Chapter 40
E rissa possessively hung onto Garrik’s arm, reeking of confidence as she flaunted her newest jewel in the form of considerable muscles and death behind silver eyes.
Below the castle, tucked between the blackstone mountain peaks and valleys, a new world awaited; The High City of Karanagar. Not one lower faerie to be seen. Only High Fae and Kadamar’s upper class were permitted through the marble gates and walls. And deep below, splitting the valley and buildings flooding the slopes, awaited a crystal-blue river, splitting the city like an aquamarine-encrusted necklace.
Every step was gilded in sunlight. Reflecting off crystal windows and warming the streets despite the chill of mountain air. It was as if she walked in a utopia, where stars would venture from their palaces and bask in luxury until called back to the night.
Even the air seemed too lavish to breathe.
They climbed the streets of Karanagar and ventured along white-bricked streets of shops so elegant she imagined the Lord of Telldaira’s wealth too insufficient to step inside. But the patrons, the nobility and courtiers, and visiting dignitaries, those fortunate enough to be born into the higher class, strolled along the busy streets as if time was as infinite as the riches in their pockets.
When Alora lived in Telldaira, the moments she was permitted to walk the city streets alongside her maidservants and the male she once called betrothed, she’d never imagined something as great as this. Had never smiled at the rush of laughter, the faces smiling. Of shop owners with their doors wide open. The hanging baskets of exquisite flowers and blossom tree branches swaying in the breeze or the musicians playing on the balconies of music halls and squares of the streets.
But this… This.
There were no words for this feeling.
Gradually, they weaved through the city decorated in banners of every shade of red to honor the Festival of Cullings and Hunt. Stopping at every gown shop and jewelry showroom Erissa insisted upon, with Garrik by her side.
The attention of the locals and spectators may have been insignificant enough for the princess and princeling to dismiss and ignore, but Alora didn’t miss the awe on their faces as they glimpsed Erissa’s golden hair and immaculate gown… Or the intimidation and terror when they laid eyes on the gray-haired demon shadowing her.
“I must say. I didn’t expect you to accept my offer so soon.” The happiness on Ezander’s face was enough to make a rainy day feel blisteringly warm. “Must have been my charm. I’ve been told I’m quite irresistible.”
Alora huffed a laugh, trailing her gaze to the emporium Erissa had pulled Garrik inside. Her poor High Prince. He looked like he pleaded for death every second. “Don’t flatter yourself. I simply needed a gown … perhaps some jewelry for the masquerade.”
Ezander grinned at that. Clearly seeing through her lie and enjoying it. But for him, he would never know the true reason. “Indeed, my lady,” he laughed, and she refused that small smile budding on her face.
Ezander dared a hesitant hand on her back and gestured her forward to a stone bridge streamed in garlands of red roses. Their attendants, maidservants, and Dragons far enough ahead and behind to shroud them in a cocoon of privacy as they stopped in the middle.
Again, the beauty of the city stole her. The sun and clouds, the cliffs around them reflecting on the river so far below, she wondered if she jumped if she could touch the bottom.
Something smelled of cherry pastries, perhaps of sugary pies. Dinnerware scraped along porcelain plates outside a bake shop two buildings down, and Alora knew the next place she’d venture to. Her mind turned to the past. To the small comforts she’d found. Rowlen, despite being a wealthy clothing merchant’s son, created the best pies. Especially on her birthday.
Alora turned to Ezander and?—
He wasn’t there.
But he was. Crouching at the bottom of the rose garland, observing wilted brown petals. He side-eyed her for a moment. Side-eyed the servants and buildings beyond when the petals perked and pigmented brighter than any flower and woven ribbon on the railing.
She thought she hallucinated it. But there it was. Revived perfectly anew, while a breeze tickled its flawless petals.
Almost like waiting for a half-assed apology after a bruising slap to the cheek.
