Chapter 6 #2
Up close, the tension he’s holding in check is impossible to miss. His body is still but not relaxed. The muscles across his shoulders and chest are drawn taut beneath his armour, his silver eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes the bond between us thrum like a struck wire.
His gaze moves slowly across the damage—the split lip, the bruising along my jaw, the awkward way my broken arm is strapped against my chest. Every place he looks, the bond answers with a low pulse of fury that I feel as clearly as if his hands were touching me.
He doesn’t reach out. Not here. Not in front of the Queen. But I can see the effort it takes.
Behind me, Dawson clears his throat quietly. “Right,” he murmurs, glancing between us. “I feel like this is a moment, but we should probably—”
Aelith steps forward beside him, towering and unmistakably royal even without the ceremonial armour I’ve seen him wear in the city. The sunlight catches the faint bioluminescent markings along his arms and chest, the glowing sigil beneath his collarbone pulsing softly.
His luminous eyes settle on the Queen. “Mother,” he says evenly. “The exchange is complete.”
Queen Serresta studies the four of us from her raised platform. Her expression hasn’t changed much. If anything, she looks faintly entertained. “Is it?”
The question drifts through the courtyard like a blade sliding across silk. Varek shifts his stance slightly, placing himself between me and the line of Crown soldiers surrounding the yard.
“The terms were clear,” he says, voice calm and level. “The human is returned unharmed.” His jaw twitches at that, since I most definitely have been harmed. “In exchange, the prince is released.”
Dawson’s lip twitches faintly at the word released.
Serresta tilts her head. “And what,” she asks thoughtfully, “prevents me from ending this farce right now?”
The courtyard grows very quiet. Her luminous gaze moves slowly across the assembled soldiers. Across Varek, then me.
“You stand within my palace,” she continues. “Surrounded by my warriors. You bring my son to me as though you believe this performance has any power here.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “What stops me from killing you where you stand?”
The words settle heavily in the open air. I glance at the soldiers lining the courtyard. None of them moves. None of them looks uncertain. They’re waiting.
Aelith speaks before Varek does. “You could try,” he says mildly. His tone is so casual, it almost sounds bored.
Serresta’s attention snaps to him. “My patience with you grows thin.”
“Then perhaps you should avoid making poor decisions.”
Her nostrils flare. “You presume much.”
Varek folds his arms, the movement drawing attention to the massive breadth of his shoulders. “Do I?” His luminous eyes flick briefly toward the palace walls.
“You forget that Kael remains in his custody.” Aelith’s lie drops into the courtyard like a stone in still water.
I blink. Dawson blinks too. But the prince’s expression remains perfectly composed.
The Queen’s gaze sharpens. “You expect me to care about a lowly warrior?”
Aelith doesn’t answer immediately, but I see the subtle shift in the courtyard.
The soldiers.
Not one of them reacts.
Not one flinch.
No hesitation.
Nothing.
They stand perfectly still. Because whatever Kael might be to the Queen, he is not insignificant to them.
Aelith notices the same thing I do. A faint smile curves his mouth. “He is loyal,” the prince says simply.
Serresta’s lips thin.
Varek speaks again. This time his voice carries a quiet warning beneath it. “The agreement was safe passage.” His silver gaze holds the Queen’s steadily. “For all of us.”
For a long moment, Serresta says nothing. The tension in the courtyard tightens like a drawn bowstring. Then she exhales slowly. “Very well.” She gestures towards the gates. “Leave.”
No one moves immediately. Because none of us are stupid enough to believe this will be simple.
Varek steps forward first. His hand spreads over my back, warm and steady, spanning muscle and softness like he’s memorising both, guiding me towards the open gate at the far end of the courtyard. The contact is light, barely there, but the bond reacts instantly.
Warmth.
Relief.
Behind us, Dawson slips his hand into Aelith’s again. “See?” he murmurs cheerfully. “That went pretty well.”
Aelith mutters something in Glowranthian that definitely doesn’t sound like agreement. He then leads Dawson away, and I swallow hard.
They’re really staying? Here? Fuck, but what about Dawson? Sure, he’s the prince’s mate, but he definitely won’t be safe.
The walk across the courtyard feels endless. Every step sends pain through my ribs and arm. My body has reached the point where adrenaline is the only thing keeping me upright, and even that’s starting to fade.
Varek stays close enough that if I stumble, he can catch me without making it obvious.
