Chapter Fifty-Four
CHAPTER
FIFTY-FOUR
Never had Rhovar looked so festive.
The entire castle grounds had been transformed.
Silk streamers stretched between towers, fluttering like pennants in the breeze.
Musicians lined the walkways, plucking at harps and playing viols with melodies as warm as sunlight.
There were dancers in the gardens—children crowned with flower chains, weaving through the hedges in mirrored steps as laughter echoed in bright peals across the lawn.
Vendors had set up along the edge of the main road, their carts piled with sweets and carved tokens of angel wings.
Bakers set out tiered pyramids of honey-dipped pastries while children darted past with baskets of glazed nuts and carmellets, a Frienen delicacy shared by young women before a wedding.
The delicious spiced cake was dusted with fine sugar and wild spice, and the children pressed one eagerly into Aurelie’s palm before gleefully finding someone else onto whom they could bestow their treasure.
This was far more than a wedding. It was a balm over years of bloodshed, a moment of beauty meant to convince the kingdom that this was the union they needed to change their fate.
Aurelie was glad to see laughing children.
Glad to see that there were enough cakes to feed every hungry belly, and that her people held such hope for this union even after all they’d endured.
She kept her head down as she navigated the crowd, eyes pinned on the castle ahead.
She could see her balcony from this angle, though getting to it discreetly felt impossible.
For now, she focused on keeping up her illusion.
Magic hummed across her cheekbones, tickling the edge of her jaw.
The hair had been the hardest part. It’d taken a great deal of focus to get it to such a rich brown, and even then, she could feel the color waning, trying so desperately to return to white.
The sound of hooves echoed sharply against the cobblestones. A new carriage was being announced at the gate, the creak of its doors punctuated by the barked names of its occupants.
Aurelie paused, chewing on a carmellet as she watched ships pull into the harbor, bearing indigo flags embroidered with constellations.
The Frienen were sea folk. Their oldest legends told of a time when the stars hung so low over the waves that the wisest of their ancestors swallowed them whole. From that fire, the Frienen were born, blessed with a deep knowledge and care for this world.
Aurelie couldn’t tear her eyes from their embellished garments, struck by their sheer elegance.
Jewels glinted from their hair, onyx and moonstone gems gleaming with each step.
Their robes were sleeveless and draped, baring their arms to the breeze while their collars rose high and regal to their throats.
They wore silks in shades of silver and blues of the deepest tones, from the richest of sapphires to hues so dark they swallowed all light.
The women approached the land first. Their eyes swept the gathered Rhovarians, sharp as spearpoints as they weighed each stranger as though they were mapping the strengths and weaknesses of the kingdom itself.
Their men dressed more modestly, trained to be scholars and healers.
By custom, unwed men veiled their faces in public.
Orion had told Aurelie the tale on her first visit to Frienen, though her brother had a bad habit of mixing truth with fable.
According to him, the legend was that Frienen men were born with only half a soul.
The rest of that soul was believed to lie dormant, awakened only when they found their partner and were sealed in marriage.
Until then, a man was considered unfinished and was veiled as a representation of the part of him that was still waiting to one day take form.
There was but one veiled man among this crowd, and as he lingered through the archway and into the square, all eyes turned to the young prince. His face was masked by silver silk. Beneath it, Aurelie could see only enough to mark his height and the broad set of his chest.
Behind him, the Frienen king and queen stepped forward.
The years had hollowed the king’s cheeks and curved his spine.
His hand rested on an ivory staff carved with celestial patterns, silver inlaid along its length.
The queen leaned subtly toward him, though whether out of affection or her own frailty was hard to say.
Her deep red hair was wound twice around her neck and fastened with a bone clasp shaped like a moth.
King Edric and Queen Sybil of Rhovar stepped forward to greet them, and the square bent in a single, sweeping bow.
To Aurelie’s surprise, Azriel stood at the king’s side.
Her stomach pitched at the sight of him, and she gripped Severin’s hand more firmly. The illusion she wore might fool most, but if anyone could pierce through the glamour to the shifting miasma surrounding Severin, it was Azriel.
And yet, for some reason, the demon beside her didn’t even flinch.
“It’s fine.” The confidence in his voice was like a blade pressed against her spine. “Stand tall.”
