by Mila Young
"Look around to where you are," he starts with a frustrated tone. "I'll be in every council meeting, visiting other courts, dealing with Ash Court, the Bloodcursed, never being home. I’ll have to make hard decisions that I already hate myself for, that you will hate me for. Fuck, this isn't what I want, and I wish I could tell you we'll make this work, but I won't break your heart by keeping you in the shadows. You deserve so much more."
The anger fades from his face, his eyes shining in the moonlight. This gorgeous fae captured my attention from the first time we met. He shared with me his past struggles, his agony, his dreams, but maybe I was a fool to believe anything could happen between us. I had known he was destined for the throne as the heir, but everything happened too fast to truly acknowledge what that meant.
He’s already made up his mind.
Clouds slide over the moon, stealing the light and darkening his expression. He looks angrier now. My stomach clenches as he draws in sharp breaths.
"You are wrong," I whisper. "Because you've already broken me."
"Oh, Guendolyn." His voice shakes. But a split second is all it takes for the stoic prince to return in front of me. He straightens his posture, standing stiff against the strong wind tugging on his coat and long white hair. It flutters in the air like a flag. "You'll understand soon enough. And then you’ll hate me."
My chest clenches at his words. As much as it kills me, I do nothing as he turns and marches away. Desperation blooms through me once more, stronger this time. I curl my hands into fists, refusing to be the one who runs after him. I may not make sense of his reasoning, but he's made his choice, hasn’t he?
My first instinct is to leave this realm, but I've given my heart to three fae. And I refuse to lose Luther and Deimos because Ahren is being an asshole. They mean the world to me. And today… well, today is just too much for me.
I’ve lost my father and one of my men.
I rush across the bridge and make a line for my bedroom, tears blurring my vision, my throat tightening to the point where I can barely breathe.
Chapter 4
Ahren
I lean against the wall outside Guendolyn's room. No idea what time of the night it is, but there's not a soul in sight. It's too late, but I can't sleep or silence my mind. Add to that my gut aches and twists in on itself, and I feel like utter shit. I’d been unprepared for this catastrophe, and now I’m drowning.
This wasn't how anything was meant to go. In truth, I still hadn't worked out how to keep Guendolyn with us for a future together, but letting her go had never crossed my thoughts.
Now I can't get her sweet voice, the tears in her eyes, the devastation on her expression out of my head. It strangles me, and I came here to try to do something. To make it right somehow.
A guttural moan rips from my throat, hands curling into fists. My emotions whip back and forth between the grief of letting her go and fondness at memories I will cherish forever. Those lips so sweet, so soft, so captivating, just like her.
I should be paying this much attention to uncovering the king’s killer and making them suffer. I’m fucking furious for having the one thing I desperately want taken away. My priorities have changed now to Guendolyn.
I turn to the door, staring at the handle, and I play with the idea of going inside, breaking down the door if I have to for one last kiss, one more everything. Who the fuck am I fooling? There is no 'one last' anything, is there? It will never be enough.
Pitching one hand to the wall, I can’t see straight through the fury burning within me. Revenge bubbles in my chest. When I find the sonofabitch, I’ll rip them apart with my bare hands for putting me in this spot.
Except, what I want doesn't matter anymore. Not if I want to keep a roof over my family's heads. It's what mother wants, what the king had insisted on. And something I've dreamed of since we moved here. I was so young then, and I trained endlessly for this position, aspired to take my place on the throne. Now, I'm torn.
I never expected Guendolyn to sweep into my life and steal my heart.
Fuck!
I suck in one raspy breath after another, nails digging into my palms as I squeeze my fists. Wrenching my gaze from her door, I turn away.
This is for the best.
I goddamn hate those words. Nothing is better for me than Guendolyn, and it cuts me deep to make this decision. When the hell had she crept into my heart so much, anyway?
I blink and wait for my reasoning to catch up to the heartache of hurting her. I’ll accept my pain, but it’s unbearable to watch her cry.
