Chapter Thirty-One
Alaya
Waking to a noise, my eyes snap open.
I lean up to look around, but the fire has burned down to embers, casting barely enough light to see by.
My bladder protests. Of course.
I glance to my left where Reth sleeps, his face relaxed, his arm draped over my hips. On the right, Domanikk wears a lazy smile in his sleep, his hand cupping my breast. Even unconscious, he’s insatiable.
I gently move their hands aside and slip free without disturbing them. After our exertions, they need the rest.
My clothes lie discarded by the fireplace. I dress quickly, and as I slip outside, goosebumps rise on my skin. I wrap my arms around myself against the biting cold.
The chill makes me shiver as I walk to the toilet tent, but remembering what had happened before we slept warms me from within, making heat rise to my cheeks and a fire coil again inside me where I am deliciously sore from them.
“Don’t make a sound, bitch.” The voice hisses in my ear as a hand clamps over my mouth.
Fear floods through me, washing over my body like ice water, dousing my passions.
My heart pounds against my ribcage. I know that sultry, threatening voice all too well.
It’s unmistakable—the low, smooth tone that manages to sound both seductive and menacing at the same time.
I’d recognise it anywhere, even in my nightmares.
Ceira.
“I warned you to stay away from him. I hope you enjoyed him between those whore legs. You’re lucky I’m not going to break them.”
Another presence looms at my back. Before I can turn, a rag is shoved in my mouth and a black hood slips over my head. Rough rope binds my hands in front of me. Ceira’s grip tightens on my shoulder, her nails biting into my flesh.
“Move.” She pushes me forwards.
A male voice murmurs nearby as we walk, too low to make out the words.
We don’t walk far—ten minutes, maybe. Panic rises with each step as grass gives way to dirt, then dry cracked earth under my bare feet. Pressure bears down on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. They crack painfully against the hard ground.
The hood is ripped away.
We are in the Barrens. A large black horse towers before me—not an Equitae. No Enchantra radiates from it. Instead, it wears a black leather bridle, silver buckles catching the moonlight and a large saddle upon its back.
The man sitting tall and proud in that saddle stares down at me with contempt, his dark eyes piercing.
Cold dread crashes over me like a wave.
No! No no no no no!
“Looking lovely as ever, Alaya.” King Malaxor drawls, his gaze leering.
I scan the group in panic. There she is, sneering down at me.
“Surprise, bitch.” Ceira spits the words.
My gaze lands on the others. A male I’ve never met, with long black hair, green eyes and Enchantra. And then—
I gasp.
Quinn. On his knees. Bound like me.
“Are you sure you weren’t seen?” King Malaxor asks Ceira.
“Positive. Sleeping like babies after they fucked her.” She seethes with venom.
“Good. Load them up onto the spare horse, and make sure they are tied down. I don’t want to hang around in this shithole longer than I have to.”
“As long as this bitch and her brother are as far away from them, I couldn’t give a shit.” Ceira nods to the male, who hauls Quinn to his feet.
Wait, what did she say?
Brother?
The word echoes in my skull. I stare at Quinn as he’s dragged to the spare horse and lifted into the saddle. My brother. Quinn is my brother?
The revelation steals my breath, but there’s no time to process it. Ceira yanks me up by my arm, her grip bruising, fingernails cutting crescents into my skin.
“I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but good riddance, whore.” She hisses the words as she shoves me towards the male.
He lifts me into the saddle in front of Quinn.
She betrayed them. Every single one of them. Those she had sworn to love and protect with her very life. Reth.
No deal was made to protect Heartwood. There was no greater good she was serving; no noble sacrifice being made. She simply wanted me gone. Jealousy alone drove her to this terrible act of treachery.
Without another word, King Malaxor turns his horse away from Heartwood, towards the shadows blanketing the Barrens. The long rope attached to our horse goes taut, jerking us forwards.
Tears blur my vision as the distance grows between us and Heartwood.
He pushes his horse into a hard gallop. My heart wrenches as wind whips through my hair, remembering the last time I rode like this—on Domanikk’s back, full of joy instead of despair.
We fly over the Barrens, the pace brutal and unrelenting.
Down through the Glass Thread, the landscape blurring past.
Past the Whispering Glade where my life began—now just a cluster of dead trees, skeletal and hollow.
The horses never falter, never break a sweat despite the punishing speed. Something unnatural drives them.
We cross Deepwood Crevice as light touches the horizon. And there, looming before us, rises his dark fortress.
The Castle of Thorns.
Numbness settles over me as we approach its towering walls. The huge wooden doors swing open to receive us.
As we pass through the threshold, a tingle rises in my left hand.
I look down. The golden threads begin to glow.
But nothing can pierce the overwhelming sense of loss that consumes me.
I had finally made a choice, all on my own. Not made by duty, not a Bond, not a leash, not in fear.
I chose them.
The echoes of their love carry their song to me on the wind, whispered promises we will meet again.