Chapter Thirty-Four
Alaya
The guilt doesn’t arrive slowly. It crashes over me all at once, a crushing weight that steals my breath and pins me to the floor.
One moment I’m standing, the next I’m drowning beneath memories I’d buried so deep I convinced myself they were gone.
Each remembered detail carves the longing deeper, feeding something dark inside me that grows teeth and claws.
By the next morning, I’m simply numb. I can’t get out of bed—won’t get out of bed—despite the incessant, muffled knocking on my door.
Every time I close my eyes, they’re there—Reth’s ice-blue gaze, Domanikk’s cocky laugh, the weight of their bodies against mine.
The wave of longing, of missing them, only feeds the self-loathing that coils in my chest like a living thing.
He came to me, of course he did.
Kiernan.
He loves me.
He sat by my bedside, his soft, warm hand clasping my cold one. The concern and pain etched on his face only made it worse.
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t form the words on my lips. What truth could I have offered anyway, in reply to his questions as he tried to understand the crushing weight that had descended upon me?
Today, at least, I’ve made it out of bed.
The fire roars in front of me, where I sit curled tightly in a blanket on the sofa. I’m cold, despite the heat pouring into the room.
Even sitting here, my mind won’t let me forget. It’s like a madness, everything reminding me of Heartwood. The fire, the smell of burning wood and cooking stew. Domanikk’s fiery yellow eyes, flaring with passion as he taught me the art of pleasure.
You’re allowed to miss them, one voice whispers. The sense of belonging they gave you changed you, shaped the strength you needed to survive.
You made a Bond, another voice counters, sharp and unforgiving. Forged of love and commitment to Kiernan. One that means more to you than life itself.
Deceiver, a third voice hisses, the cruellest one. Betrayer. You let them touch you. You wanted them to. You’re a failure and a whore.
The voices circle and clash, threatening to tear me apart from the inside.
Today, he doesn’t bother to knock. He just enters quietly and sits down on the sofa beside me.
“You’re out of bed.” Not a question. An observation of a small victory.
I smile, barely a tip of my lips. Not from joy, but because that’s what’s expected of the Princess.
Kiernan sighs, a deep sound that accompanies him running his hands through his hair, his head bowing.
“Speak to me, Alaya. Tell me what’s wrong. Did I push you too hard?”
His words of self-blame cut deep, and tears well unexpectedly, blurring my vision.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper.
He reaches out and tips my chin up to look into his face.
“No, you deserve more. I want to help you. Let me.”
Something shifts in my chest. A small crack in the numbness.
Quinn. My brother.
The one person in Heartwood who didn’t ask anything of me, who didn’t demand I choose. Who was just … family. Innocent in all of this. If I could just see him, talk to him, maybe I could find a way to reconcile the two halves of myself tearing me apart.
“Can you help me speak to Quinn?” The question escapes me like a breath held too long.
Kiernan’s expression shifts—surprise, then understanding. He walks over to lean on the mantel by the fire, and stares back at me. The flames reflect in his eyes.
“Your brother? That was quite a shock. Did you know?”
“I met him in Heartwood, but no. I’m not even sure he knew his past.” I sit up straighter, the blanket falling from my shoulders. “I need to speak to him. Can you help?”
“I can try. The King has kept him close, in a suite near his own since he arrived.” A hint of doubt colours his voice.
“Can we go now?”
He studies me for a long moment, and I see the relief dawn on his face—relief that I’m asking for something—anything—that I’m reaching towards the kingdom again instead of drowning in it.
He laughs softly, crossing to the sofa and holding out both hands. I place mine in his and stand, falling into his familiar embrace when his arms encircle me and hold me to his chest.
“It’s nice to see that spark of interest in your eyes again, Princess.” He pulls back slightly. “Will you do me a favour if I take you to Quinn?”
“Depends on the favour.” I lean back and raise my eyebrows at him.
“I don’t like you being here alone. Will you consider moving to our suite, the one intended for when we were married?”
I stare back into his pleading eyes and realise I want nothing more than to finally start our married life, to be with him. To begin the quiet moments of discovery we’d been denied.
“Do we get a big bed?” I tease.
His arms tighten around me, and his chest vibrates with laughter as he kisses the top of my head.
“I can’t wait to wake up beside you every day, wife,” he replies, his voice husky.
The hallway narrows as we ascend to the third floor, the ornate doors of the King’s personal quarters looming just beyond.
