The Prophecy

by Erin Rhew

  “With this locket, I bind Layla Givens, the Fulfillment, to the Prince of the Ethereals, and I bind the Prince of the Ethereals to Layla Givens, the Fulfillment.”

  “No.” Layla shrieked. “You can’t do this.”

  The heaviness suddenly lifted. Despite the bouncing carriage, she found her footing and lunged toward him, knocking the locket onto the floor. She retrieved it, hoping to throw the accursed jewelry out the window, but Elder Werrick grabbed her wrist. The mysterious weight crashed upon her again, and Layla dropped to her knees. With a surprised yelp, she loosened her grip. The locket again fell to the carriage floor.

  “It’s no use, girl.” Elder Werrick breathed heavily as he stooped to pick up the golden heart before she could make another attempt. “Even without the locket, the binding would hold.” She looked at him skeptically. If the piece of jewelry weren’t important, why had he fought so hard for it?

  He tucked it inside his tunic with a self-satisfied sneer. “But since you seem to have no reverence for the First Ones or the locket, I will keep it for the time being.”

  Layla flopped back down into her seat, flustered and angry. Now, on top of everything else, he’d bound her to her mortal enemy. She huffed with indignation at the thought.

  “So what does it mean to be bound? Will I fall head over heels in love with this prince the moment I lay eyes on him?” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm.

  A cold, heartless laugh shot out of Elder Werrick. The obnoxious sound rattled around the carriage, hurting her ears and making her even more furious. Once she knew Grant had taken Samson and her parents to a place of safety, Layla prayed she’d get the chance to exact vengeance upon the Elder before she escaped. The idea of his imminent demise almost teased a smile from her lips.

  “I do not know for sure. I do know that for now your hearts are joined. You will love one another, maybe not immediately, but definitely in time.”

  “I should choose whom I love, not be forced. I didn’t realize the Ecclesiastics played mind games like the Ethereals. I thought you were neutral.”

  “If you weren’t the Fulfillment, I would slap you, girl.”

  “And if you didn’t have my brother, I would rip this carriage apart and hurl your body all the way to the Outlands.” The idea almost made her laugh…almost.

  He eyed her, contempt distorting his already ugly face. “You show no regard or respect for my people or the First Ones. I have spent my whole life looking for you, girl. You should be in awe to be chosen.”

  Crossing her arms, Layla glared at him. She certainly didn’t feel awed to be a pawn in the Elder’s twisted games. He could continue to delude himself and others, but she wasn’t fooled. Werrick cared about himself far more than he cared about the Prophecy or the First Ones.

  The carriage jerked to a halt. Layla found herself in Elder Werrick’s lap, much to her dismay and his. Elder Werrick threw her off unceremoniously and yanked back the carriage’s curtain.

  He stuck his head out the window and called out to the driver. “What’s happening, Sims?”

  Layla pushed back the curtain in front of her window and also looked out. A sea of black robes surrounded them, along with a few escorting Vanguard soldiers given by King Rex. She wished to see Grant’s face among them. Though she knew their family needed him more than she did, Layla longed for the comfort of one friendly face.

  As a rider approached, the black robes parted. Layla’s gaze settled upon the cause—Prince Vance. He rode forward atop his midnight black horse, knocking aside Ecclesiastics blocking his path. She hadn’t liked him back at the palace, and she still didn’t care for him now. With a sigh, Elder Werrick opened the carriage door and stepped down. He bowed stiffly to Prince Vance and then straightened.

  “My prince, to what do we owe the honor of your visit?” Though Layla had only known the Elder for a little while, even she could detect his false homage. Did anyone else notice his insincerity?

  “Give me the Fulfillment.” Vance spoke with a new air of authority. His haughty demeanor exuded a desperate need for respect and adoration. Layla’s lip curled in response.

  “But she is meant for Prince Wilhelm. She is to be his bride and usher in peace. I have already completed the binding ceremony…with your father’s approval.”

  “My father is no longer king.” Vance’s hazel eyes sparkled with a haughty pride.

