Chapter 13
W hen Alora woke, beams of sunlight replaced moonlight, illuminating the half-rotted bales and floating dust carried in from the broken rafters. A mix of willowherb and glacier lilies drifted inside on a phantom wind as the morning melody of spring trilled from the forest.
Alora couldn’t believe how soundly she’d slept. As if no threats loomed over their heads and impending war didn’t blight the future.
Warm. Safe.
Protected.
Protected by that peaceful presence of Elysian’s most savage.
Only gone for mere minutes, Garrik had returned freezing. His skin and hair slick with droplets of water before he had drifted under the blanket and tucked her tight against him. The moment his arms had curled around her, Alora’s head rested on his bicep and her legs had tangled between his before sleep found her almost too perfectly.
Something she never got sleeping with Kaine.
In the warmth of spring air, Alora closed her eyes and dreamed of the shape of Garrik’s lips. Of his incredible body aligned with hers. The touch of his hands. His tongue… Wishing she felt them again. Wanting to lay there forever. To never return to the camp or the kingdom or anywhere else. Just stay there, in his arms, in safety for the rest of her starsdamned life.
But even with the smile that traitorously crept up her face, a ruthless shiver prickled her skin.
Elysian’s High Prince.
Alora’s heart rose in her throat. Elysian’s High Prince had been with her last night… Her.
Heart pounding, she fought off a wave of nerves, refusing to dwell on that swelling feeling deep inside her chest. Refusing whatever it meant—because it couldn’t mean anything.
It couldn’t.
She refused to acknowledge the thoughts and feelings racing through her head. Refused the question that felt like she’d been thrown into his mother’s oceans with ten thousand pounds of rocks in her gut. Sinking deeper and deeper until only those thoughts remained.
Now what?
Starsdamnit. She was thinking about it.
Biting her lower lip—remembering Garrik’s primal eyes. The way his body reacted to that simple little thing.
Just stay. You can figure it all out later. Just … stay.
The breeze disturbed a rod of straw across the floor. Only, she was wrapped in the blanket, and he pressed flush against her, hand resting on her hip and arm as her pillow. So, she didn’t feel its potential bite.
And Garrik’s breathing… Slow and even.
He seemed to be sleeping. She hoped he was.
Her heart began racing. Every breath he took, every scrape of his chest against her back, was one breath closer to him waking. Panic needled through her veins as she gripped the blanket. Stay. Just stay.
Garrik’s arm twitched.
And it was all it took to send her slipping from the blanket, carefully lowering his hand, which remained utterly limp where she settled him.
Alora scooped up the first piece of clothing within reach and dressed before sneaking between the bales, through the rickety barn doors, and out into the sunlight.
Alora slowly unbuttoned Garrik’s tunic. Happy that she’d grabbed it and not her leathers.
She was failing miserably at not picturing his body and how it had felt pressed against her last night. And now she greedily took in the scent of metal and leather with each button popped.
Last night had been a dream, but …
This couldn’t be anything more.
Cautiously, she scanned her surroundings and noted mounds of lush bushes budding with springtime flowers near a peaceful river. On the far side of the water, a long line of weeping willows swayed in the breeze as she glimpsed the peaks of Fourtress far above, snow-capped and just as deadly as the night before.
The last button popped, and she discarded Garrik’s tunic. Warring off the incoming intrusion of imagining herself pulling it from his body instead, she quickly waded into the frigid water.
Not twenty minutes later, clothed with Garrik’s tunic hanging loosely past her thighs, Alora headed back toward the barn. As she drew closer to its door, a shadow stirred inside the decrepit threshold, and she stopped within the tree line.
Her shoulder pressed into the bark of a nearby tree. Watching. Waiting.
Garrik stepped outside of the darkness, adorned in his armor. Propping his shoulder against the threshold as he crossed his arms and rested one ankle over the other.
Gaping, Alora struggled to catch her breath.
Her eyes trailed over his leathers. At how they perfectly outlined every carved muscle. How, with his arms crossed, his biceps bulged. They traveled down his abdomen, to the metal of his buckle, and didn’t dare fall below. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of his hips rolling against her. His cock hard and needing while his moans?—
Should you continue to undress me with your eyes, clever girl, I might catch a cold.
