Chapter 33
T he throne room fell deadly quiet as shadows seeped from underneath the double wooden doors. Below the dais, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Shadow Order and facing the multitude of nervous nobility, Alora’s heart slammed against her ribcage—not in fear, but in blaring anticipation.
He was coming.
They all felt it—death prowled behind the doors.
A bone-chilling frost, one that threatened to freeze Firekeeper’s realm, covered the room. Aiden squeezed his fists when Jade shivered. Thalon blew vapor from his breath. The crystalline and ruby chandeliers on the whitewashed wooden ceiling and golden sconces on the walls flickered in retreat. Phantom gusts made the deep purple curtains sway as condensation droplets trickled down the ceiling-high windows, exposing the night.
The doors burst open.
Slamming into the walls—the sound like necks snapping.
Darkness menacingly crept, snuffing out the light enough that each terrified face was pale, quivering.
Not a soul spoke. Likely sealing their death if they did.
From the storm of shadows, a boot parted the whorls. Like dusk falling, a monstrous silhouette feathered into existence. It almost appeared as if Darkness himself had made him into the Celestial’s likeness. Because he was darkness.
A monster, void of all light, manifested from the vortices. A shadow head tilted high, exuding authority and demanding reverence in the very air he commanded.
Oblivion. It was the first thing Alora saw. Drawn to where his eyes should be.
Smoke misted around what she knew was Garrik’s face as he prowled another step forward. The movement was so calculated, so menacing, it sent a vicious shiver down her spine. Then, that unsettling manifestation of his power began misting away, revealing the wickedly beautiful planes of his face.
Not one piece of gray hair was out of place as a spiked crown of glassy obsidian rose from his head.Endless oblivion found her, and his smile ghosted the corner of his mouth, only for a breath, until wicked delight had his mouth contorting into cruel hunger.
With animalistic grace, the Savage Prince carried himself. And like a bride’s veil, a cape of Smokeshadows flowed from his shoulders and spilled over the purple carpets as the court flinched with each daunting step.
Do not be afraid. It was Garrik’s voice.
If anyone else, they would have felt that rush of panic and cloaked themselves in fear simply from the warning in his voice.
But not her. Never from him.
Someone cried out to Alora’s left, and she didn’t so much as flinch as the meaning behind his warning surfaced.
The crowd gasped and cowered away from a dignitary who hurled himself to the floor, hands clasped around his throat as he attempted another scream. But nothing more came out. Nothing but his face heating to a crimson sheen as a noose of shadows denied air passage to his lungs.
Another scream.
From the center of the crowd, directly beside her High Prince. An elder male with a round belly thrashed to the floor but couldn’t do anything other than claw his neck. Darkness swirled around Garrik’s steps when his boots met the gasping male.
He simply stepped over the body like it was nothing more than a watery puddle of mud.
Garrik should do some stretches or something. Bloody hells. He barely cleared the sod’s belly. Aiden snickered, and by the way Thalon’s shoulders struggled to not bounce in laughter and Jade shifted on her feet, Alora realized Garrik had them all connected in their minds.
Perhaps some lunges? Thalon’s laugh was like the kiss of summer skies as he scratched over his mouth and beard, concealing a smile.
Pants too tight? Aiden side-eyed them and subtly waggled his eyebrows. Can’t bend the knees?
With a side glance, bitter amusement passed through Jade. Then something gathered behind their males’ heads.
Alora glimpsed the movement, noticing the way shadows manifested in the shape of two hands.
With the court’s eyes downcast, those two shadows solidified and slapped the back of Thalon and Aiden’s heads, causing them to stiffen at attention.
Alora had to bite her cheek in fear she’d burst out laughing.
One more word. There was little threat there. In fact, in his tone, it seemed Garrik may have been resisting his amusement too.
Alora could’ve hugged Aiden at that moment. Thalon too. Doubtless that the males’ intent wasn’t only to lighten the mood but to bring Garrik some solace too. With death lingering and undoubtedly more to come, the temporary relief was appreciated by more than one.
She sharpened her cruel expression, as it was to be expected of anyone in the Savage Prince’s Shadow Order, and scanned the dead. Alora wondered how many of them had left shackle scars, festering wounds raw and bleeding, or painted their servants’ bodies with bruises. How many of them were like the Ravens who sold faeries and attacked females like those soldiers in Telldaira’s alley? How many were like those who’d abused Garrik? How many were like Kaine? What unforgettable— unforgivable —things had they done behind closed doors or in the company of others simply for sport?
