by Erin Rhew
“Elder Werrick believes I am the Fulfillment.” The words rushed out of her. “He bound me to your brother. I am to be his bride.”
Nash backed away, horrified. Before she could stay her hand, Layla reached out to touch him, but he deftly avoided the contact. He jerked his head in a curt nod, though she couldn’t read his expression.
Layla shoved down the sadness flooding through her. She needed to keep him at bay. The more she pushed everyone away, the easier it would be to leave. Her focus must remain on her family, not on the Prophecy or these Ethereals.
Layla turned and prepared to run even though she didn’t know the way back to her room. She would rather spend the night lost in the hallways of the castle, taking her chances with random Ethereals and their powers of Alteration, than stand here with Nash for one more agonizing moment. Anger—at herself, at him, at the whole situation—welled up inside of her.
As she turned to go, he grabbed her arm, and despite everything, her body responded. She yearned for his kiss, could almost taste it. Nash’s strength, his intensity, appealed to her Vanguard nature, adding potency to their already inexplicable chemistry. Guilt stabbed her, surprising in its ferocity. Samson…
Layla yanked herself away before he had the chance to speak. She didn’t dare meet Nash’s eye but turned instead on her heels. Running like her life depended on it, she fled until her feet could carry her no more. Layla threw open the first door she came to, slammed it shut, and collapsed onto the floor.
Chapter Eight
Wil
Though Wil wanted to follow Layla out the door the moment she leapt up, he stayed in place. She clearly desired privacy, and if he were honest, he couldn’t imagine how hard it must be for her here. If the Elder had dragged him from his home, placing him at the table with his mortal enemy, Wil had no idea how he would react. He knew for sure he would miss his family, particularly his siblings. Did Layla even have siblings? He knew so little about her…
King Jesper droned on, reiterating his opposition to Wil’s potential marriage and hashing out different scenarios to avoid it. The prince remained rooted to his chair, even after Vespa and Nash left, but he couldn’t stand it a moment longer.
Wil stood. “Father, I must retire.”
“We have important business to discuss, Wil.” Jesper’s blond eyebrows shot up, his surprise over being interrupted evident.
“Yes, son, you are the future king. Stay and listen to your father.” His mother gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher.
Exasperated, Wil simply walked out. His father’s angry tirade stalked him down the hall. He’d shocked himself by leaving the room, his father in mid-sentence. He almost never disobeyed his parents. In their eyes, he and his siblings had clearly established roles—Nash the hellion, Vespa the angel, and Wil the honorable—but tonight, he’d challenged that position. What had overcome him?
At the end of a long hall, Wil spotted Nash staring forlornly down a different corridor. None of the rooms on that wing—their father’s office, the library, and the schoolroom—typically held Nash’s attention. Yet, his brother’s eyes remained fixed.
“Brother?” Wil’s mind spun as he attempted to understand Nash’s odd behavior. His older brother had walked out on dinner, not long after Layla, but Nash often shunned time with their father. Why then had he come here, to this particular part of the castle, when his bedroom sat a good three halls to the right?
Nash turned to face Wil with wild eyes. “Wil.” He sounded nonchalant, but his face betrayed the veneer.
“Is something the matter?” Wil frowned.
“I hear congratulations are in order. You are to be married.”
Wil arched an eyebrow. “Not if Father has his way.”
Nash snorted. “Father always thinks he knows best. Maybe in this case he does, brother. A Vanguard on the Ethereal throne…it would never work.”
Nash’s troubled eyes betrayed his light tone. Wil could not understand what would be bothering his brother. Though they would lay down their lives for one another without a second thought, they often had trouble relating—thanks to their father, their personality differences, or a combination of both.
Was it the throne? Did Nash regret his abdication? If so, Wil didn’t understand. Nash had never shown any interest in succeeding their father.
“You chose to give up the throne.” Wil heard the strain in his own intonation. They never talked about this topic.
Nash nodded. “And I’d choose it again. If you’re looking for Layla, she went down that corridor toward the library.” He pointed to the left.
Wil hesitated, wanting to say more, but gave up. “Thanks, Nash.” He took off down the hall, leaving his brother sulking behind him.
* * * *
Wil pushed open the library door. In the corner of the room, Layla sat against a bookcase, periodically banging the back of her head on it while muttering to herself. Though he found the behavior odd, Wil headed toward her, undeterred.
“Layla?” His heart pounded so hard he could feel it like a drum in his throat. “Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay?”
The heat of her anger washed over him. Surprised, he backed up. She’d held herself together well in the throne room and dining room, but now Wil wondered if he would finally see her wild Vanguard nature. He turned to leave.
“I’m sorry.”
She sounded so vulnerable. He stopped in his tracks. Standing rigidly, with one ear cocked just in case she planned to attack, he waited to see if she’d say anything else.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Wil.”
He pivoted to find Layla with her head in her hands. Moved, Wil sat beside her, careful not to touch her and potentially damage their fragile truce. Layla ran her hands aggressively through her hair. He didn’t understand the behavior. Did she hope the act could dislodge whatever unpleasantness lived in her head?
