Chapter Fifty-Two
CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO
Ilaria knew she was far more disappointed than she ought to be upon discovering that her wedding dress was, unfortunately, lovely.
For something made so quickly, she hadn’t expected it to be so immaculate.
She’d had secret, impossible hopes that between a horrible gown and her scars, the Frienen would see her and return to their ships.
But the silk caught the light like water, its edges embroidered with fine threads of silver and pearl.
Her face, too, had been smoothed with a balm of beeswax and dusted with powder.
It wasn’t perfect, but it softened the harshness just enough for the light to fall kindly across her skin.
She was a beautiful bride. Yet as she stared at her reflection in the looking glass, Ilaria felt hollow.
Soon, she would be married to a man who would take her far from her home and away from everyone she’d ever loved.
Looking at her reflection, she thought of Lute and the promise that they’d make this work.
It’d been a sweet gesture, though Ilaria didn’t truly expect her to keep that promise. She loved Lute, so of course she hoped she was wrong, but she was no fool. Ilaria understood the realities of her duty, and if she were in the demon’s place, she couldn’t imagine sharing the woman she loved.
“The prince is a lucky man,” her mother said from beside her, her voice thick with emotion. Her eyes swept over the princess, as critical as they were loving. “He won’t believe his fortune when he sees you.”
Ilaria tried to smile even as the slow rise of panic bloomed beneath her ribs. “Has anyone seen him yet? I’d like to meet him.”
The queen’s jaw tensed. The smile she offered was practiced but brittle, wavering at the edges. “Their ship should arrive any minute. But perhaps it’s better to keep some mystery, don’t you think?”
“Mystery?” Ilaria frowned. “For the man I’m meant to marry?”
“Men are different creatures than us, my love. It’s better to let their imaginations wander a bit.”
Ilaria didn’t respond for fear of her true feelings slipping out.
“Mistress Dubois,” the queen called, glancing toward the seamstress standing dutifully near the window. “Have you brought the veil?”
“Right here, Your Majesty.”
The veil was drawn from its box with reverent hands.
It was as delicate as it was beautiful, a cloud of lace and shimmer.
Ilaria didn’t breathe as they placed it atop her head, tucking it carefully into her braided coif.
Her hands rested against her stomach, fingers clenched to still their trembling.
“By the Light,” her mother whispered. “You’re radiant. Let him first see you at the altar. You’ll take his breath away.”
The words were meant to be comforting, yet they only added weight to the pressure coiling in her stomach.
Tension writhed within her, knotting low and hot in her gut. She had no doubt the veil was beautiful, just as she had no doubt her mother had reasons beyond tradition for having it made thicker than usual.
None in the room would dare speak of her disfigurement. Not the seamstress, nor the maid hovering quietly in the corner. And certainly not the queen.
But Ilaria was scarred.
Even with the finest healers, it was possible that would never change. Yet her mother continued to dance around the subject, as if acknowledging the truth of her situation might make it real.
“At the altar it is,” Ilaria murmured, not bothering to force a smile. It wasn’t as if any of them could see it. “How much longer do we have?”
“About an hour before you meet him,” the queen answered, fussing with the veil.
“Then if no one minds, I’d like some time alone to prepare myself.”
“Of course.” She peeled back, her smile anxious. “I’ll fetch you once the prince has arrived.”
She turned to leave, only to pause beside Ilaria’s desk like an afterthought. “Do try to keep away from your quills until the end of the day. We wouldn’t want any ink staining your beautiful gown.”
“Of course,” Ilaria echoed. “Everyone is dismissed.”
Ilaria waited until the last of the footsteps faded and the heavy hush of her chambers settled around her. Only then did she sit on the edge of her bed, tip her head back, and shut her eyes against the tears that stung them.
She refused to let them fall.
Her life was slipping further from her grasp with every passing hour, but crying would solve nothing.
Soon, she would lose her home, her freedom, Aurelie.
Lute.
Ilaria’s chest ached at the thought of being carried across the sea in some ship, severed from the people she loved most while her bond was rendered useless by the distance.
And for what?
An army doomed to fall to magic, just like each one before it? An alliance built on fantasy and desperation?
Even if they managed to kill a horde or two, there were hybrids to contend with now. No matter what they did, Rhovar couldn’t compete with such a foe.
So no, she couldn’t just sit here, crying and pitying herself. Even if she couldn’t change her own fate, there was still something she could do.
She tore off the veil and flung it onto the bed. She’d need to move quickly, but there was still time.
Ilaria stood and pushed the tapestry aside, pressing her fingers into the worn divot in the stone until the passage groaned open. Cold air spilled out, damp with earth and dust, and she waited several long seconds to be certain no one had heard before slipping inside.
The walls narrowed as she descended, shadows snaking up from her feet to conceal her. She gathered her skirts in one hand. Above, she could still hear the distant echo of music and voices, the sound of celebration bleeding through the cracks.
Down, down, down she went, deep into the castle’s bones and all the way to the hold.
There were fewer guards than usual. Most had been pulled to the outer gates, tasked with keeping demons from getting inside.
They should have paid more attention to the demons who could get out.
Ilaria slipped through the stairwell unseen, wearing her shadows like a cloak. The magic had come so naturally, even the first time she’d used it. Like she had always been meant for it.
She slipped past watchful eyes, softening her steps until she moved like smoke. The shadows obeyed her silent commands, stretching beneath the torches and winding around the guards’ boots like a trickle of spilled ink.
She waited until the magic was in place. Until her heart steadied its thundering beat. And then, with a slow exhale, she gave a little tug.