Oh—oh stars. Blinking rapidly, Alora straightened and pushed from the tree, rubbing the back of her neck. Of course, he knew she was there. He always knew.
Garrik’s gaze speared into her with every step. Maybe she would’ve been ashamed by her exploration had it not been for the very fact he was just as inclined to undress her with his eyes.
“So,” he drawled. “That is where my shirt went.” Raking his eyes hungrily over her, he decided, “It looks better on you.”
Alora was tempted to snap back with satire, but instead, she rolled her eyes and slumped against the barn door. “I know.” A tease.
Garrik released a breathy chuckle and pushed from the frame.
Her body instantly felt hot and tight. Watching his calculated steps until he twisted in front of her.
Garrik settled his palms on either side of her shoulders, his impeccable attention fixed on the pulse at her neck. Silver roamed over his tunic; his hand followed. Starting at her hip, he squeezed, thumb softly rubbing circles, and her legs almost lost their function. A low hum rose from his chest when that hand wrinkled the fabric, gliding up her side.
His voice dropped low. “Last night?—”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
Jaw tightening. “No, Alora, you must know I—” Garrik’s head snapped up, whipping his gaze over his shoulder as he straightened.
Something like velvet rippled over her body.
Smokeshadows crawled up her legs and over every inch of her until the leathery touch of battle-black armor returned.
That was when she heard it. What must have caught Garrik’s attention. Heavy footsteps inside the tree line. Snaps of branches and … bickering.
“I’ll have you know, I am the most coveted cuddler in Elysian!” Aiden’s voice cut through the bushes.
“ Females , Aiden. With females. Not me !” And then she saw them emerging from the forest as Thalon glowered at their sea captain. “And I remember a time when a courtier ran screaming from your bedchamber from the horrors of your pimply ass.”
“For-stars-sake, get me out of here.” Jade shook her head at the sky.
Thank Maker of the Skies. Thalon looked well enough to sluggishly walk straight. His armor carried scuffs, with a white cloth stained with specks of dried blood wrapped around his forehead.
Alora’s focus shifted to Garrik, who had backed away. “What were you?—”
Later, he promised and turned toward their friends.
“The boys got handsy the last two days.” Jade’s crooked smile twisted when her gaze met Garrik’s unamused scowl.
They neared the barn as Thalon planted his boot on the ground and bellowed, “ What ? No. ” He paused, glaring at Jade, then snapped back to Garrik, clacking his Earned. “ No ! I woke up spooning with Aiden against my will. And I don’t care if it was to keep me warm—I’d rather freeze next time. Can’t even begin to imagine the nightmares I’ll suffer.”
“Perhaps instead of giving us such horrifying images of Aiden’s ass, we could finish what we came here for and leave this unstable shit-hole?” Garrik offered.
Aiden scoffed. “Technically not a hole.”
A hollow thud resounded.
Aiden cried out as Jade’s palm retreated from the back of his head.
Garrik mumbled under his breath and shook his head, and twisting toward Alora, he held out his hand.
She knew what he was asking without saying a word. Alora dipped into her pocket, producing the glimmering ruby settled inside the necklace. With a twist of her wrist, Soulstryker sat in her palm, outstretched to Garrik’s awaiting hand.
The Shadow Order gathered as Smokeshadows tendriled around the necklace.
Thalon stood near Garrik, slowly shifting his eyes along their High Prince’s form with a sharp pinch of his brows.
With golden eyes burning at him, Garrik stiffened as his focus flickered to Thalon. Something wholly lethal flashed in his gaze, and Thalon shifted on his feet with a glance at Alora.
Alora furrowed her brows, a subtle shake of her head in question, but their Guardian merely turned to Garrik, who still glowered at him, before his attention settled on Soulstryker.
No one said a word as Blood was loosened from the necklace and lifted on a shadow whorl. It floated through the air, gleaming, until Garrik rotated the dagger, leaving Blood’s resting place waiting.