Bile burned her throat, but that burn was nothing compared to the disdain settling in her soul.
No one dared to offer aid, as one by one, two more faeries fell. And by the time the chaos had settled and Garrik haunted the dais steps, six males and two females had met Firekeeper.
Garrik ascended the steps with out-worldly grace.
Thalon and Alora moved then, closing the space. They avoided the eyes of Ladomyr, whose face had turned a furious shade of crimson.
Alora risked a glance to her left. Thalon and Jade stood stone-faced and arms crossed, chins held high, as if they were the High Prince himself. As if the display of power and death didn’t affect them at all. To Alora’s right, Aiden stood with the same ferocity, trading his usually cheerful demeanor for a conniving smirk that settled on a male with dark markings on his face and a shimmer of unyielding calculation in his blood-red eyes.
Silas.
A female servant fainted to the right, beside Ladomyr’s wives.
Alora battled the urge to go to her as the silver tray clanged across the marble along with shattered crystal glasses. Not one eye wavered or seemed to care as each royal, exquisitely and richly fashioned, sunk lower and lower and lower beneath their High Prince’s shadow.
Steely muscles flexed and outlined Garrik’s back through that shadowed cape. He turned to the court, away from an illustrious black throne sculpted as a ruby-eyed raven.
Away from Magnelis’s throne.
Garrik scanned the crowd until his malevolent expression drifted over the king’s wives, then snapped to Ladomyr hiding within them. Looking down on Ladomyr as if the mere sight of him was offensive, Garrik straightened his sleeves and took extra care to run his thumb over the black sapphire buttons.
Then a voice that summoned nightmares danced at the very edge of death as he said, “I hope you do not mind.” A touch of malice twisted his wicked face. “The guest list needed some”—Garrik snapped his fingers; a lord’s neck snapped—“adjustments.”
Whimpers undulated, which caused the Savage Prince’s eyes to darken more in delight.
Shadows fell off his shoulders and tendriled around him, boots entirely hidden by a Smokeshadow veil. That fog crept down the steps and crawled up Ladomyr’s legs like damned souls attempting to escape Firekeeper’s pits. They forced him to stumble forward onto the open floor between the court and dais.
Garrik ran his tongue along his razor-sharp teeth as he surveyed a beautifully crafted wooden crown; gold was melted into the grain and covered in gemstones of reds, greens, and yellows that were set into polished tree branches stemming from it. A timeless symbol of Land and Growth.
The room fell colder.
Chandeliers rattled as the Savage Prince growled, “You dare to wear a crown in my presence?” The power of Death Triumphant devastated the air and surged through the room. Every shaking breath turned to clouded vapor.
Smokeshadows tendriled up Ladomyr, gathering around his crown.
A breath later, it was gone.
Reclining, his face a work of perfect stone, Garrik widened his legs as he lazily twisted his palm upright. Shadows whorled around his finger and faded away, revealing the millennia-old crown of Kadamar …
Now hanging on the Heir of Zyllyryon’s black-veined finger.
Shadows slowly engulfed it as if to draw out pain. Curling like a disease as Garrik’s unmoving gaze pierced Ladomyr’s. And as the king deepened a breath of contempt through gnashed teeth, the crown misted to dust. Falling to the marbled steps below Garrik’s polished boots.
Ladomyr fisted his hands at his side, face tightening in a silent snarl.
“What a shame…” Snickering, Garrik brushed a fleck of dust from his shoulder, then inspected his fingernails without regarding the court. “That seemed like it meant something to you.” And without a care, turned his darkened eyes to the king. A flicker of all-ending power swept lethal warning over the court. “Never wear a crown in my presence again.”
The king said nothing. Only, his scorching glare radiated the unspoken.
“I did not hear you, Ladomyr. Was there something you meant to say?” Garrik scanned his fingernails once more as sharpened claws began growing.
“Yes,” Ladomyr hissed between his teeth.
Garrik barked a wicked laugh. “Yes?” He paused and cocked his head with animalistic prowess. “Yes what, kingling? Do speak up. I believe my court cannot hear you.”