One last look toward Guendolyn's room and I stride away. My presence won't help. It'll make it harder for both of us, and I won’t entertain that idea. I'll keep my distance, as much as it kills me. I'll follow the rules and do the right thing for everyone else.
I'll sacrifice my heart.
Guen
Bruised clouds shift over the sky, stealing the morning sun outside, the view spectacular through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining room. I stir honey into my porridge and take another mouthful. The room is empty. No signs of the princes this morning.
Rage roared inside my head and chest at Ahren for most of the night, and when I finally slept, my dreams were filled with me running from darkness. Out of that darkness, a voice came, calling for me. It reminds me of the dreams and visions I experienced growing up. The twisted woods and lurking danger. The images I painted of them, having no clue how much of a significance they had to me. Guess the truth has been dying to come out all along.
Now I sit here drifting away in sorrow, my mind heavy with questions I have no answers for. But I force myself to finish my food and wash it down with juice.
I refuse to accept Ahren's decision to push me away, and his brothers are bound to know what's really going on with him. But I also need a distraction before I wear a hole in my bedroom from pacing.
Outside the dining hall, my guard waits for me. "Michae, can we visit the throne room, please?"
He nods without pause, and we stride down the corridor. Michae is a tall fae with short blond hair and pointy ears. Like most of the soldiers, he's broad and intimidating. Luther appointed him as my personal watchdog, and if anyone questions who I am, I'm to continue the ruse that I’m the princes' personal healer.
Like the previous day, there are fae darting about the castle in a frenzy.
I wrench my gaze toward the throne room as we approach. The door is shut. Michae pushes it open, and I step into the empty hall made of marble. The place is spotless, without a hint of blood or the chaos that took place here. It's a grand, large space with columns creating a passage down the middle leading to a wide staircase.
"Have they found anything on the murder?" I tilt my head back to look at Michae.
His attention sweeps to the top of the marble steps to an empty black throne. "Still can't believe our king is gone."
It's where Ahren will sit as he rules the Shadow Court, and with that thought comes the ache in my chest. He pushed me away. Insisted it's due to responsibility, but I listened to the cracks in his voice. This isn't what he wants, so I need to dig and find out the truth, to make him understand there is always a way to make us work.
I refuse to walk away. We were just beginning to bond, to get closer, and I will break down the gates of hell itself if it means I can claim him back.
"Not much," Michae says, pulling me out of my thoughts. It takes me several moments to remember what I had asked him. "But you know what's strange?" He leans in close to me. "Apparently there were traces of clove powder near his body. Either the fae who did this is clumsy or it was a deterrent."
"Clove, the spice? That's unusual."
"The kitchens and staff working there are being investigated by the mages."
The clue leaves me confused, but a clue is a clue, so maybe they'll find the person responsible soon enough. The idea of a killer roaming the castle who may have his eye on Ahren next makes me sick to my stomach.
Mich
ae walks deeper into the throne room and pauses at the base of the steps, lost in thought.
My hands are in the pockets of my riding pants, since it was all the maids had available and I was tired of how inconvenient dresses were. Clasping the cold ruby calms me. It has this way of bringing all my focus to the middle of my core rather than to hundreds of other distractions.
Sniffles sound, and I tilt my head sideways to gain a better view of Michae. I am convinced he is crying for the loss of his king.
I step closer to the spot where I remember seeing the late king on the ground, rolling the ruby over my knuckles. To lose my father sits heavy on my chest. I grieve the notion of losing him, not necessarily the man himself, who I didn’t know well enough. Which makes me want to find my mother so much more. To uncover what happened between her and my father, why they gave me away, and so many other whys that the muscles in my shoulders bunch up.
Don't get your hopes up, I keep telling myself.
"Are you permitted to be in here?" a male's voice barks.