Stars, she hated red roses. Not taking her eye off that horrid flower, she stepped backward, gaping. “You’re a?—”
“Marked One,” Ezander finished, eyes shifting around the street. “No need to call your Dragons. It is known to Galdheir.”
“You have powers of earth shifting?” A cold bite left her tongue laced with curiosity. It must’ve been nice to be a royal who escaped the greed of the High King. Not so many were as lucky.
“Time,” Ezander corrected. Her unease vanished. “I shift time. A lot less than what I was born with, but I guess I should be grateful for what I still possess.” There was hesitation in his words. Where a quick scowl covered his face, he then smiled as if it hadn’t happened. “Magnelis now commands most of my powers for his benefit. For the good of the realm, of course.”
It was almost as if he was waiting for her to agree, so Alora repeated, “Of course. For the good of the realm,” and schooled her face, neutral. Something inside her whispered that Ezander didn’t mean a word of it. Whether angry over his powers lost or … something else.
“What you saw with the flower,” he continued, leaning back against the railing as wind rustled his golden hair, “was a shift in time. I simply altered its perception of life and rewound its timeline. It now lives in the past, in our future.” He noticed her slight confusion. “It is hard to explain.”
“Does His Highness know?”
“He was there when Magnelis stole—” Ezander coughed into his fist, and she found the other side of the bridge, her maidservant Miwa, and those incredible white wings to be more interesting—and to cover the grin she couldn’t hide. “When I offered my powers,” he corrected.
For the good of the realm . He didn’t need to speak the words, but it was written on his face.
“Father was able to persuade Magnelis to allow me to keep a kernel of it. It could be pertinent to Kadamar and my father.”
A squealing giggle interrupted them. They glanced over the bridge to where Erissa was practically bouncing on her priceless heels outside an emporium. She extended her hand to Garrik, who tightened his jaw and offered a coin purse, but instead, she looped her arm in his. Garrik adjusted the fabric of his silver threaded onyx jacket at his abdomen before Erissa pulled him inside a crystal showroom nearby.
Stars fucking burn me , Garrik’s rough voice rippled through her mind.
She let that warm sound wash over her and answered, Can’t handle a little shopping?
Cannot handle Erissa . How long do princesses shop for?
Don’t know. I’m not a princess.
“Yesterday,” the princeling unknowingly interrupted. “When sparring with Garrik—” Ezander’s face blanched. Unmistakable fear cloaked his eyes. “Apologies, my lady. When sparring with our High Prince.”
“You don’t need to be so careful with your words, Ezander. It’s okay. I won’t tell him of the informality.”
Gratitude radiated off him as he deepened a breath.
Maybe they didn’t need to do so much scheming after all. Ezander seemed to be a genuine male. The way he was being so careful with his words wasn’t a faerie used to attending courts and bowing to the High King’s whims. If anything, he seemed to want to speak his mind, but the fact that she was a Dragon … a Dragon regarded as mercenaries and executioners for the High King’s pleasure…
He was being very, very careful.
They strolled in silence until Ezander stopped in front of a pottery house and surveyed a bowl with gold rimming the marble. In the window’s reflection, russet eyes met hers when she brushed beside his shoulder and also examined it.
“I used my power yesterday,” he started. “I thought he would throw me over that cliff, so I slowed down time and lunged. When I allowed time to settle, he’d been mid-blink when my sword cracked his face.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Ezander chuckled a breath. “I didn’t think it would work.” And chuckled again.
She almost wanted to like it.
“He’s grown so strong. And when I swung again, I held back. I didn’t want to cut him but also didn’t want him to win so I could speak with him… But then I saw his scars and…” The princeling shook his head.“Well, now it is too late. He’ll never speak to me. Never know the truth.”
Alora focused on another piece of pottery made from black clay shining in the sunlight. Gold branched through it as if it had once been dropped and shattered on stone. Now the gold filled the missing pieces, making it whole. A new creation.
Like her …
Like Garrik.