“I don’t know what I’m doing either.” The words tumbled out. She smiled. Encouraged, Wil decided to divulge more. “To tell the truth, I’m stuck between the Prophecy and my father.”
“What do you mean?”
He adjusted himself so he could see her eyes and gauge her reaction. “With the Prophecy, do you feel a certain responsibility?”
She raised an eyebrow, though her eyes revealed little. “I am not the Fulfillment.”
“But what if you are?”
“I’m not.” Her purple eyes sparkled with resolve. “I understand your dilemma. You would feel a responsibility to bring about the will of the First Ones…if I were the Fulfillment, which I’m not.”
He smiled with relief. She had somehow managed to find understanding amidst his ramblings. “Yes, but my father is doing everything he can to thwart this marriage.”
“He is?” This time, Layla looked shocked but pleased. A brief pang of disappointment jolted Wil. He shouldn’t care, yet he did. “Do you think your father will succeed?”
“I’ve never known him to back down when he really wants something.”
A dreamy look crossed her face. “If he does succeed, I could go home.”
Wil shifted, moving just a little closer to her. “Did you leave someone special behind?” He almost didn’t ask, but his curiosity overrode his better judgment.
For a long time, Layla didn’t answer. She stared at the bookcase across from them for so long Wil thought she might not answer. “No. I just miss my family.”
He nodded, identifying with that notion. “I would miss my family too. Do you have siblings?”
“Yes, two adopted brothers—Grant and Samson.” Her voice hitched when she said Samson’s name. Wil wondered why but feared alienating her by asking.
“Will you tell me about your family, about your people?” He’d always been interested in the Vanguards and the Outlanders. Despite Volton Mars’ lessons, he understood little about them.
“No.”
The slightly hostile and extremely resolute expression on her face struck
a humorous nerve within Wil, and he burst out laughing. Layla whipped her head around, glaring at him, but after a moment, she joined in his laughter. He liked the pleasant nature of her laughter.
“Do you want to tell me about Etherea?” She raised an eyebrow, her eyes challenging him.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “I have nothing to hide.”
“Really? You’d tell me just like that? I could be a Vanguard spy for all you know.”
Wil nodded his assent. “You could be.” He grinned. She returned it.
“Okay, Wil, tell me about the Ethereal people.”
“What do you want know?”
“Everything.”
He laughed. “Could you be a little more specific?”
The teasing look melted off her face, replaced with seriousness. “You and your bro…” Her hesitation piqued Wil’s curiosity. “You and your family seem to have heard of a binding, yet I never had until Elder Werrick told me today in the carriage. Why is that?”
Wil started to press her, to ask why she’d almost said the word “brother,” but he decided against it. He returned his thoughts to her question instead. “Volton Mars told us all about the Prophecy, the Ecclesiastics, and the binding. As sons of the king, Nash and I knew we could potentially be called upon to marry the Fulfillment.”
“But what is the binding? It’s not mentioned in the Prophecy, so why did Werrick perform it?”
Wil settled against the bookshelf. “According to legend, Ecclesiastics used to bind all couples before marriage in an elaborate pre-wedding ceremony. Over time though, more and more people elected to not be bound, and the practice faded into near oblivion. I’m not sure why the Elder bound us.”
He watched her turn the information over in her mind. Dawning briefly crossed her face, but she elected not to share. Wil continued to study her with fascination.
“Can the binding be undone?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s ever been attempted, but if there is a way, my father will find it.”
She bit her lip in concentration. “Tell me about the mind control. Vanguards believe Ethereals drive people mad with their mind games.”
He wrinkled his brow, disturbed that she believed his people capable of such atrocities. “We do have the ability to influence thoughts and memories, called Alterations, but we have many laws governing it. In Etherea, a person can only perform an Alteration with permission. There are a few exceptions, though. Alterations can be performed by a parent on a child or by a king on his subjects without permission.”
“So parents can Alter their children’s minds for any reason.”
“Technically yes, but Alterations are rarely performed under any circumstances.”
“You do use them to fight.” He detected no hostility in statement.
“Yes, we use them in battle against your people. Since you Vanguards have superior strength, we have to take advantage of our unique abilities in order to compensate.”
“Have you performed Alterations?” She sounded curious, but he caught a hint of apprehension.
He hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I practiced them as a child for training, and now I use my abilities, when necessary, in battle.”
Layla nodded. The look on her face told him she accepted his part in their war without judgment. If she had his ability and could use it to protect her family, Wil instinctively knew she would.
“I struggle with it sometimes.” He surprised himself by admitting to her this shame he’d never revealed out loud.
Layla’s eyes widened. “You do? In Vanguard, we pretty much believe Ethereals are soulless.”
“Soulless.” He repeated the word, turning it over and over in his mind. “I can assure you, Alterations present a moral dilemma for the Ethereal people, which is why we have so many laws governing them.”
“I didn’t mean you were soulless.” She pushed a section of hair from her face, revealing a slightly pink flush on her cheeks.
“I know.” He knew, but it still stung. “I think entering people’s minds without their permission constitutes a violation of dignity. A person’s thoughts and ideas should remain his own, yet I am charged with defending my family and my kingdom. I will do whatever I have to do to protect them.”