I flinch at his abruptness, the ruby almost bouncing out of my hand, but I snatch it out of the air and stuff it into my pocket.
Behind me stands Jasion, and a shiver crawls down my spine. He's wearing his mage clothes—a black robe-skirt that falls to his ankles, metal chains around his waist, and a fairy skull that is fist-sized hangs from his bare neck. After meeting Hiss and having the fairies save me several times now, I sneer at the way he carries that skull like a trophy. I want to rip it off him. I hated this mage from the first time I met him, and my distaste for him hasn't changed.
Michae steps alongside me. "We were just leaving," he announces and takes my elbow to rush me out of the room.
I hold Jasion's gaze as we pass him, and if someone could spew hatred from their stare alone, this mage would be loathing me to the moon and back. It has to do with Ahren, this I know. Luther mentioned in the carriage on our way to Ash Court that Jasion might have a crush on Ahren, which would explain his evil eye at me.
With hurried steps, we make quick work on vanishing down a corridor that takes us straight to the bridge outside.
I glance over my shoulder, almost feeling Jasion's eyes still on me.
Michae murmurs, "He sneaks around the castle, but no one knows what he does." My guard finally lets go of my elbow, and we walk at a normal pace through the hall.
"Hasn't he been working at the castle for most of his life?" I ask, recalling the bits of information I learned from the princes.
Michae cuts me a sarcastic look. I'm starting to really like this guy. He leans closer, whispering, "The maids tell me they find all kinds of dead animals and birds in his room, that he tortures them."
I gasp. "Have they told Ahren?"
Michae stares at me as if I've grown horns. "Unless the maids want to suddenly disappear, they keep quiet. Jasion is a very vengeful mage."
The truth of his words doesn’t surprise me, but it worries me. "Did the king and Jasion get along?"
Michae raises a brow. "The king didn't like his wildness and disobedience, but he appreciated that Jasion carried strong powers, more so than the other mages. It's that old saying, sup with the devil."
I nod as the shivers return to my skin and remind me to keep my distance from the mage even more.
When I reach my room, I head inside and kick off my shoes while Michae stands guard outside.
A hard knock raps on the door, and I snap around, expecting my guard to tell me I forgot something.
Instead, it's Jasion standing in my doorway, glowering.
Oh, hell. What does he want?
Chapter 5
Guendolyn
"My apologies for not coming to you earlier," Jasion says. "May I come inside?"
Michae stands behind him in the hallway to my room, waiting for me to respond so he can have any excuse to get rid of Jasion. Except, is it a good idea to anger a mage who tortures animals in his chamber? Keep your enemies closer, floats in my mind.
I nod. "Michae, please join us too." Which he eagerly does, leaving the door open.
Jasion cuts the guard a hard side look. "These are not matters to be discussed in front of you. Wait outside," he commands.
I stiffen. "Michae, you are fine to stay," I reconfirm.
Jasion's lips thin, but I don't care. This is my room, and I honestly don't want to be alone with him. Every time I’ve spent time with him in the past, I ended up feeling like a bug under a microscope.
He steps into my room, chest sticking out, distaste twisting his lips.
I retreat and lean up against the back of the couch, hands on either side of me, gripping the wooden frame. Where I am as far from him as possible without it looking obvious.
"What did you want to see me about?" I ask, grasping onto every thread of confidence I have.
"I like to get to know anyone who works closely with Ahren. As you can appreciate, since he is going to be the king soon."
I lick my dry lips, trying to make sense of what exactly he wants. "You are worried about him?" I ask.
He bows his agreement with a small tilt of his head, the fairy skull around his neck swinging slightly. "I knew you were smart."
I bristle at his patronizing tone. Stupid asshole. But I smile because I'd rather he think I'm some dumb female healer.
He rubs a hand over his mouth as he strolls toward the window. "I’ve been told you are getting close to Prince Luther as well. The walls in this kingdom have eyes."