“What happened to him?” the princeling’s hoarse murmur broke the silence.
She squeezed her eyes closed and listened to songbirds in the blossom trees. To the musician’s melodies. The words lingering on her tongue made her mouth taste like ash. She had to play a part. A Dragon in the High King’s army. She couldn’t be anything less.
Hoping he would glimpse the lie in her voice, the same she was certain she glimpsed in his, Alora said, “It was … for the good of the realm.” It took everything in her to not side-eye him. Clenching her jaw to keep from showing emotion.
On the pommel of the prince’s sword, his fist tightened until she thought it would crack the iron beneath. “Forgive me, my lady. I am finding it difficult to accept that something as horrendous as those scars can do any good for the realm.”
She couldn’t agree more.
Erissa insisted on emptying an entire eatery for private dining.
Apparently, The Ruby Crown was more than willing since the establishment was named in honor of the princess. Between the breathtaking views and high-quality liquors and wines served in gold-flaked crystal chalices, Alora couldn’t convince herself she wasn’t appreciative of the spoiled heiress’s gesture. The silence after walking through the constant hum of the city was a pleasant escape.
By the way Garrik rubbed his temple and plucked his tunic from his abdomen, she was certain he appreciated it too. No doubt in his silence, when he’d hardly spoken a true word all day, his mind searched the city dwellers’ consciousnesses. Just because they were out for respite didn’t mean they didn’t have a job to do.
The princess and Garrik sat on the terrace overlooking the cliffs and river, harboring countless ships, docks, and riverside buildings below. Alora thought she glimpsed females with fishtails lounging on the shores.
Ezander had decided against dining in the shadow of the Savage Prince and delighted in lunch with Alora on the other end.
Before long, she’d eaten her fill and had to deny every servant that carried yet another tray of Kadamarian delicacies to spoil them with—on the house, of course , because stars-forbid Erissa ever shoveled out a grain of coin.
“My father lavishes her in so many jewels, I don’t see why she needs yet another ruby necklace,” Ezander mentioned the moment they sauntered out of The Ruby Crown and onto the street.
Erissa flipped her long blond curls over a bare shoulder, her back facing Garrik, who held a gaudy statement piece in his hands and appeared clueless as to what to do with it.
The princess’s mouth was moving, waving her hands and tapping her neck before Alora’s High Prince lifted it over Erissa’s head and draped it around her neck.
Warmth pulsed in Alora’s palm before she recognized the ember forming. Quickly snuffing it and that uncomfortable pressure in her veins out before she quirked a brow and said to Ezander, “Rubies are her favorite?”
Ezander scoffed and curled his lip at the princess lifting on her toes and puffing her chest to show Garrik her … necklace. “That’s an understatement . Father redecorated the entire castle the moment my sister mentioned the color. As much as Father despises females, he dotes on her rather disgustingly.”
Their tour of the High City continued. The more they ventured, the fewer attendants and maidservants waited on their whims. Most were excused to carry Erissa’s purchases to the castle. Some left with items Ezander felt Alora should have.
Ezander browsed inside a weaponry shop, mostly made for decoration rather than sport. Garrik stood stiff-shouldered and arms crossed, speaking to their Dragons, when silver found her eyes. She admittedly missed his attention after spending all day looking in flaxen flecks and noticing sunset hair.
Garrik’s gaze softened the more they stared at each other. As if seeing her face was enough to calm the discomfort of suffering the day with Erissa.
Hey, mighty prince. She smiled.
He did too. A beautiful, real smile when no one else was looking. Or no one she cared to notice.
Alora turned in time to see Miwa’s careful eyes, brow raised, and a feline smirk across her painted purple lips. Before the female could say a thing—knowing she would—Alora looked to the castle, a mere blur of turrets and crimson flags, and asked, “Where were you last night?”
Those purple lips fell into a tight line. “Did Esmeray not come and attend to you?” A touch of panic stole her features, but Alora was swift to move forward, palms raised in reassurance.