All three guards collapsed at once, falling to their backs.
Ilaria moved quickly. The shadows curled up their legs, climbing the bodies of the guards until they reached their throats.
“Forgive me,” she whispered as the darkness tightened, choking off their cries before any sound could rise.
It squeezed around their necks until their eyes rolled back and they fell unconscious.
Only then did she gather up the hem of her gown and step carefully over the bodies, mindful not to cause any injuries.
“Pardon me.” She was careful not to step on any splayed fingers. “You have my sincerest apologies.”
The shadows retreated, melting back into her skin. Even then, she could still feel them within her, eager to be summoned again. She hoped she wouldn’t need them.
Lute might have enjoyed treating her shadows as weapons, but Ilaria didn’t have the stomach for such behavior. She preferred to think of them as her friends, using them to mask herself or to slip away whenever she needed some time alone.
Still, she could certainly see the appeal of using them offensively.
“You’re a handy little bugger, aren’t you?” she cooed at the darkness brushing her ankles like an obedient pet.
Ilaria quickly crossed the hold, the fabric of her gown rustling as she hurried toward the cell where Varen was being held.
The captain was standing near the cell doors when she found him, likely drawn by the noise. His eyes widened at the sight of her, then slid past her, scanning the shadows.
“It’s just me,” Ilaria said gently. “Aurelie hasn’t returned yet.”
Varen was broader now, hulking in frame. Dark wings loomed behind him, stretching nearly to the ceiling, and his arms had thickened until they looked nearly as wide as her face.
Before him, Ilaria had never felt more fragile.
And yet Varen kept perfectly still, making no move against her.
“She’s doing well,” Ilaria added, the words spilling out before her mind could catch up. “I saw her a few days ago. You have nothing to worry about.”
It was strange that he wasn’t talking. For a moment she wondered if his new form prevented it, though she saw the truth not a moment later.
Varen’s tongue was missing, though it didn’t seem an accident. The cut was too clean, and horror turned her body cold as she realized exactly who had done this to him.
Worse, she understood why.
She gripped her gown to steady herself, trying not to sway. “Has my father realized what you are?”
Light, how had this happened?
Varen wasn’t supposed to be a hybrid.
Surely it had to be an accident. A coincidence.
There had to be something she was missing, because how was this possible?
Varen only continued to stare at her, and the longer he did, the more his expression twisted with anguish. His bloodshot eyes drifted to the scars marring her cheek. His claws clenched at his sides, trembling.
Ilaria reached her hand into the cell, but he backed away as if it were a weapon.
“I don’t blame you, Varen.” Her voice was soft, but it carried in the empty hush of the hold. “How could I? It’s my fault you’re even in here.”
He didn’t seem to notice the shadows coiling at the lock, slithering into the mechanism and prying it apart until the bolt gave way with a soft click.
The cell door swung open, and Varen sucked in a sharp breath as he immediately backed away.
In response, Ilaria stepped forward. “I’m here to fix this, but you need to come with me.”
His chest heaved with labored breath, eyes looking between her and the exit. Then, slowly, he turned and backed into the far corner of the cell, putting more space between them.
Ilaria frowned and took another step closer.
He hissed at her.
“If you haven’t guessed by now, it’s my wedding day.” She squeezed the hem of her dress tight. “Take pity on me, Varen. It was exhausting to climb down all those stairs in this gown, and I’d appreciate if you’d do as I ask.”
His lips curled back, fangs bared in a nasty snarl.
Were it anyone else, Ilaria might have fled then and there.
Yet, as it was, she only rubbed at her arms to get the gooseflesh to disappear.
Here, alone in the darkness of the hold, she had her shadows to protect her.
They were stronger here, but she knew even then that she’d have no need for them. Varen wouldn’t hurt her.
Not again.
“Enough of this,” she snapped at him. “There’s a cure that can turn you back into a human. If you want a chance at getting your life back, I need you to come with me right now.”
This finally earned his attention. His body tensed, warring between hope and disbelief. She could see the battle play out in his eyes, but in the end, Varen was a Chantelune through and through.
With an animalistic grunt, he settled onto the floor in the corner of his cell.
Stubborn bastard. He may not have been able to speak, but the message in his eyes was as clear as day— If that’s true, you can bring it to me here.
Ilaria glared at him, unimpressed. “I’m not asking. You’re coming with me, Captain, and that’s an order.”?His bristling wings stretched wide behind him, shadowing the wall in a silent declaration of what he’d become.
A demon. No longer hers to command.
Ilaria let out a breathless laugh, dark and disbelieving. “That’s really how you want to play this? Very well. Just remember that you left me no choice.”
Shadows stirred at her heels.
Varen recoiled, but there was nowhere for him to go. Darkness surged, and he thrashed as the tendrils wound around his arms, curling around his wings and pulling them in tight.
He may have been the demon, yet Varen was the one who looked terrified when he saw her magic.
Ilaria gritted her teeth. She’d always known this would be the case. Always known what reaction she could expect from others.
But didn’t they understand that there was no other way?
The demons were decimating them, and it was only a matter of time before Rhovar fell completely.
The answer wasn’t to fight the demons, but to join them. To try something new, before they were all wiped out.
She was doing what had to be done, and soon, Ilaria hoped her people would come to their senses and realize as much. But for now, there was only one person she cared about. One person she needed to rescue.
She turned, the shadows dragging his bound form behind her as she made for the stairwell.
She would get him out. She would get him safe.
And by the time the kingdom realized what had happened, Varen would be long gone.