  Layla’s mouth flopped open, but she quickly snapped it closed. What did Prince Vance mean? What had happened to King Rex? And selfishly, what did that mean for her?

  “My prince?” Elder Werrick appeared as confused as Layla.

  “You will address me as King.” Vance raised his eyebrows and lowered his chin, almost daring Werrick to challenge him.

  “Of course…King Vance.” The Elder stumbled over his words. “Please understand that I cannot give you the girl. The Fulfillment is in the care of the Ecclesiastics until she reaches the Ethereal prince. She is promised and bound. We must deliver her.”

  “She is a Vanguard, and I will not let a Vanguard be given to the Ethereals. Never!” He raised his sword high above his head. Reality squashed Layla’s momentary excitement. Part of her would gladly follow the prince—the king, whatever he called himself—back to Vanguard and away from this nightmare, but the other part refused to jeopardize Samson’s life. Until she heard from Grant, she needed to play Werrick’s game.

  The Elder teetered, unsure in a way Layla had not seen. “My king, she is the Fulfillment. It is her destiny, predetermined by the First Ones.”

  “Save your religious drivel for someone who cares. You will hand over Layla Givens, or I will slaughter every last man here. I brought the full force of the Vanguard army with me, Elder. Your men don’t stand a chance against mine and you know it.”

  Elder Werrick looked pained. Her momentary pleasure, watching the Elder squirm under Vance’s unrelenting glare, vanished. Crippling fear took its place. If Vance forced her to return to Vanguard, what would become of her family?

  “Stand aside, old man.” The prince flicked his wrist while Werrick remained in place, his jaw set. Vance dismounted and shoved the Elder out of the way. In one swift motion, he ripped the carriage door completely off the hinges, and jerked Layla out. She screeched in surprise. Without another word, Vance planted her on the back of his horse, swung up in front, and tore off toward his palace.

  “My prince—” Layla gripped him tightly around the waist to keep from falling off the horse.

  “King, I’m king now.” He hurled the words over his right shoulder.

  “My king…” She amended the title, though the words stumbled from her mouth. “Please, the Ecclesiastics have my brother. If I don’t cooperate, they will kill him. I have to go back.”

  Vance laughed—an unpleasant, feminine sound. “You won’t have to worry about that for too long.” His ominous implication unsettled her.

  “Why not?”

  Vance glanced back at her, a smirk on his otherwise handsome face. “I plan to kill you.”

  Layla blinked. Her mind fumbled to comprehend. “Kill me?”

  “Pity too because you’re an attractive girl, but yes, Layla, I have to kill you.”

  She wanted to scream or argue, to beg for her life, yet only one word slipped from her mouth. “Why?”

  "The Ecclesiastics will rally around you, calling for peace with those immoral Ethereals. I will never make peace with them—never. As long as you are alive, that Elder and his insane Ecclesiastics will push for it, but if I kill you, their cause dies right along with you.”

  Without taking time to formulate a plan or contemplate her actions, driven solely by all-encompassing terror, Layla released her grip on Vance’s waist and rolled off the horse. The ground’s jarring impact knocked the breath out of her. Her teeth bit into her tongue so hard she tasted blood. At the same time, excruciating pain shot up her arm. Layla gasped, but she forced her brain to ignore the pain, willing herself to stand.

  Using al
l the strength she could muster, Layla jumped up and took off toward the forest, hoping to find cover amongst the trees and bushes. Blinding pain coursed through her arm, but the thought of stopping and allowing Vance the opportunity to kill her propelled Layla forward. She used her good arm to support the injured one, to stop the terrible jarring sensation that occurred with each step. Hurt and alone, Layla knew she would not be able to outrun Vance and his men. She needed to find a place to hide.

  To her relief, she spotted a tangled web of bushes just ahead on her right. Layla gathered all her strength. Just a few more steps…

  Without warning, an arm shot out and grabbed her, forcing her to the ground inside a large pile of underbrush. A large hand clapped down on her mouth and prevented her from releasing the scream forming in her throat.