The gemstone settled inside the hilt, and for a moment, all was quiet.
“Well, is that it?” Aiden’s disappointment peppered his face with a whine. “Bit anticlimactic.”
Jade glared. “Shut up, you fool?—”
“Fuck,” Garrik growled.
Like the sand of an hourglass, the crimson stone dissolved.
Shards and dust and seared bits of leather fell, sprinkling off the handle and dropping to the grass below.
Life’s gemstone erupted in light, so bright and brutal that they winced away as Garrik and Thalon held their eyes strong.
But within the light …
“Garrik,” Thalon warned, eyes widened like the light was nothing but a dull shadow.
“I saw it too.” Garrik’s eyes darkened as he sheathed the dagger in Alora’s belt, snuffing out Life’s glow, and snarled,“ Fucking Kerimkhar. ”
Thalon stiffened—and that unusual shadow behind him brightened. “The symbol of Land and Growth. Do you suppose …”
Garrik nodded. “Blood is in Kadamar.” A muscle ticked in his cheek. “A ruby. I should have known.” He stepped forward, stretching his arms to his sides as Smokeshadows stormed around them.
In the midst of ash and tendrils of darkness, their bodies became nothingness, weightless, like the very air itself as her High Prince began dawning them from that place.
Then Alora’s voice called out as spring turned to darkened night, “What’s so terrible about Kadamar?”
“Ladomyr is Magnelis’s closest ally,” Garrik said, pacing the Shadow Order’s firesite. “The only king remaining in power over his kingdom since Magnelis’s ascension to the throne. Ladomyr is lavished with Galdheir’s finest exports in return for his impressive fealty. Brennus’s Ravens specifically trained his armies. They are every bit as ruthless and skilled as the High King’s elite.”
“Not to mention his fucking Hunt, ” Jade hissed and thrust a sword into a tree nearby. “And we’ll be walking into his Festival of Cullings.” Bark splintered as Jade pushed her boot into the trunk, wrenching the blade away.
Garrik palmed her shoulder. “We will not stay long enough for that.”
Jade’s jaw tightened as she tore a dagger from its sheath. With flawless skill, she launched it into the tree before grabbing two more. They sliced through the air, striking either side of the first dagger, all within a hair from each blade like three perfect bullseyes.
Spewing venom in a heated rant, Jade loosened her tongue and stretched beyond the common language with words from another world. Temper rising as hot as the color of her hair.
Alora recognized a few words. ‘Ladomyr’ and a repeated word she determined as ‘fuck’ until Aiden stormed forward and grabbed her shoulders with a harsh shake.
“Bloody hells! Stop speaking Torgalian. We have to leave on another gloriously heroic adventure, and none of us speak Torgalian.”
She shoved Aiden away and tore another dagger from her thigh. “Ladomyr designed his disgusting traditions from texts about my world—the fighting pits of Torgal. He uses his kingdom’s magic to create beasts and manipulate land like clay. This is a monumentally fucked idea.”
Garrik stepped beside Aiden. “You can remain here, Jade, if?—”
“ Not a chance in Firekeeper-filled-hell ,” Jade snarled, turned, and ripped her daggers from the tree. Fuming a bright shade of scarlet, she blew through camp like a hurricane and vanished into her tent. If it wasn’t for the chilled breeze from the north, steam would’ve flowed from the tops of her canvas.
Alora had been on the bad side of that temper too many times to know to stay out.
Beside Garrik’s tent, steps approached.
Sentries adorned in scaled leathers hastened their way between the canvases before Deimon, a black-haired faerie with night-dark feathered wings, pulled forward and extended a missive. “Sire. A raven arrived outside the shield two mornings past, carrying this.”
Garrik stiffened. His attention snapped to a rolled parchment in Deimon’s hand. Purple wax, pressed in a circle with the High King’s crest, sealed it.
Outstretching his palm to the male, Garrik ripped the seal and unrolled it. Scanning deliberately, jaw tightening with each pass of the ink.
Alora’s heart thundered, and an ache settled deep into her fingertips remembering the last time Garrik received a missive like this. When Nevilier had summoned him—Magnelis’s half-skeletal, abnormally large raven. When he was unsure if he’d ever return to them alive.