At the insult, Ladomyr’s face heated, but he managed to sneer, “Yes, Your Highness.”
Below the dais, movement in the crowd caught Alora’s attention.
One of the wives … was smiling . Her downcast gaze raked to Alora before that smile went rigid. Instead of acknowledging it, Alora scanned the court, the scowling faces. Many held a look of petrified abandon while most appeared to want to crawl into the deepest hole they could find to escape the Savage Prince’s attention.
She almost wished Kaine had been invited so she could stand above him, reveling in him submitting on his knees before true nobility. What a sight that would be.
“Dine. Before I grow bored and select someone for my entertainment.” Garrik lazily flicked his wrist, dismissing the court.
But no one moved, too foolish or terrified to.
Annoyance rippled across Garrik’s face. He needed nothing more than the slow, menacing quirk of his brow for servants to begin warily moving.
The gleam from the faelight chandeliers returned and beamed off their perfectly polished silver trays as they weaved through the multitude of finery.
A deep chuckle brushed like velvet on the walls of Alora’s mind.
She pulled her attention from a female dressed in a ballgown as hideous as the ones Kaine used to dress her in and glanced up the dais steps before thinking, What could possibly be so amusing?
Her vision shifted. From high above, seeing through Garrik’s eyes, everything darkened. Every bright surface dulled to grayscale. The purple rug was cast in a dark gray while the threads decorating it were now white. Not one gown or suit held color.
Then that vision narrowed inside the crowd. Jumping from one hand to another as the court hesitated around the platters of food. Garrik focused on a group of courtiers staring at each other with golden skewers of glazed meat in their hands.
They are deciding who will risk the first bite. To whom will sacrifice themselves to the whims of the Savage Prince for eating before he does. Another deep chuckle rumbled through her.
Alora shook her head and mused. Maybe you should put them out of their misery.
Garrik laughed, and stars did she love that sound. They can squirm.
The bodies had been removed.
She had watched as soldiers pulled nobles off the dead, weeping, before the court went about as if nothing had happened.
But their faces, those who had lost someone, never stopped glaring at her High Prince until his malicious attention settled on them with a brow raised in challenge. No one was foolish enough to act on it.
Sometime after, that small part of Alora that bled into the furnishings and blended into the walls at Kaine’s parties became a distant memory. Never again to be that pretty little trophy on the mantel, Alora paced Kadamar’s throne room with an eagerness in every step as music burned in her soul. Every pluck of a string, the harps, cellos, and violins. Each trill of a horn or note of a piano had her aching to play along with them.
It was the second hour that she took closer notice of details. The first spent picking at platters of glazed sweet buns, candied meats sizzling with steam, stuffed mushrooms, and far too many foods that she couldn’t possibly mention in one evening. She had drifted around the hall and settled into meaningless conversation with leery courtiers and mothers of noble sons. Most males seemed to dismiss the attention of females and were better suited on the balconies smoking mellowherb or drinking expensive liquors while speaking of trivial things.
Nothing much different from Kaine’s spectacles.
Those finer details collected in her mind though. Who belonged to who. Who spoke to who while ignoring others. Which whispers held schemes while others hid secrets. Noting the exits, aside from the door Garrik had shattered on his arrival, and which thresholds servants went through. Which ones only nobility were allowed through and which darkened doors held the High Guard behind.
If there was anywhere Blood might be hidden, she was willing to wager one of those guarded doors led to the sister stone.
Alora’s head spun as she sipped her wine, causing her vision to blur and forcing her to blink rapidly. She should’ve remembered the drinks of the higher class were stronger than the cheap bourbon or ale they drank in camp.
The cold of the wineglass brushed against her thumb as she mindlessly rubbed it. Her heels clacked against the marble when she moved and observed Aiden sitting beside Garrik at a head table. Their sea captain’s feet rested on the table as he trailed a finger down the bronze skin of a beautiful courtier.
Frigid violence thrummed around the Savage Prince as he reclined in his chair. Swirling a glass of clear liquid on the wood, ignoring the conversation of four males sweating and nervous to keep his temperament at a threatening level and not one likely ending with bloodshed.
Death was alluring on him.
