Chapter 30
Eyelids fluttering open, I’m immediately assaulted by the sterile gleam of dawn cutting through the bus’s enchanted windows.
The others are stirring too, groggy and disoriented.
But before we can even rub the sleep from our eyes, there’s a sharp rap on the door, followed by stern voices demanding attention.
Mother of Zeus, I am not in the mood for this shit.
“Police,” they announce, and a collective tension seizes the group. It seems the previous night’s chaos has caught up with us quicker than we’d hoped. As officers climb aboard with an air of authority, Revelin slips away to a quiet corner, his fingers dancing over the screen of his phone.
I know where he’s going, but I sit close enough to overhear the conversation. My Prince is killing several birds with one stone—especially if these local Barney Fifes try anything stupid when we don’t have any representation here.
“Mother,” he whispers into the receiver, his voice steady but laced with concern. “Yes, we’re all safe, but it was quiet scary, I agree.”
Leaning in closer, I feign interest in my shoelaces, straining to catch more. Revelin pauses, listening intently, then speaks again, each word deliberate. “What about father’s deal with Amethyst? Are we still bound by its terms? Well, no, I’m satisfied with… I see.”
“Ma’am,” a detective snaps, and I jerk upright. His eyes are narrow slits, boring into me. “Focus here, please. We need your account of last night’s events.”
Khol glares at him and I hear the telltale hissing under his breath that tells me he’d gladly land his happy ass in jail to throat punch this jackass.
“Sorry,” I mumble, chastised, but my mind is still with Revelin’s hushed conversation, curiosity gnawing at me.
I want to know what she said about that bitch who’s setting me up, but I can’t make out what else Rev is saying now that I’m looking at the group.
It’s making me nervous, even though I think Queen Niamh liked me when we met before.
Dezi, noticing my discomfort, steps smoothly between me and the detective. “Officer, perhaps this could be expedited if we involve our legal representation?”
“Legal... right,” the detective mutters, clearly out of his depth dealing with royalty and their entourages. He looks at his partner and I realize they were hoping to corner us into admitting something—what I have no idea—by showing up without notice early in the morning.
See if that works when royal attorneys show up, dickwhistles.
By the time Revelin returns, sliding his phone back into his pocket, the air has shifted. He nods to us, a silent signal that he’s managed something. “We’re free to go,” he announces, and relief washes over us like the first warm breeze of spring.
The detectives look like they’re going to protest, but Rev simply smirks and wiggles his phone in his hand. The gruff one who snapped at me rolls his eyes, and they turn on their heels to shuffle out of our space.
“Thank fuck,” I grumble as I melt back into the cushions. “I fucking hate dealing with that kind of shit.”
“Second that,” Khol says with a roguish smirk.
I’ll just bet he does.
Tiernan walks over to the coffeepot, starting it as he pulls out all the mugs. “Regardless, we can head out now. They were fishing, anyway.”
“Goldgarde awaits,” Dezi says as he heads to the front, hoping to catch the driver arriving to hit the road.
Once the quiet old Fae arrives, we settle into our seats and the magical engine hums to life as we pull away from the curb. Outside, the town recedes, the promise of Goldgarde on the horizon soothing our frayed nerves.
The magical bus glides to a stop, and the doors hiss open after our four hours drive to the next town. We’re immediately met by an escort of council members whose stiff smiles don’t quite reach their eyes.
“Welcome to Goldgarde,” one of them says, though their tone suggests anything but.
This is fucking weird.
We shuffle off the bus, our group a tangle of apprehension and weariness, funneling into a narrow hallway that smells like old stone and polish.
The walls are lined with tapestries depicting scenes of Goldgarde’s grandeur, but they seem out-of-place now, overshadowed by the council’s palpable caution.
“Prince Revelin, a moment?” one of the council leaders beckons him aside, her voice low. I watch as Revelin nods, his posture straightening with a prince’s grace even as we’re shepherded into a room that feels more like a bunker than a meeting space.
Where the fuck are his people and why are we meeting the second we pull in?
“Fiadh, stay close,” Dezi murmurs, his gaze flickering around the room, ever the protector. “I have a bad feeling about this unexpected welcoming committee.”
I nod, trying to peer over shoulders to see Rev’s reaction as the guys speak to him. When his face drops, the sight tightens something in my chest.
“They’re stripping away pieces of his visit here. All the things he’s losing are his chances of connecting with the people. No school visit, no grand appearances—just a scaled-down concert shoved forward like an afterthought,” Dezi whispers to me.
“Goldgarde was a highlight,” I hear my normally fiery Prince whisper, and my heart aches for him.
This is bullshit.
Tiernan’s frustration is almost audible as he pulls out his phone, barking into it as he heads for the hallway. “Yes, it’s me. We need reinforcements in Goldgarde. Yesterday’s events have... complicated matters.” His voice has that steely edge of a man used to orchestrating solutions from chaos.
Revelin walks over to us, looking as if someone kicked his puppy as he ruffles his hand through hair. “You heard, right? These cowardly fuckers are using the attack to… downgrade me.”