Kiernan’s voice drops to a whisper as we approach Quinn’s suite. “We need to be careful. My father’s watchful gaze rarely strays from his suite.”
We stop, and he shoots a glance at the King’s door.
“I’ll stay out here. Try to make it quick,” Kiernan warns, pushing the handle down on the door to open it for me. I slip inside quietly, and he pulls it shut behind me without a sound.
The suite is cloaked in shadows, the heavy curtains closed at the windows, a thin thread of light seeping through a gap where they don’t quite meet. Stale air hangs thick in the darkness.
“Quinn,” I hiss, my eyes still trying to adjust to the dark.
“Alaya, is that you?” His voice is low and wary.
He creeps in from what I presume is the bedroom, his bare feet silent against the cold stone floor. His blue eyes, wide and searching like a hunted animal, dart between the shadows.
“Have you been like this since you arrived?” I ask, my gaze now taking in the sparseness of the furniture – just a wooden chair and a small round table, dirty plates and glasses scattered on its surface.
“I need to get back to Heartwood, Alaya. I can’t stay here.” He is frantic, his eyes darting wildly, fingers trembling as they claw through his messy brown hair. The acrid scent of his fear rises from his skin and sweat clings to his furrowed brow. Gone is the easy-going Fae that I previously met.
“Calm down, talk to me, Quinn. Did you know that you’re my brother?” I lunge forwards and seize his forearms, my fingers digging into his skin, halting his relentless back-and-forth movement across the worn stone floor.
“When we talked in Heartwood, I didn’t. I’ve never known how I came to be in Heartwood.
Then the day before we left, Reth thought it was time I knew and told me about my mother—our mother I suppose—and how Reth was asked to keep me safe due to my Gift.
That’s why I need to get out of here. He’s trying to use my Gift against them. ”
“The King? How?”
“The most dangerous part of a Horse Whisperer’s Gift is the ability to make and hold a Shift.
Although my Gift is weak, the King is insisting I help him.
I’ve never used it; I don’t want to use it.
But your King can be very persuasive.” He holds out his hands, red and raw, with cuts that have bled and dried over his knuckles.
“Bastard,” I say, seething with rage “Reth mentioned how dangerous you could be in the wrong hands, and King Malaxor is definitely that. I’ll try and get word to Reth.”
The sharp angles of his jaw tighten as his brows draw together. Those blue eyes, usually glinting with mischief, now widen with unmistakable vulnerability.
“No! Don’t bring the Equitae here. There’s more I need to tell you, Alaya,” he says, his voice rising in panic.
The main door crashes against the stone wall, and Kiernan bursts into the suite. His eyes dart frantically around the room to find me, pupils dilated with alarm.
“We need to leave, NOW!”
I turn back to Quinn, his face a mask of anguish that makes my chest tighten. The space between us crackles with unspoken words.
“I stalled the King for now, but he could be back any second. Come on, Alaya!” Kiernan shouts, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the door.
“What did you need to tell me?” I cry out to Quinn.
“The King—he’s planning something. I heard—”
“NOW, Alaya!” Kiernan yanks me through the doorway.
“I promise, I’ll get you out of here somehow,” I call back as the door slams shut between us.
Kiernan grabs my hand, and we run. My heart hammers against my ribs. Sweat slicks my palms as I stumble, each ragged breath burning in my lungs. At the grand staircase, instead of going down, Kiernan guides us straight ahead, into the Upper East Wing and through a door halfway down the hall.
The slam of the door echoes through the room.
We stand there, chests heaving, the silence suddenly deafening after our frantic escape. My pulse pounds in my ears. Kiernan’s hand is still gripping mine, his palm slick with sweat.
“Gods, that was close.” He lets out a breath.
The adrenaline coursing through me has nowhere to go. My hands are shaking. Quinn’s tortured face flashes through my mind—his raw, bleeding knuckles, his desperate plea. The King is planning something. What?
I should be thinking about Quinn, about what he was trying to tell me, about the danger closing in around us.
But all I can focus on is Kiernan’s ragged breathing beside me, the heat radiating from his body, the way his eyes are burning into mine with an intensity that makes my stomach clench.
The fear transforms into something else entirely. Something raw and desperate.
His hand comes up to cup my face, and I see it in his eyes too—that same wild need to feel alive, to push away the darkness with something primal and real.
“Alaya,” he breathes, and then his mouth crashes into mine.