Chapter Ten
Alaya
I return to my suite to change my dress and Prince Kiernan picks me up promptly to escort me to the evening meal. He’s more cordial than usual, shooting me quick glances as we walk to the Great Hall.
I move quietly beside him, my hand resting on his arm. His robes swish with each step, his boots thud against stone—a steady rhythm that contrasts sharply with the storm raging inside me.
My muscles still hum with the memory of our training session.
My skin still burns with those brief, electrifying moments when my body pressed close to his as we lay in the sand.
And our meeting in the Library, that time alone that felt so intimate.
These aren’t the feelings I should have for him.
They’re the kind that feel dangerously, thrillingly real.
And then there’s Heller. His confession, delivered with desperate sincerity that wounded me more than the nick to my throat, sits like a stone in my stomach.
He wants me to run away with him. A trusted confidant, a safe harbour, suddenly transformed into something we could never be.
The guilt gnaws at me—as if I’ve betrayed our friendship simply by not returning his feelings.
I’m lost in these thoughts as we enter the Great Hall and make our way to the raised table at the end.
The King hasn’t arrived yet. We sit in silence, looking out over the gathered Fae—a mixture of Nobility and Gift Leaders tonight.
I spot Daphne with her husband, the General.
She shoots Prince Kiernan a longing glance and waves.
I look to him for a reaction, but I’m shocked to find him already watching me.
He smiles, yet I catch concern flickering across his features.
“Are you well?” he asks.
“I’m fine, thank you, my Prince.” I look away, not wanting to engage more than necessary. My mind is such a tempest I’m not sure I have room for anything else.
We wait in painful silence. Eventually, the King enters from the door beside our table, striding in with irritation carved into every line of his face.
“Son.” He greets Prince Kiernan curtly, then merely nods in my direction.
He remains standing and gestures to the room for attention. The General bellows for quiet. Silence falls like a blade. Prince Kiernan and I stand.
“You all heard the alarm today.” The King’s voice cuts through the stillness. “The Equitae have brought their threat to the very walls of this castle.”
A shocked murmur ripples through the crowd. We haven’t experienced the Equitae so close to our home—not since I’ve lived here.
“Yes, they grow bold.” His jaw tightens. “I have unwavering faith in our Thorn Guards and our Amplifier Fae, yet the threat to our race has never been greater. To this effect, I’m pulling the majority of Amplifier Fae from other work to support the Thorn Guards.”
Grumbles of discontent rise, but no one dares openly defy their King. Not after what happened to Vale Cross.
Pulling more Amplifier Fae to the Thorn Guards means harder work for those left behind without the extra boost. It also means the Amplifiers will be out there, beyond the walls, in direct contact with the Equitae. Even I understand their frustration.
“We cannot let the Equitae continue to push our boundaries.” The King’s voice rises. “They must be destroyed!”
His face contorts into something beyond anger—something manic. His lips pull back, thin and pale, exposing gritted teeth. Not a smile. A savage promise.
But his eyes are the true centre of his storm. A frantic, desperate energy burns in them, as if the immense power of his wrath is barely contained, threatening to shatter the fragile composure of a King, and reveal the wild animal beneath.
The air grows thick, heavy with the metallic tang of fear. The tension hums, vibrating in the very bones of the castle. It settles over the silence—a silence that is absolute and unnatural.
The King sits abruptly, offering no clear finish to his speech.
He motions to the wait staff to serve the meal.
I’m more thankful than ever that Prince Kiernan sits between us.
I can feel the King’s anger like a rolling heatwave even from where I am.
Fear coils like a viper in my belly, ready to strike.
Prince Kiernan glances at me. His hand covers mine where I’ve absently gripped the edge of the dark wooden table. I quickly withdraw it. He cocks his head, frowning. I dip my head and concentrate on eating.
“I gather there were difficulties during the dance lesson.” The King’s voice barks out, sharp and unexpected.
I look up. His intense stare aims directly at me. The food in my mouth suddenly feels like glue. I struggle to swallow.
“Alaya was having—” Prince Kiernan starts.
The King holds up his hand. “I’m presuming Alaya hasn’t lost the ability of speech.”
I finally manage to swallow. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer. I’ve requested extra lessons from Daphne.”
“Good. I’m relying on this ball to ease some of the unrest. The workers have been given leave for their own celebrations. We cannot let these attacks interfere with our survival. I will not allow it.” He growls the last words.
“We’ll be ready, Your Majesty. We know our responsibilities.” I muster as much conviction as I can.
The King turns his gaze to Prince Kiernan and smirks. “Well done, my son. Finally, she’s been brought to heel.”
I shoot a pointed look towards Prince Kiernan, but my temper rises and heat floods my cheeks when I see him share a knowing look with the King.
“Every bough will break eventually with enough pressure.” He chuckles towards his father, and I feel his hand slide onto my knee under the table and squeeze.
The roar of anger in my head threatens to explode. I slap his hand away. He looks at me as if trying to say something, but my vision clouds. The overwhelming pressure inside makes me tremble.
I need to get out of here.
I shoot up. My chair screeches against the stone floor, then tips over with a crack.
“Apologies, Your Majesty.” I barely stammer the words out. “It seems I’m not feeling well. Please excuse me?”
The King nods.
I step down and make my way across the large room towards the wooden doors—my salvation. They seem impossibly far away as my body continues to tremble, my steps faltering.