  “Be quiet if you want to live,” a rough voice murmured.

  Unwilling to let another stranger take hold of her fate, Layla used all of her Vanguard strength to lift upward. She believed she could knock off the unsuspecting man despite the use of one arm. To her surprise, he pushed her back down like she weighed nothing, as if her strength meant nothing. Layla’s sore arm lay pinned beneath the weight of her body. She whimpered from the sheer agony, tears springing to her eyes.

  He must be another Vanguard, she thought. Perhaps he fought on the behalf of King Rex—against Vance. Layla let her body go limp, signaling her surrender. Her imprisoner’s arms loosened.

  “If I let you go, will you promise not to run or scream?”

  His breath, a wave of hot air, tickled her ear. She nodded. He rolled to the side, crouching so he could see, yet not be seen. Layla turned, curious to look upon the face of her captor—or was he a rescuer?

  Before she caught a glimpse, he leapt up, sword in hand. She peeked over the nearby bushes to see four Vanguard soldiers look over in surprise. They appeared just as startled by this stranger’s presence as Layla had been.

  From the back, she saw his dark hair, almost as dark as her own. He stood tall with a surprisingly muscular physique, though not as bulky as most Vanguard men. Her pulse rose.

  “Who are you?” a soldier demanded.

  “Who am I? Who are you?” His rich, deep cadence pleased her.

  “We serve King Vance. Step aside! We are in pursuit of a criminal.”

  “King Vance? I’ve never heard of King Vance. I know of Prince Vance and King Rex, but no King Vance.”

  “Stand aside, sir, or you will be sorry.”

  “I doubt that,” the stranger quipped, “but I do love a good challenge.”

  Layla watched as her rescuer swung his sword and cut down the two soldiers closest to him. He moved with a speed and grace that most Vanguard soldiers did not possess. Who was he?

  The other two soldiers, shocked by his sudden attack, drew their swords and lunged. Despite her hurt arm, Layla leapt up to assist. She kicked the closest soldier with all her might. The force sent him sprawling backward into a massive oak. Layla stumbled as well, using her good arm to break her fall to the ground.

  In her periphery, the mysterious stranger averted the third soldier’s charge. He stabbed the man straight through the chest with remarkable speed. The final, lone soldier let out a shocked cry. Seeing his comrades dead around him, the final soldier threw down his sword and fled.

  “He’s no true Vanguard.” Layla didn’t bother to hide her disdain. “A true Vanguard never runs from a battle.”

  Her rescuer wiped his forehead and let out a chuckle, though he kept his gaze trained on the other man’s retreating form. “And here I thought you actually needed my help.”

  “I would have fared just fine on my own.” She spoke the words with confidence, though only half serious. In truth, Layla needed his help. Her wounded arm made single combat much more difficult.

  “I can see that.” She noted the half serious, half teasing nature of his remark. “Are you okay? I noticed you holding your arm.”

  He turned all the way around to face her. Layla raised her eyes to meet his, startled by his handsome features. His piercing green eyes flashed with adrenaline from the fight. To her surprise, his mouth, which had been smirking when he first turned, dropped open. Heat, unfamiliar though not unpleasant, shot through her, warming her cheeks.

  “Are you alright?” He asked the question with a newfound tenderness.

  She nodded, her sore arm forgotten. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Spoken like a true Vanguard.” He laughed. “I think your pursuers are gone for now. Shall we leave before they come looking for you again?”

  She nodded a second time. Grinning, he offered his hand, pulling her up off the ground in one swift motion. At his touch, a shock traveled through her fingers, up her arm, and all the way through her whole body. Surprised, they both jerked back. He stared down at his own hand, looking perplexed. He cleared his throat and stared her straight in the eyes.

  “I’m Nash.”

  Chapter Four

  Layla

  She paused, unsure if she should reveal her name. Deciding to trust him—at least with this information—she said, “I’m Layla.”

  “Well, Layla,” Nash drew out the syllables in her name, a grin upon his face, “we’d better hurry.”