Michae stands tall near the door, shrugging when I glance his way. I turn to Jasion, who remains with his back to me. The wind howls bitterly outside. The storm may have passed, but even with the fireplaces, these large rooms and halls never fully warm up. What I wouldn’t give for my electric blanket and an outlet about now.
"I'm not following your point?" I play the person he expects of me.
"Of course not." He pivots toward us, the material of his long mage-skirt flaring around his ankles. "Many who come to the kingdom to work for the princes dream up ideas of how to stay here longer." He closes the distance between us. "You're a pretty girl who I'm sure spreads her legs easily, but—"
"Don't speak to me that way," I snap, squaring my shoulders, facing this mage. I don't give a shit who he is, I have powers too, used them with the king's mother in Ash Court, and I won't bow down to this prick.
He raises a brow and doesn't show a hint of being taken aback by my retort. He's good, I know that, and he’s rattled me, but I won’t show it. No matter how much my heart hammers in my chest, how much my knees shake.
"Remember your place," he says calmly, like I have no control of myself.
Fire lashes over my chest that he says that to me. Fucking asshole.
"I witnessed the tension between you and Ahren last night, and I'm here out of the goodness of my heart to help you."
The moment between Ahren and I on the bridge flashes in my mind, the time when he tore my heart to shreds. Jasion had been watching us? The prick!
I scoff a bit too loudly, which has him straightening his spine.
His eyes narrow at me. "I realize I'm wasting my time, so I'll make this short." He steps closer to me, as does Michae from his spot by the door.
A shiver worms its way down my spine, but I won't retreat, no matter how desperately I want to. I loathe how close Jasion stands in front of me. It’s intended to intimidate, and for that reason, I dig in my heels and raise my chin to face him straight on.
"Ahren and the princes are royal. They have slept with many commoners like you in the past, but that is all you are to them, little girl. Ahren needs someone stronger by his side. Someone with the ability to guide him, someone with a royal bloodline. You are not worthy, and I recommend you pack your bags and leave before it's too late."
My blood boils, rage pulsing in my ears. I want to wipe the smug grin off his face. "You're a petty asshole, but let me give you a piece of advice while we're sharing. Ahren loves women way too much, so if you think you have
a chance in his bed, then don't waste your time. He'll reject your ass so quick, you won't know what hit you."
I suck in each sharp breath, my pulse raging in my veins. This isn't like me, but right now he has me so angry, a faint thread of power sweeps over my chest and down my arms like it did back at Ash Court. What would he do if I tossed him through a window?
My lips quirk into a grin.
His face flushes red, shoulders rising.
Oh, shit, I definitely hit a soft spot.
The air thickens in the room. Michae clears his throat uncomfortably, while I wonder if I can even draw on whatever power I have before this mage attacks.
Jasion's hand lashes out and snatches me by the throat. He's so fast, I barely have time to raise my hands to stop him. Iron fingers squeeze, and the pain is excruciating, like he might tear my head right off. Panic slams into me as I glare into his darkening pupils. Michae rushes to us.
Jasion hurls his hand in the guard’s direction, and a spray of powder splashes Michae. He flies backward, colliding into the wall.
I dig at Jasion's fingers around my throat, my lungs burning for oxygen. This isn't how I was meant to die, and with fear curling around me, I can't even focus on my power.
I strike my hand at his face and claw my fingernails down his cheek, breaking the skin.
He growls and throws me aside with such strength, my legs crumble under me and I smack the ground with my hip hard.
Scrambling backward, I don't feel the ache; only how fast my heart beats, how I was stupid to think I stood any chance against this monster. I’m gasping for each breath, my gaze never leaving him.
He turns to me with fury burning in his eyes. Blood drips down his cheeks from the two scratches I gave him. The bastard deserves so much worse.
Nostrils flaring, he comes for me, fist raised. His face darkens, and he resembles a demon in that moment, ready to strike me repeatedly until I can’t take another breath.