“Let it go, Revelin,” Dezi advises softly, standing close to the prince. “We’ll make do without all this in such a small town. Not having a lot of ties means we can dedicate time to our other project, do your concert, and move on to Amber Hollow.”
Khol’s not having any of it, though. The muscle in his jaw ticks like a time bomb as he glares at the council, who can barely hold his gaze.
They shuffle their feet, trapped between their duty and the raw power emanating from Khol’s towering frame.
“I’ll beat their asses for making you sad, man. Want me to?”
I can feel the tension radiating off Khol, and part of me wants to unleash him, let him shake some sense into these people. But I hold back, because this isn’t about what I want—it’s about what’s best for Revelin. So I swallow the fury, folding my hands together to quell the itch to fight.
But I’d love to get my knuckles out and join my slithering mate for a little retribution.
“Fine,” Revelin concedes, though there’s a steel undercurrent to his voice that wasn’t there before. “I’ll adjust. The show must go on, right?”
“Right,” Dezi echoes, clapping a hand on Revelin’s shoulder. But the weight of that hand says more than words—it’s a promise that we’re in this together, no matter how much Goldgarde’s welcome feels like a cold front.
The cobblestone beneath our boots whispers of age-old secrets as we trudge into town, a somber melody to our collective unease.
The whimsical charm of Goldgarde’s main street does little to lift the mood; the attacks have cast long shadows over what should have been a day of excitement and anticipation.
“Remember,” Tiernan murmurs as we push open the heavy wooden door to the tavern called The Mourning Wood, “we’re not just here to eat. Keep your ears open for anything about local legends.”
We nod, understanding the dual nature of this pit stop.
I scan the room before choosing a table near the hearth, its crackling fire a beacon in the dimly lit space.
We settle down, our group an inconspicuous huddle in the corner.
Revelin pulls his hood lower over his eyes, the prince’s face etched with quiet determination despite the setbacks.
I don’t like that he wants to hide—that’s not like him at all.
As plates of hearty stew and freshly baked bread are placed in front of us, I listen, really listen.
The clink of mugs and the low hum of conversations become my focus.
Khol leans back casually in his chair, his posture relaxed but every muscle coiled, ready.
Dezi, ever the diplomat, smiles at a passing server, coaxing a laugh and a longer chat about local happenings.
“Did you hear about that old mage Henley’s find?” a voice nearby piques my interest, and I stiffen slightly, tuning in more closely.
“Ah, the map? Pah, it’s probably another one of his tall tales,” another scoffs.
“Maybe so, but he swears it shows where some ancient explorer left his treasure. Could be something there if someone has the guts to follow it.”
A treasure map nearby—my heartbeat quickens.
With practiced ease, I slip out my phone and jot down a shorthand note.
Henley. Map. Explorer. This could be the lead we need in Goldgarde.
But it’s not the time to act yet. First, we eat and blend in, part of the tavern’s tapestry until night beckons us away with its cloak of possibilities.
We trudge back to the bus, the air crisp with the onset of evening. Our footsteps are quiet against the cobblestone, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy that hummed through us just hours before. Once aboard, we sink into the worn seats, each lost in thought until Revelin breaks the silence.
“Alright, what have we got?” His voice is steady, a lighthouse in the fog of uncertainty that has settled over us.
“A map,” I start without preamble, “supposedly charting the resting place of something valuable from an ancient explorer.” I pull out my phone, opening my notes. The others lean in, eyes flickering with a familiar spark—hope mingled with curiosity.
“Some old fart named Henley was the source,” Khol adds, his gaze meeting mine across the aisle. “There’s skepticism about its authenticity, but it’s worth looking into.”
I had no idea he heard it, too.
“Definitely,” Dezi asserts as he pours us each a nightcap. “These local legends often have a kernel of truth. If there’s even a chance...”
“Then we take it,” Revelin concludes, his lips pressed into a thin line of resolve. He turns to the vampire, his royal demeanor softened by a shared understanding of our mission’s weight. “Dezi, can you track down this Henley with our girl tomorrow?”
I nod, feeling the stirrings of excitement as I answer for him. “First thing tomorrow. But what are you doing while we poke around? And what about the others?”
“I have to move quickly to plan security days in advance,” Tiernan points out. “The council’s caution means we’re on borrowed time here in Goldgarde. My replacement team will be here tomorrow morning first thing, since we only have a day and a half.”
“And the band will have to meet to get shit together, then rehearse the set for this damn place,” Revelin says, standing as if the action could propel us forward. “Khol can come with me since Tier is busy. We have little time here, so we have to split up.”
“Tour or no tour, we have priorities,” Dezi reminds us. “So the princeling is right that we should divide and conquer.”
“Exactly.” Revelin nods at her, then at each of us. “Finding the fucks who are stalking the sisters and maybe murdered their parents is much more important, but we have to stay under the radar. The tour helps with that.”
At least, it did at one point. Does it now? I don’t know.
“Let’s get some rest,” Revelin suggests, though his eyes are alight with the thrill of the chase. “Tomorrow, we storm the town to see what we can find, whether they like it or not.”
The setbacks and cancellations may have dented our plans, but not our resolve.
No one will stop us from finding the truth, not even the shitty Fae surrounding the Prince.