest son. ”
The other female Norn elf glided out in a glittering silver dress that almost matched her hair, dripping in jewels, with a small tiara on her head. She waved to the crowd, who cheered, then moved to sit near Kiran, planting a kiss on his mouth.
Elves were practiced at hiding their deep emotions, despite feeling them so acutely, but Imani struggled.
Stomach roiling, it took an iron will for her not to act like an animal.
She wanted to rush up there, screeching and clawing Ayla’s eyes out.
This female was a traitor to Essenheim, and worse—to her own people.
Imani decided right then she would need more attire fit for royalty, and probably a second trunk to store everything. It wouldn’t do to be seen in the same dress twice, and now that she wasn’t sending her salary as a working witch home to Dak and Meira, she had some extra to spend.
“He will be bonded with an Essenheim elf by the solstice. Elven birthrates have been disappearing, but I believe this is the start of a new era for our people,” the king announced amidst applause and cheering.
Imani thought about the heartmate divination spell she had made for Kiran before the final assessment. Who would it have revealed if I’d bothered to test it out? And why did he want it when he had a chosen mate? She reminded herself it might not have even been for him and pushed it out of her mind.
Out of habit, Imani rubbed the invisible scarring on her cheek, trying to remember what she had done to earn such a terrible marking.
She repeated the motion, reminding herself that Ayla, even as a common-bred elf, was far more perfect for Kiran than her—because malice ran as deep as lust inside Imani, maybe more.
Besides, while she was a high-bred Norn elf, she was practically a peasant otherwise.
Imani desperately wished she knew the fate of her real father. Did he miss her? Was he looking for her? If he was a noble, it would give her a significant leg up in these situations. She cursed her situation once more but didn’t dwell on it.
Shoving aside any images of her attacking Ayla, Imani imagined instead that her shadows devoured any desire she had for the prince, spraying the blood of such a dream everywhere inside her, never to be brought to life again.
“Another Norn?” Luvon looked down at her, astounded. “How is this possible?” The words came out friendly and offhanded, but for some reason, Imani started to see red at the corners of her vision.
“I have no idea, but she’s common born,” Imani muttered, hating the jealousy and anger that still wrapped around her stomach, yet also desperately wanting to call out Ayla for being such a traitor.
Ayla was paraded around like a high-bred, but with no magic and her weak soul draw, she dealt with none of the repercussions of such a designation—repercussions Imani had faced her whole life. In fact, Imani had stood around, pretending to be lesser than others for years.
It made her blood boil.
But that would stop today when she inevitably met the king.