When I step into the hall, I break into a run. My legs pound in sync with my heart, striking against my ribs as I ascend the grand staircase, desperate for freedom.
I can see the door to my suite up ahead. I could cry with relief when I suddenly feel a tight grip on my arm, making me skid to a halt. The hand twists my arm and I spin, colliding with a hard chest. A surprised squeak escapes my lips.
Prince Kiernan.
I look up into his deep green eyes, his face tight with tension. I almost lose myself staring at him. Then my anger flares. I shrug from his grip, bring both hands up to his chest, and push with all my weight. He staggers back, surprise flashing across his face.
“You bastard. Leave me alone!” I scream, turning back towards my suite.
“Alaya.” I hear him call, and before I can reach the door, he’s passed me. He blocks my way.
“Just let me pass.” I try to push him out of the way but he’s solid and unyielding.
“Calm down, Alaya. Let me explain.”
“Why? Apparently, I’ve been ‘brought to heel’ like a good little girl. What is there to explain?”
He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in a mess. I groan inwardly. How can he look so damn handsome when I’m this furious with him?
“I tried to tell you. We agreed, Alaya—we said we’d pretend in front of him. He wouldn’t have expected less from me. He was barely keeping his rage in check tonight, as I’m sure you noticed.”
“So making me look like a biddable child in front of him, laughing at me—that was the plan?” Each word comes out sharper than the last, my voice rising.
“Yes.” He keeps his tone measured, steady. Takes a careful step closer. “He needs to see you as no threat to his plans, whatever they are. If he believes you’re compliant, the less his attention falls upon you.”
I turn away from him, jaw clenched, shoulders rigid. The logic is there—I can see it, understand it even—but my chest still burns with humiliation.
It’s too much.
The chaos of emotions warring in my head roars with fury, snapping and cracking like breaking twigs.
“I can’t do this. I can’t pretend so easily. This place, this situation—the more I’m asked to be less of myself, the less I’m able to hold on to who I am. I can’t lose that. I won’t. Then what would I be? A puppet to be used and discarded?”
I take a shaking breath and let out a cry of frustration.
So quickly I barely register it, he grabs me by the shoulders and spins me away from the door.
My back slams into the cold stone. His hard body presses into me, his chest rising and falling erratically against my own.
I feel his shallow breathing across my face as his head bows, his forehead meeting mine.
“You are so fucking irritating.” His voice is husky.
“And I suppose you’re going to teach me a lesson?” I spit back at him, my anger swirling with the rising heat I’m starting to feel at his closeness.
A deep, primal groan escapes his lips. His green eyes flash with something I can’t name.
“For the love of the Gods, shut up.”
The kiss is wild and raw, his lips strong and possessive. There’s no negotiation, no finesse. It’s urgent, open heat—not soft and seeking but demanding and absolute.
His breath comes in short, ragged gasps against my swelling lips as his body presses into mine. I feel his leg push between my thighs.
A hand slides up into my hair, his fingers knotting in my curls. He tips my head back and deepens the kiss. A sudden jolt runs through me, drops into my belly and swells like a just-lit fire. The heat radiates towards my chest and deeper into the depths of me.
His lips are insistent and searching. When I let out a small gasp as the flames surge into my chest, his tongue pushes past. My whole body ignites.
I give in to his frantic need, pushing back into his pressure, my tongue searching his.
My hands come up, grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. Needing him closer.
“Oh Gods. You do taste like sunlight” He takes a quick, shaking breath and his words vibrate on my lips.
His other hand snakes down my waist, his grip tight with need.
It drops further, cupping my rear. His hand glides down, fingers splaying down the curve to my thigh, pulling my hips into his.
I can feel him then—the long, hard length of his erection straining at his trousers, rubbing through my dress, searching for me.
The hand in my hair comes down to trace my cheek and continues to my neck. I feel his thumb caressing the hollow of my throat, right where he nicked me with the sword and drew blood. His fingers curl lightly around my neck. He plunges deeper into my mouth again—a primal staking of claim.
Like a backdraft, the heat of my fire suddenly erupts down between my thighs. I shudder as flames lick my core, dance over the most sensitive parts of me and probe inside, wet and slick with wanting him.
“Kiernan.” I moan into him, my legs shaking and buckling with the intense feeling sweeping my entire body.
His mouth pulls away slightly. I feel him smile against me. He lets out a small laugh.
“Finally, you say my name. If I’d known this is what it would take, I would have done this a long time ago.”
I tilt my head away from him and look up into his eyes.
They’re heavy with passion and something else.
For the first time since I’ve known him, I see his vulnerability—unfiltered and stripped bare.
This isn’t one of his masks. He’s not the Prince, son of the feared and powerful King Malaxor.
He looks at me like he knows every part of me, like he’s known me forever.
A jolt of fear pierces my chest. My eyes go wide.
He leans down, and this time he brushes his mouth against mine—a soft caress. The tip of his tongue traces my bottom lip.
I push against him and he gives easily, preoccupied with what he’s doing.
“No, I—we can’t,” I whisper. I close my eyes tight, shutting him out before the look on his face can make me a liar. He lets out a small cry and buckles against the wall as I slip from his grip.
I make for the door, yank it open, and slip into my suite.
I don’t look back.
I don’t trust my own resolve.