“As you should.” She paused for a moment, biting her bottom lip. “How does it work in war? I’ve heard stories in Vanguard, but as we’ve both discovered, our respective groups hold many misconceptions about one another.”
“True. Well, the best way I can explain it is that we make your soldiers see things that aren’t there. Terrible things, truly awful things. Listen, Layla, I’m not proud of it, but it’s the only weapon we have. Your people are superior in every other way. We would be slaughtered if we didn’t use our abilities.”
“How do you make sure your own soldiers aren’t affected?”
“We try to concentrate on specific minds, but that doesn’t always work. So, all Ethereals are taught at a very young age how to protect their minds against Alterations. Only parents and the king can override a personal mind guard.”
“The king.” She repeated, though it sounded more ominous coming out of her mouth.
“Yes.”
“So, when you are king, you will have the power to override anyone’s mind whether or not they guard it?”
“I could but hope I never have to.”
Chapter Nine
Nash
Nash leapt out of the bed, unable to spend any more time staring into the darkness. Restlessness, not an uncommon mood for him, consumed him, but for a different reason than usual. Tonight, he couldn’t stop thinking about Layla. He’d met her only the day before yet experienced a strong, unexplainable pull toward her. It didn’t even make sense then, and it especially didn’t make sense now that he knew Elder Werrick had bound her to Wil.
Bound to Wil…he banged his fist against the wall in frustration. Everything always came down to Wil. As much as he loved his brother, Nash’s jealousy tainted their relationship. Wil had the one thing Nash had always wanted but could never get: their father’s approval. And now, he wanted something else—no, someone else—that also belonged to his brother.
With a sigh, he headed out into the hallway. His feet carried him straight to Layla’s door, lured there by the possibility of interacting with her again. He knocked softly.
“Layla?” Nash kept his pitch low but called with enough volume for her to hear.
No reply. He knocked again and said her name a little louder. Still nothing. Against his better judgment, he cracked open the door. Her made bed told him she wasn’t in it and hadn’t been at all tonight.
The library—the place he’d last seen her go. He would start there. Nash tore off down the hallway, already anticipating another delicious verbal assault from the alluring Vanguard. He wondered again how this girl, one he barely knew, enchanted him so.
His hand trembling from the excitement of the chase, Nash reached for the doorknob to the library. Laughter from inside stopped him cold. He recognized the male voice. Wil. Nash tasted the bitter but familiar flavor of disappointment on his tongue.
Unable to resist, Nash eased open the door, just wide enough to see inside. A knot of anger and jealousy twisted up inside him. Layla, as beautiful as the first moment he saw her, sat on the floor beside his brother, so close they almost touched. Their former unease appeared to be waning in favor of a tentative friendship.
Nash knew he should let it go. If his father somehow failed to block the marriage, Layla would become his brother’s wife, and truth be told, she would be better off with him. Destiny, and their father, had chosen Wil as king—a great king at that. He held the love and adoration of the whole kingdom, and Layla also would as his queen. If Nash really cared about her, which he oddly did, and if he really cared about Wil, which he always had, he would just let it go. And yet…
“Nash.” A whisper from down the hall sent him reeling back.
He nearly lost his footing, mortified to b
e caught spying. If anyone asked about his unusual interest in Layla, Nash’s answers could land them both in trouble. Besides, he couldn’t explain something he didn’t even understand.
His brain registered the singsong vocal quality, and he relaxed. “Vespa?” Nash squinted in the dimly lit hallway. Almost all of the candles in the corridor had been left to burn down to paltry stumps. Where were the servants who kept the lights going?
“Shhh.” His sister pointed a finger toward the library. “Wil is in there…with her.”
“I know, but what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She yanked a strand of blond hair over her ear, her brown eyes challenging him to a verbal spar.
He chose to lie instead of engage her. “I’m looking for Wil.”
Thankfully, the darkness kept his face hidden because Vespa always seemed to catch him in his lies. He’d have to be especially careful around Layla with his observant sister watching. She looked sweet and innocent—and in many ways, she was—but Vespa also knew how to ferret out even the most obscure information.
“He’s in there with Layla. Don’t disturb them now, brother. They both seem to be getting used to one another and this crazy notion that they will bring about peace together.”
“Oh come on, Vespa. We both know Father will never let that happen.” His bitterness rang clear, and he clamped his mouth shut in frustration.
Vespa narrowed her eyes, studying him with renewed interest. Nash tried not to move his facial features, and after a moment, she dropped her gaze.
“I’m not sure if Father will be able to stop this marriage, Nash.”
“Why? What do you know?”
Vespa looked away, tucking her golden strands behind her ear for the second time—a nervous habit. Why would she be nervous? Nash, now even more curious, discerned information from her face despite the darkened hall, but something in her hair caught his attention.
“Wait, why do you have leaves in your hair, Vespa?”
She blushed so brightly that he could see it even in the diminished light. Her hands rose to push back her hair yet again, though it had not moved since the last time she touched it. It heightened his curiosity, and a hint of worry snaked up his spine.