Chapter Sixty-Six
KAEL
The sound of birds chirping gently pulls me from sleep, and I reach out my hand, seeking Elyssara. The sheets are still warm, and her scent lingers, but she’s gone. Her absence is a physical ache that I feel in my chest. Where did she go?
The sun filters through the curtains of my chambers, and the low hum of Thornewood floats through the air.
I pull on my leathers and tie my boots efficiently before stepping out of my room and into the day.
This tether in my chest gnaws at me to find her. After last night, it coiled into something satisfied. Steady. But with her gone, it’s fraying again, pulling taut in search of her.
I weave and duck between branches and trunks, letting the tether lead me to her.
It doesn’t take long before the sound of familiar voices greets me, and I follow the sound up the winding wooden stairs to Council Hollow.
The room is buzzing with frenetic energy, mainly because Rubi seems to have met Seren, and their shrill, high-pitched squeals are almost deafening.
“They’ve been like it all morning, lad,” Merrik offers while handing me a steaming cup of coffee—the pleasures of home I’ve missed dearly. “Women and their godsdamned giggling,” Merrik adds as an afterthought.
Elyssara has her back to me, poring over a thick text with Therion, while Jax and Ronyn argue over something that is, no doubt, inconsequential.
“Prince Kael,” Daelen drops into an exaggerated bow, a smirk lining his features, clearly referencing my request to be called such at last night’s council meeting. Asshole.
I make my way to Elyssara. As I approach, I pull her hair to one side and brush a kiss on her neck, breathing in the subtle scent of sandalwood that clings to her skin. “Good morning, beautiful,” I say, keeping my voice low so only she can hear.
She turns her face to me, cheeks flushing bright red, and gives me a coy smile that makes me want to fall to my knees at the way I can make this fierce, violent woman blush.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Your Majesty,” Ronyn quips. “I suppose you’re used to having people do everything for you, though.” Ronyn’s face is pure audacity, goading me.
“That’s the first accurate thing you’ve said all morning,” Jax banters.
Therion approaches, clapping his hand to mine and embracing me. He drops his voice so low it’s almost inaudible and says, “Looks like you,” he pauses for a heartbeat, searching for the right words, “smoothed things over with Elyssara.” A ghost of a smile appears on his face.
“To a point,” I confirm. Fuck, there’s only so much smoothing over my cock can do.
We break apart, and I move to my usual seat at the head of the table. It’s not an official council meeting, but we have matters to tend to. “So, the Obsidian Crown. What’s the plan?” I incline my head to Seren, seeing as she usually has all the information.
“After conferring with others from the council, we believe the crown is in Starlit Grove—”
Someone behind me clears their throat, and I look around to find Rowan at the outskirts of the room. “If I may, my prince?”
The Mindweaver steps forward. Rowan is barely twenty summers old, but his gift allows him to archive, recall, and preserve memories, conversations, historical events, and even complex details in perfect clarity.
He can call forward anything he’s ever heard, read or seen.
All of those with Mindweaving abilities were killed during Maldrak’s purge to wipe history.
Rowan’s lineage, the Nix family, was once prominent in my family’s court, renowned specifically for their gift. But now, we only have Rowan.
He’s lean and scholarly with sharp, watchful eyes and flaming red hair. His astuteness has built him a reputation in Thornewood as an invaluable addition to Zerynthia. If only he acted like it. Rowan’s mind is sharper than a blade, but he wears his genius like a burden, not an honor.
“Of course, Rowan. What do you know?” I say.
Rowan’s eyes begin to change with subtly shifting hues reflecting active memory recall. His irises shimmer faintly, searching his mind’s archives for the answers we need.
“My prince, Starlit Grove will not permit anyone to enter unless they have a rightful claim to a throne. That is why those who enter, do not return,” he keeps his voice tight and respectful.
“Which throne, specifically?” I clarify.
“That answer is unclear. As far as I can ascertain, any.”
Interesting.
“And I’m assuming you’ve spoken to Seren?” My gaze shifts back to her.
She smooths down her skirts. “I spoke to Rowan this morning, and our information is a match. If you do not have a rightful claim to a throne, Starlit Grove will remove you, violently.”
“So, I’ll guess we’ll send Kael in first and just see what happens,” Ronyn rouses.
I roll my eyes, but don’t fight the smile that marks my features. “No need to waste your breath, Ronyn,” I say, sipping my coffee. “I was always going first.”
Elyssara’s gaze settles on mine, unreadable. A breath passes between us, thick with something unspoken. Then, slowly, I wink.
I will protect you at all costs.
Rubi leans forward then, “I don’t even bother trying to heal those that attempt it. Just give them some liquor and wait for the end.” She kicks her feet up on the table and raises a goblet in salute.
“Fuck’s sake, Rubi. It’s barely even morning, and you’re drinking?” Therion chastises.
“These meetings are dull, Teddy. I thought I’d make it more exciting. I could always go foraging for some of those exotic mushrooms Kael used to like,” she quips with a wink.
Therion grumbles something incoherent, and I try to school my features.
“The Grove does not suffer pretenders,” Seren asserts. “If it finds you unworthy, it does not simply turn you away—it swallows you whole.”
“So dramatic, girl,” Jax patronizes.
“Not a figure of speech,” Rowan interjects, his voice flat. “It quite literally devours them. The roots are sentient. Once they take hold, they do not let go.”
Jax’s face goes preternaturally still at Rowan’s words, and they hang in the air.
“As I suspected,” I confirm. “So,” I set my cup down, leaning forward. “How the fuck do we get through?”
Rowan exhales, his irises flickering with shifting memories. Then silence. A long, weighted pause.
Too long.
Finally, his voice is quiet. Grim. “There are no records of such a thing, my prince.”
A chill licks up my spine.
Silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.
“Then we carve a fucking path.”