“She did. I just … missed you.”
Miwa grinned, flipping teal curls over her shoulder, careful of the wings. “Esmeray needed another night off. I traded with her. The king’s wives rarely mind. I hope you’re not offended.”
“I’m not. That was nice of you. I used to do that with my friend Emeline when I worked at—” Alora cut herself off, feeling blood rush to her cheeks.
Pearly-white wings flared slightly. Miwa leaned close enough for no one but her to hear. “We all have pasts, Alora. Don’t be ashamed of yours. Your worth is in here”—she tapped at her chest—“not where you came from.”
Glass shattered up the street. Past Garrik and their Dragons.
Every head on the crowded street turned to a small female with wings like stained glass kneeling on whitestone. The female’s knees bled through her dress. Not because of the street, but from the glass she was forced to kneel on.
A male’s hand raised. Swiftly, it slapped her cheek as a female in lavish skirts turned her head and laughed with two others who did the same.
Miwa took a determined step forward, fists clenched, wings tight.
The male shouted at High Guardsmen, but Alora’s ears were ringing too loud to hear. Because those guards moved forward and gripped the female by the hair before they clamped shackles around her wrists.
She didn’t realize she’d grabbed Miwa until the female cupped her hand. Their eyes met. Both in silent question when Ezander stepped in front of them with his fists balled, too.
Garrik… She couldn’t see his eyes, but the way his shoulders tensed and shadows whorled …
Ezander sighed as they watched the female be dragged away. A muscle feathered in his cheek when he turned to Alora, almost as if he didn’t know what to say but spoke anyway. “Another for my father’s Hunt.” And sighed, face bleak. “Only the monarch of Kadamar can remove those shackles. Come, my lady. There’s nothing we can do for her now.”
Garrik plucked his tunic from his abdomen and upper arms again.
Erissa never noticed, but when her flesh would touch the cold of his, her face twisted in repulsion.
Alora wanted to scorch the look off her face. Perhaps that’s why the princess was now five steps ahead of him. The last time she touched him, he had grabbed her wrist and refused her only for Erissa to snarl at him and storm away.
She hadn’t stopped watching the way his back muscles tightened or the way Smokeshadows coiled around his hands and shoulders. And soon found herself walking beside him.
Ezander walked shoulder to shoulder with his sister while boiling in Garrik’s death glare behind them.
Alora was so focused on Garrik’s tight shoulders that she hadn’t noticed the staircase.
Erissa and Ezander were halfway up, chatting about something Alora had no intention of caring about. Because that was a staircase. A staircase she had no idea what waited at the top. As to who was up there and what danger it could bring.
She searched those steps. Expecting ebony hair and mahogany eyes.
But they weren’t there.
Not a snicker. No wicked taunting.
But Silver. Silver was there. Three steps up. Silver and gray.
“I do not suppose you would want a repeat of the last staircase we climbed?” Garrik’s voice. She could’ve cried—was certain she would’ve if he hadn’t extended his hand.
Alora released a breathless chuckle. Something like a thrumming spark of energy rippled through her. A sign of life rising from a cold pit that she had, for so long, been trapped in.
Alora took his waiting palm, soothing a crucial piece inside of her as she lifted her skirt and climbed to him. “In your dreams,” she whispered, feeling that tender and shattered part of her mend and strengthen.
And when he walked beside her the entire way. When he took the last three steps in one bound to reach it before her, Alora knew with absolute certainty there was no danger there. That there would never be any danger waiting for her so long as Garrik was the one waiting at the top.
Her breath was tight, aching.
To anyone watching, it would have looked like the High Prince of Elysian escorting and speaking to his elite as they ascended the stairs. But Garrik’s hand tightened, lingering a little too long to be anything but an escort.