  He placed his hand on the small of Layla’s back, guiding her toward his horse. The point of contact tingled, but neither of them moved away this time. Despite his tenderness, he jostled her sore arm, jolting her back into reality. She bit her lip, but a soft cry still escaped.

  “I don’t think you revealed the true nature of your injury. Let me take a look.”

  She eyed him, deciding whether or not to trust this stranger who stirred up such unfamiliar feelings inside her. Reluctantly, Layla nodded. Nash touched her arm, sending both pain and pleasure sensations up and down it. His fingers expertly examined the bones from her fingers to her elbow.

  In an attempt to distract herself, she studied his face. His green eyes focused on her injury, maybe to catch anything his hands might have missed. His dark brown eyebrows knitted together in concentration, much like they had been a moment ago when he helped her up. She responded, on an instinctual level, to his intensity and decided he must be a Vanguard. Since he fought against Vance’s men, she concluded he must not be a member of Vance’s guard, so who was he? Why did she instinctively trust him when her mind screamed for her to have caution?

  “I don’t think it’s broken. Can you ride?”

  “Ye…yes.” So caught up in her own thoughts, she barely registered his question.

  “Do you need help getting on the horse?” His gaze bounced back and forth between her face and her arm.

  “Of course not. I’ve been riding horses since I was a child.”

  She shuffled over to the animal and hoisted herself toward the saddle. Without the use of both arms, Layla lost her footing, falling backwards. Nash, who seemed to know she’d fall, caught her in his awaiting arms. She stared intently at her shoes, determined not to meet his gaze and the mirth that most likely resided there.

  “Do you need help?” A cough failed to cover his laughter.

  Layla flushed. Without a word, she allowed him to lift her into the saddle. He swung up behind her and grabbed the reigns. Nash wrapped his free hand tightly around her waist, urging the horse on. She focused on the landscape as it flashed by and ignored the electric undercurrents rolling between them.

  “Those men said you were a criminal. What did you do—use that side kick of yours to hurl someone important into a tree?” He laughed at his own joke, his breath tickling her ear.

  She ground her teeth. “I’m not a criminal.”

  “If you say so.”

  After a moment of silence, she realized he didn’t intend to press the issue, though a small part of her wished he would. Layla longed for the ease she had with her brothers, a familiarity that allowed her to explain her situation and receive advice, but Nash wasn’t her brother. He was a complete stranger whom she may or may not be able to trust.
For all she knew, he could be a criminal himself.

  “Are you a criminal?” She smiled even though he could not see her.

  “No, I’m not.” While she worked to hide her truths, he seemed more than willing to share his.

  “Are you a Vanguard?”

  With that question, he tensed. “I have no allegiance.” The same hard bark he’d used with Vance’s soldiers returned. Perhaps she’d been wrong about his openness.

  “So, you are an Outlander?” She pressed the point, unwilling to let his vague answer suffice.

  If he had no allegiance to Etherea or Vanguard, and did not wear the robes of an Ecclesiastic or Volton, he had to be an Outlander. Only they, who lived well past the Borderlands, held no allegiance to either realm. She frowned. That explanation didn’t make sense though. Nash possessed the strength and build of a Vanguard. Not that she knew a great deal about the Outlanders…

  “I am no one.”

  His words eerily mirrored the ones she’d spoken to Elder Werrick earlier. Layla wanted to push him further, but his icy dismissal clearly conveyed his refusal to continue their conversation. They rode for a long time in silence. Layla had no idea where they were. He’d taken her deeper into the forest, far away from the main road. For all she knew, Nash could be kidnapping her, yet she felt safe.

  “Where are you taking me?” She turned slightly, keeping her balance on the saddle, to catch a glimpse of his face.

  “Where you seemed to be headed before Prince Vance attacked you…to the river that borders Vanguard and Etherea.” His green eyes radiated truth.

  Relief flooded through her as she turned back toward the front. Even though she’d rather pluck her eyes out than meet her mortal enemy turned betrothed, Layla had to protect Samson. She had to go to Etherea and play the role of the Fulfillment for just a little bit longer.