She almost stepped forward to grip his shoulder. But to stop him, deny him from leaving, or to plead that he stay? She wasn’t sure which.
Garrik deepened a sigh—and she wondered if that missive demanded him away.
But he shook his head and crumbled the paper before Smokeshadows ripped it apart, turning it to dust and flakes of dried ink. “Brennus,” he growled. “Demands my presence in the east.” His jaw set tight, threatening to crack teeth when he added, “Immediately. ”
Deimon nervously shifted, and those incredible wings flared. “Orders, sire?”
“We will dawn to Kadamar’s border within the week. Alert the generals.” Garrik then said to Thalon, who unsheathed his familial, runed sword from his back, “Prepare for Ladomyr’s defenses in the meantime. It has been some time since we trained in Kadamar’s tactics. I want every soldier and Mystic prepared if our efforts there are futile.”
Thalon stepped forward. That usually bright voice shifted to something sharp, unnerving her. “I’m going with you. Brennus won’t be happy you kept him waiting for two days.”
Garrik squared his shoulders, took on that quality of authority only his High Prince mask executed, and rumbled, “I am perfectly capable of handling Brennus. Your leadership is required here.”
Something unspoken burned in Thalon’s eyes, but Garrik’s darkened in warning. Their Guardian released a heavy sigh, carefully pleading, “Garrik … Jade and Aiden?—”
“ Have their duties as my Shadow Order, as well as you, general .” Dark, cold, matchless power, then, “You forget yourself, Realmpiercer.” Shadows coiled off his shoulders, head poised high, displaying him as leader of the Dragon’s Legion. The only thing missing was an obsidian-spiked crown to exude his sovereignty.
Golden eyes swept between the waiting sentries to the stern face of their High Prince. With brimstoned intensity, Thalon conceded, “Apologies, sire.”
But that bite of his tongue … it felt more like a spoken lashing than anything else. Thalon was angry. Perhaps more worried, but even so, she saw it written on his face as he bent at the waist, almost dismissively, and bowed.Submission and rebellion all at once.
It was the first time she’d seen Thalon bow to Garrik. The first time she had witnessed a shred of disrespect from him.
From the look on her High Prince’s face, he wasn’t pleased about it.
Thalon didn’t utter another word and stormed away. That calming air that usually hovered around him left too.
Her High Prince’s expression boiled. The hand on the pommel of his sword tightened until his knuckles blanched. And before Garrik unleashed any sort of punishment, darkened silver roamed to the sentries instead, whose gazes were downcast in fear a lashing would be carried out on them. “Prepare Ghost.”
Their attention snapped upward with stiff nods.
“Yes, sire.”
It took the sentries all of ten minutes to locate Ghost, prepare her tack, and settle her untied within the Shadow Order’s camp. Garrik still wore his leathers—still wore his clothing from Fourtress underneath. With a sword sheathed to his back and one to his side, Garrik effortlessly mounted.
Taking the reins, he at last captured Alora’s gaze as she scratched Ghost’s nose.
“Don’t be mad at him. Thalon’s only worried about you.” She didn’t stifle the uneasy frown. He needed to see it. “We all are. We hate when you leave, especially alone.”
Garrik sighed heavily, eyes flickering across the tents as if in search of their Guardian. “I know,” he said. His eyes drifted to her. Then added, “Brennus is harmless. Thalon’s worry is misplaced.”
A foolish part of her wanted to call it for what it was. A lie.
He knew it. She knew it.
They all knew it.
Ghost stomped the dirt when Garrik offered an honest grin. “I wish to speak with you when I return. About last night. Wait for me?”
Alora rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.
His eyes narrowed, tracking the movement before a low growl vibrated from his chest.
It set her insides molten. But she only said, “Come back to us, Your Royal Highn-ass.”
With a wolfish tilt to his head, Garrik straightened in the saddle as Smokeshadows turned him into darkness.
A tickle brushed her palm.
She didn’t have to look. She knew by the soft, delicate structure.
A pearl petal flower was in her hand.