Taking a sudden sip to mask the heat flushing her cheeks, Alora browsed and spotted Jade leaning against a pillar nearby, looking … incredibly Jade-like. Unapproachable. Hand dangling near her thigh of blades. Unamusingly tapping her wineglass with her starfire ring, agitated and bored.
Despite it all, despite the warning in her mind, Alora decided to become her company—or rescue.
As she weaved through the gathered crowds, one particular conversation drew her attention enough that she found herself slowing in pace to listen.
“My lord lost a great deal of fortune in the tragedy.” A female fanned herself at the swell of her breasts, distraught.
Another dramatically palmed her chest, and Alora had to will herself not to roll her eyes. “The High Guard hasn’t caught the fool yet?”
“No. And the lowers are calling him the Night Stalker.” A dark caw of a laugh. “Can you imagine such a thing?”
Something warm brushed beside Alora.
Thalon grinned at the crowd she’d stopped to sneer at.
How she had ever survived the dreadfully boring and self-centeredness of nobility escaped her. For a moment, she wanted to slap the looks off their faces, but a tattooed arm nudged her out of her violent urges.
“Apparently, this Night Stalker is the talk of the evening.” Thalon’s eyes glowed with mirth. “Some vigilante that interfered with the slave trades in the Lord’s Markets. A few of the auction houses have burned down, carriages thieved, coin stolen … faeries rescued.”
A gleam settled in Alora’s stare, and she downed her wine to conceal her approval from wandering eyes.
Her Guardian was practically vibrating in awe. Thalon crossed his arms and widened his stance as he brushed an inked hand down his beard. “The lower city is calling him a hero.”
The urge was there to tease him. She couldn’t help herself and toyed, “Why, Thalon. Do I sense an infatuation?”
He barked a laugh, stirring a few patronizing glares and whispered words of barbarian at the outburst too unsightly for court. Thalon ignored them and leaned close to her ear, admitting, “I’d offer a piece of Earned to shake their hand. This kingdom’s slave trade has continued for far too?—”
One of those heavily secured doors opened. And it seemed that who walked out captivated the entire court’s attention.
As unlikely as it was, she appeared as if a star had fallen to Elysian.
Draped in ethereal beauty, her golden hair spiraled in endless waves over bone-pale shoulders graced with a gown as white as snow and lavished in golden embellishments. Alora was certain the glow irradiating like the sun around her was from her perfect skin, but a near match of beaming light glistened from the crown of rubies pillowed on her head.
With every graceful step, like she walked on clouds, her bright crimson-colored lips serenely smiled. There was a softness in those eyes. Something sweet and intriguing, inviting and certain. And as she closed the distance, the court parted without a single order from her as the striking blue eyes of a devastatingly beautiful High Fae female were fixed on only one.
Garrik.
It was hard not to imagine them both together. His darkness and this … Celestial’s light.
Alora suddenly felt underdressed—too darkly dressed.
She found her grip tightening on her wineglass and brushed a hand over her upper arm. It was all she could do to remain there as she focused on the floor and chewed on the inside of her cheek.
Thalon noticed, gently elbowed her, and nodded to the high table.
Before, breathing seemed difficult. Now, impossible.
Though the incoming female’s eyes were on the Savage Prince, it was his brutal attention that burned into Alora. And when Thalon cupped Alora’s lower back and motioned her forward, she felt the comforting brush of shadow in her hand.
“Garrik wants you,” Thalon murmured as shadows formed a flower made of darkness in her palm.
While others lurked at the edge of the assembling crowd, the Shadow Order stalked around the table and perched behind their High Prince.
Ladomyr joined the female’s side. And only after he bowed at his waist, a devious smile playing along the wrinkles of his face, did he straighten and usher her forward, announcing, “High Prince. I believe you remember my daughter, Princess Erissa.”
Garrik stood and pulled a chair beside him from the table, gesturing to Alora as if Ladomyr hadn’t said anything at all.
When Alora indulged him and Thalon positioned himself behind, Aiden, too, stood and repeated the same for Jade before an awaiting servant refilled their glasses.
Both Garrik and Aiden returned to their seats. Their sea captain threw his arm over the back of Jade’s chair and crossed his ankles on the table as her High Prince reclined in his.