She knew the meandering crowds could see but didn’t care. Alora leaned into his arm—so familiar and right. Leaned into the brush of his thumb on the back of her hand. And every solitary part of her narrowed on his feathered touch there. Of the mighty and infinite dark power that smelled of leather and metal and every perfect corner of darkness rippling around them.
“I have needed to do this all day.” And by the stars, she heard desperation in his voice, almost cracking her in two.
That aching, tight breath hitched. “Do what?” But she already knew?—
“Touch you.”
—because she needed to feel him too. All day. After clinging to the warmth of another male… There was nothing like Garrik’s touch. Where his was safety and winter and the night sky and … and everything , all else felt small, empty.
Go to Ezander. Pain—so much pain rested in the words as he carefully backed away.
Alora blinked, not quite believing she heard him correctly. She didn’t want that. Didn’t want to be with anyone else. To go anywhere with anyone else. To feel or laugh with anyone else. To?—
As if her thoughts were his own, Garrik caressed the panicking borders of her mind that seemed incapable of breathing if he stepped away another inch. Right down that silver tether she held open for him. And she felt him—saw him there. That strained smile screamed his discomfort as a phantom touch like icy lips pressed into her hair.
Her mind leaned into it. She imagined running her hands through his hair, and he contently sighed at her thoughts, too.
But then Erissa was there. Right beside him … like she owned the very breath he breathed.
Alora vowed to kill her if she touched Garrik again. If she recoiled in repulsion at his cold, perfect hands. Not even disgusted by the possessive violence climbing from her soul.
That silent threat must’ve been so evident because Garrik’s eyes brightened before he gestured for the princess to walk forward, leading him up the street before the choking warmth of another male stepped beside her.
Alora stood in the comfort of her night robe from her balcony that evening. Breathing in the pleasant chill of mountain air as the moon dipped behind blackstone peaks. Every muscle in her body screamed from the endless tour of the High City and from the dancing after. Where Ezander had twirled her and that awful golden dress that reminded her of blistering sunshine around the ballroom floor.
The entire time she had been with Ezander … only one thing echoed in her thoughts.
Garrik.
She looked up.
He sat on the balustrade of his balcony. One knee bent near his chest with his forearm draped over it, while the other leg dangled over the edge. Pearlescent movement drew her eye to his hand. Garrik mindlessly twisted the rubbery stem of a pearlsea between his fingers.
It wasn’t peace clouding his eyes. They looked distant. Lost in another realm. Another time.
You okay?
Silver flickered to her, then back to where he was staring.He didn’t so much as flinch. You have returned.
Needle-like pricks of warning stabbed her veins. Alora frowned, pressed her palms against the marble, and leaned forward, trying to survey more of his face shadowed by the mountain. That’s not an answer.
Still, he barely moved. Barely breathed. No. It is not.
This wasn’t right. Something was wrong.
She was tempted to climb the blackstone, but the look in his eyes … There was no mistaking he knew the reckless foolish thing she would do for him. It stopped her from taking that dangerous climb. Instead, she asked, What’s wrong?
Silence.
Cold. Terrible. Heartbreaking silence.
Closing her eyes, she pictured that wall of shadows in his mind. Silently asking, like a gentle hand against a lover’s cheek, to enter. But the shadows didn’t part. They only whorled darker. Thicker.
If he was being tormented by living nightmares from being touched all day …
Damn the danger. She’d hold out a hand, just as he had at those stairs today. He wouldn’t do this alone anymore. She wouldn’t let him.
Alora toed off her night slippers, determined to climb, and began to weave between the chairs and lounges. Around the absurd amount of pillows and every useless plant and potted tree when Smokeshadows unfurled from his back, creating those incredible wings of night.
Garrik twisted and fell from the ledge. His eyes were closed, yielding to the power of his wings.
For a moment, Alora thought he would look back. Offer her some hope.
But she didn’t have time to cry out, to call his name. Before he slammed into the stones of the royal gardens far below, those wings flared wide and carried him deep into the mountains.