The Crown soldiers watch us the entire time, weapons ready, eyes intense.
We don’t speak until we pass through the palace gate and into the outer street. Even then we keep walking.
The city beyond the palace walls feels strangely distant after the tension of the courtyard. The bright green sky stretches overhead, the sun hanging low and harsh enough that my eyes continue to ache from the sudden exposure after days underground.
We move quickly through the streets. Or as quickly as my injuries allow, at least.
Varek glances over his shoulder once. Then again. Checking. Measuring. Waiting until we’re far enough from the palace that the soldiers on the walls can’t see us clearly.
I open my mouth to ask what the plan is.
He doesn’t give me the chance. “Hendroy.”
The word leaves his mouth like a command, and the air around us changes instantly.
Pressure builds, the temperature drops so fast the hair on my arms stands up, and then the air rips.
A plume of black smoke and shadow spirals into existence directly in front of us, twisting into a vortex that drags the light inward. The street distorts around it, sound dampening as the temperature plummets.
My skin prickles.
Cold and wrong and otherworldly.
Then something steps through.
The Hendroy.
Even knowing what I’m about to see doesn’t make the reality easier.
He towers over us, massive and vaguely humanoid but too fluid to fully belong to any species I recognise. His form seems carved from shadow itself, barbed edges coiling around limbs that shift subtly, as though they’re made of smoke rather than flesh.
His voice is a low distortion that vibrates through the air and straight into bone. “You call.”
I stare openly. “Holy shit.”
The Hendroy’s gaze sweeps over Varek, then moves to me. “You are injured.”
“Understatement,” I mutter weakly.
Varek speaks quickly. “We need transport.”
The Hendroy doesn’t argue.
The vortex expands instantly. Cold mist curls around my legs, and pressure builds in the air like the world itself is collapsing inward.
I barely have time to inhale before the portal slams in around us. Black mist closes from every direction. The sensation is indescribable.
It’s not like falling or even flying. It’s more like being shoved sideways through reality itself.
Force presses against my skin. Cold bites into my lungs. The world folds, then snaps back.
Suddenly we’re somewhere else. The portal collapses behind us with a low, echoing crack.
The air is warmer here. And smells strongly of the humid forest surrounding us.
I blink slowly. We’re standing in front of an old building. A massive sign above the entrance reads Bowling.
The letters flicker faintly in the late afternoon light. The old bowling alley, the front of house for the rebel settlement—also a place I never thought I’d see again.
My legs finally give out.
Before I can hit the ground, Varek catches me. He lifts me easily, one arm supporting my back while the other slides under my knees.
The movement sends a bolt of pain through my ribs. I suck in a breath, but I don’t complain. Because if he hadn’t caught me, I would absolutely be on the hard ground right now.
He holds me like I weigh nothing, and he doesn’t let go. Not even when we reach the reinforced doors.
The guards on the roof shout down in recognition, and the metal doors creak open.
Inside the bowling alley, the transformation from abandoned entertainment venue to rebel headquarters is as strange as ever.
The old lanes stretch across the room, their polished surfaces scarred and scratched from years of use. Tables from the snack bar have been rearranged into workstations covered in maps and weapons. Fighters from half a dozen species move through the room with quiet purpose.
Someone is actually bowling at the far end, the clatter of pins echoing faintly in the distance.
Varek ignores all of it. He carries me straight towards the small medical room near the back. “Iris,” he calls.
A human woman looks up from a table cluttered with medical supplies. Her dark hair is tied back messily.
“Well,” she says calmly. “You look like you’ve had a day.” She finishes tying the bandage in front of her and turns towards us. “Put him here.”
Varek hesitates, reluctant and protective.
“Varek,” she says patiently.
He lowers me onto the examination table with exaggerated care, then stays right there. Close enough that I can feel his warmth.
The moment Varek lowered me onto the table, the rest of the world seemed to rush back in.
Pain.
Exhaustion.
The dull, throbbing awareness of injuries I’ve been ignoring out of sheer stubbornness.
Iris steps forward immediately, already rolling up the sleeves of her shirt as she reaches for a tray of instruments. “All right,” she says briskly, her voice steady in that calm, practiced way doctors develop when chaos is routine. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Her fingers are quick but careful as she starts unwrapping the rough bindings the guards had thrown around my arm. The moment the pressure shifts, a bolt of pain shoots up to my shoulder and my vision swims briefly.