“But how—”
“We took care of it.” His breath brushed her ear, words softened by magic. “Now smile, Badger.”
Aurelie tried, but her lips trembled.
Azriel’s gaze cut through the crowd, searching. They settled on her, and the air between them held as taut as a drawn bow.
“Severin,” she hissed, skin crawling. His hands only tightened around hers.
Azriel’s head tilted, silver eyes narrowing as if he sensed something just out of reach. She stilled, realizing then that this charade was over.
But then the angel turned away.
Relief swept through her so fast she leaned into Severin’s arm, dizzy from it.
But how was it possible that they had slipped past Rhovar’s highest defenses so easily?
She turned to him, needing an explanation, but the demon refused to meet her eyes.
Azriel led the Frienen prince up the cobbled path toward the cathedral.
Clergy in ceremonial silks lined the way, each holding a shallow bronze bowl filled with coals.
Townsfolk drew folded slips of parchment from their sleeves, upon which they’d written short prayers and words of blessing for Ilaria and the prince.
They cast them into the coals as the prince passed, and the smoke curled upward, said to carry their words to the Divine.
The crowd was halted halfway up the hill, where the royals continued alone until they reached the cathedral doors.
Once, Aurelie would have been with them, there to watch her best friend be married. Now she could only stare from afar as the kingdom cheered.
“We should go,” Severin warned, softened voice threading through her turmoil. “Let’s hurry while everyone’s distracted.”
She turned to him. “Are you going to explain to me what just happened?”
“Yes, but later. Right now, there are too many ears.”
She gritted her teeth but let it go. He was right that now was their best chance to reach her father.
“There’s a hidden passage in the stables,” she said. “It’s our best way to get inside.”
“Then that’s where we go.”
Aurelie led the way up a narrow path that wound behind the kitchens, where fewer guests lingered. She smelled hay before the stable roofs came into view, the stable abandoned in the celebration.
“It’s through here.” She pointed to a door half-concealed behind a hanging bridle rack.
It creaked as she pried it open, revealing a narrow stone stairwell that twisted outward into darkness.
The scent of old earth rose to meet them, and Severin ducked in behind her, letting the door shut with a soft thud.
The darkness was immediate.
Aurelie raised her hand and tried to summon light. A gentle spark of Glory sparked at her fingertips, but it sputtered out as quickly as it came.
She reached for Yuri, searching for their bond, but still there was nothing.
“It’s fine,” Severin said. “Demons can see in the dark.”
Aurelie swallowed her frustration and grabbed for his hand. “I know the path, anyway. Just keep hold of me.”
Aurelie let her free hand drag against the wall, the stones cool and rough beneath her fingertips. Each time her boot struck the stair, she counted under her breath—twelve, thirteen, fourteen …
She’d visited this passage often after Gluttony’s attack, walking it over and over again in the dead of night.
She counted the steps it took to get to Ilaria’s room, then to the stables and back again.
She memorized every turn, fearing a night when the castle would be breached and she’d need to know her path not just by sight, but by count.
Thirty-five … thirty-six …
They were deep in the passage. One wrong turn, and a person could be lost for days.
At the ninetieth stair, she took a sharp left. Her hand skirted along the wall until she found the small, rounded knob tucked into the wall and pushed.
The tunnel door creaked softly as it opened.
Magic buzzed upon her skin. “It’ll be guarded. Be ready to fight.”
Severin made a quiet sound of acknowledgment, and she listened to the whisper of his flute drawing from its sheath.
Gathering a deep breath, she threw the door open … but was met with no protest.
No yells of warning. No blades drawn.
Instead, there were bodies littered across the floor.
Aurelie hurried toward them, crouching to inspect three familiar faces. Fortunately, all were still breathing.
Who could have done this?
She pushed from the bodies and hurried down the corridor to her father’s cell, stomach twisting when she saw that the door was open wide.
He was gone.
Her father was gone.
She clutched the bars, panic rising. There were signs of struggle. A path through the cell and claw marks across the ground and walls, as if someone had dragged him. Even the doors themselves hung askew, as if he’d been trying to cling to them.
Oddly enough, it was these signs that gave Aurelie some relief.
Varen would have gone with the knights willingly, so they clearly had no part in this.