Erissa weathered it remarkably. Her shoulders remained high as she dared a step forward and leaned over the table as if to suffice as a bow and extended a hand. “High Prince,” she greeted, eyelashes fluttering and rosy cheeks swelling. An invitation for something sweet perhaps.
Brow arched, Garrik merely cocked his head.
The female heir to Land and Growth swallowed, the first sign of nervousness before she withdrew her hand and instead curtsied, earning her a nod of careless approval from the Savage Prince.
”Erissa,” Garrik acknowledged. Voice flat, dismissive.
“If it pleases you, you can address me as princess.”
A muscle flexed in Garrik’s cheek. “It doesn’t.”
The princess curtsied, batting her eyelashes like a practiced performance. By the stars, could she do something else? Whatever hypnotic notion she thought she held wasn’t working on Garrik.
Still, she said elegantly, “Pleased to see you again, Your Royal Highness.”
Alora snorted a laugh and immediately recovered by sipping her wine when she heard Thalon chuckle, too.
The smile on Garrik’s face was menacing to all else but those who knew him. He rolled his head against the chair and wickedly smirked at Alora while the court’s confusion stirred in the air.
Sorry. Your Royal Highn-ass. Suddenly embarrassed about the recklessness of her actions, added, I may have drunk a little too much wine. Sorry.
Inside her mind, Garrik’s smile flashed wide where, in reality, he lightly ran the back of his finger down her invisible death mark. There is nothing to forgive, c lever girl. Continue to enjoy yourself. I will watch over you.
It was blatantly evident that Erissa hated the dismissal. Hated the attention Garrik gave another female because her cheeks scarleted brighter than her painted lips. She snapped her head to the musicians, who rushed at her nod and began playing.
“Do you wish to dance with me?” Erissa interrupted, then looked down her straight nose at Alora with a hardened expression that didn’t flatter her beauty. A silent threat before she focused on Garrik. “I remember how you loved this song,” she said and swelled her cheeks with a smile that would have any male falling to his knees.
Not Garrik. “No,” he stated dryly, unaffected. Abyss for eyes still didn’t leave Alora. I still want that dance with you.
Maybe not tonight, seeing as I can barely keep from giggling like a fool.
Garrik hummed. Tomorrow then. His attention was unwavering, settled on Alora’s skin where he still brushed.
Possibly the first frown the princess had ever donned crossed her perfect face.
“I’ll dance with you, princess.” Aiden used a dagger to pick between his teeth and winked.
The princess’s scoff was floor rattling. She lifted her skirts and gracefully swept through the crowd, followed by maidservants. Knocking her shoulder into the spymaster on her way before he accompanied her out.
Aiden made a sound of disappointment and whined. “She doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
Thalon slapped him on the shoulder and squeezed as Jade drawled, “Can you blame her?”
Face neutral, Aiden grinned with absolute certainty. “No. Not at all.”
Alora couldn’t stop feeling Garrik’s touch.
Even long after his elbow returned to his armrest, fist hovering in front of his lips in contemplation, she imagined his tender stroking. Imagined the face of the princess and felt her jealousy burning with every inch Garrik’s finger crawled along her flesh.
Thalon appeared as bored as the rest of them, maybe slightly more. And Aiden’s fingers were currently exploring the bronze-skinned courtier’s jaw, who had sunk into the seat beside him not long after Erissa fled.
Jade was long gone. Garrik had permitted her leave to train with Deimon.
She had known Jade wouldn’t last long in that dress. After twenty minutes of shuffling in her seat, bouncing her leg, and tapping her fingers on the table, Garrik had leaned in and whispered to her. Those green eyes had brightened more than the stars, and a grateful smile beamed on her face as she’d drawn a dagger. The last they saw of their red-headed killing machine, she had parted a sea of nobility as if she were flames and they hadn’t wished to be burned.
Aiden couldn’t sit still anymore. Fidgeting in his seat, he amused himself by launching pieces of bread at a lord’s head standing in front of the table and groaned from deep in his throat when the female beside him hooked her arm around his and giggled.
Thalon gripped both tattooed hands on the top of Garrik and Alora’s chairs and heavily sighed. “Remind me why I agree to attend these things when they’re always as boring as sentry duty?”
In a swift motion, Aiden ripped his boots from the table, leaving the female behind as he leaned forward on his forearms. “Don’t worry, I happen to know this shindig won’t be boring much longer.”
Garrik leveled Aiden a glare, stopping his glass of clear liquid halfway to his lips. “What did you do?”
“Surprisingly, not me this time, Your Royal Beastie-ness .” Aiden pointed the knife he’d been using to clean between his teeth at the splintered throne room doors. “I sense a sea-worthy storm approaching.”
Kadamarian soldiers spilled through the door.
They lined the walls while a figure darkened the threshold and lingered there. And that figure didn’t move. It did nothing more. A statue carved from the stone of this mountain.
Something ancient and evil and all-ending thrummed through the room.
Garrik’s breath seemed to have stopped entirely as he stiffened. The face of the Savage Prince turned considerably more beast-like as the figure stepped into the light.
Golden waves side-swept over the left of a strikingly gorgeous male face, masking a russet eye. Spiked with golden metal tips, the right undercut hair framed his High Fae ear and drew attention to the glowing flaxen flecks in his irises. His wary expression carried as well as the autumn-colored armor he bore.
With every step closer, chin lifted and solid as iron in posture, his clean-shaven face blushed hot while his eyes stalked the Savage Prince.
Mouth twisted in a snarl, Garrik’s eyes, dark as night, meticulously tracked the male’s approach. Forearms appearing cleaved from stone, her High Prince’s fist strained from the force on the armrest. The bitter, seething words stabbed as sharp as the ice in his veins when the male approached and he said, “You must have a death wish, Zander.”
But the male simply towered, golden circlet on his head as his incredible muscles flexed. He sank training-weary hands into the cushioned armchair resting at the side opposite of the beast with pale skin, black veins, and oblivion for eyes.
No matter the distance, the two glowering—piercing—glares were thicker than the mountain.
“Garrik—”
“How informal of you, ” Garrik thundered, rattling the chandeliers and every bone present in the room too.
From his voice, Alora knew this was no illusion. No performance. This was true, honest rage.
Thalon rolled his shoulders, puffing his chest as his tattooed hand gripped the pommel of his golden sword. “Choose your next words wisely, Prince Ezander. Show our High Prince some starsdamned respect.”
Russet eyes shot between them, making no attempt to retreat. “Apologies, High Prince.” Ezander nodded in a show of respect. “I require an audience with you.“
“ Nothing you have to mention is worth a breath. Leave my sight before I show you the same courtesy our High Queen received.”
Pursing his lips, Ezander tightened his grip on the chair and dared to speak again. “You will want to hear what I have to say.”
“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” Garrik growled, his temper slipping from its tether.
“Because we were friends once. We trusted each other.”
Scoffing, “In what reality would one such as I entertain myself as your friend? ” Garrik spit the word with an air of disgust. “Even if I considered such a derisory thing, you would be the last to flatter my thoughts. And as for my trust , you forfeited that. Or do you forget so easily what you have done against Mist and Sea? The only reason I allow you to live is so I can take pleasure in your pain the second I grow bored. So tell me, before I do so, how did it feel taking that which I so dearly treasured and using your hand to stab me in the back?”
Ezander shifted upright, a muscle feathered in his cheek, and he said nothing as his eyes shifted around the court.
Garrik brushed his tongue along sharpened teeth, snarling through them, “ Nothing . You have nothing to say? Not even a plea for your worthless neck? You disappoint me … old friend .”
“Not here,” Ezander snapped with caution. Those eyes shifted until they located the king, his father.
Garrik tapped his fingers on the table, regarding the way a sheen of sweat formed on the prince’s brow. Long moments passed. The expression on Garrik’s face displayed his thoughts—as if he debated drawing his sword and removing Ezander’s head.
Before he spoke, amusement and something utterly wicked danced in his eyes. “With blades then. Only once blood is spilled will I entertain another moment of your false narration.”
A smile as delighted as her High Prince’s played on Ezander’s face. “I accept your challenge. Tomorrow morning. I will meet you where we once sparred as brothers.”
“Do not be so quick to amusement, princeling. You may have bested me as faelings, but you have never incurred the full extent of my power. Such restraint will not be gifted to you this time.” Garrik carelessly flicked his hand, dismissing him.
“Perhaps I shall bring my sister as my audience. You never could fight with her around.”
Glass shattered in Garrik’s hand. “ Out .”