by AJ Nuest
Her quiet sob warmed his ear, and he held her tighter still. She’d just given her life for his. Thank God, he’d been able to return the favor by putting his inheritance to good use.
The queen rushed forward and grabbed Faedrah’s shoulder, prying her from Rhys’ chest. “Thank Helios, you’re all right.” She wrapped her daughter in a hug. “I feared the worst. My foolish, headstrong girl, I thought we’d lost…” Her voice cracked and she dissolved into tears, clamping a hand along the back of Faedrah’s head.
Rhys uncurled his fingers and shoved the blade away. Vaighn stumbled back, the handle still lodged in his hand, but this little standoff they had going wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“Denmar.” The king jerked his head toward Rhys and he sighed as the bald guy marched forward, a set of iron handcuffs dangling from his meaty hand.
They weren’t getting it. Rhys shook his head. A set of shackles? Come on, that was never gonna be enough.
“You as well, Fandorn.” The king strode forward and placed one hand on his wife’s back, the other circling Faedrah’s waist so he could pull both women into his arms. “Pending the decision of his fate, the son of Gaelleod will be our guest in the dungeons. Fortify his cell with a spell.”
Now they were talking. Relief lowered his shoulders and Rhys breathed a little easier. Until he could figure out what he was up against, they needed to beef up security around this joint.
“Then you imprison me as well, father.” Faedrah pushed out of her parents’ arms and held up her wrists at Rhys’ side. “Rhys saved my life. He deserves your punishment no more than I.”
Oh, for Christ’s sake. He rolled his eyes. The last place she was going was the creepy underbelly of the castle. Especially with him. If her dad didn’t make sure of it, he would.
“Aye, Faedrah.” The king’s eyes softened as he looked at his daughter. “Sparing you harm is the one thing which stays his execution.”
Rhys lifted his hands, the thick metal cooled his skin, and Faedrah flinched as Denmar snapped the locks home. She spun and her arms flew around Rhys’ neck, pulling him down until his cheeks were buried in the soft mass of her hair. “I will suffer every moment we are parted, my love. Your confinement will be swift, I swear it.”
God, if only he could pull her close and get lost in her kisses, forget who he was for even a few brief seconds. But pretending the iron cuffs could hold him was best. Safest.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “I’ll figure this out.” He kissed her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and wrenched him out of her arms. Rhys turned, keeping their gazes locked as he was prodded toward the door.
He would go. He would be the ideal prisoner behind a set of iron bars. But only because doing so was in Faedrah’s best interest.
At least, for now…
Lowering his chin, he smiled.
Chapter 3
“The loyalty of Rhys McEleod lies fervent and ever-lasting with me!”
The king huffed at Faedrah’s empathic declaration, perched upon the padded edge of his gilded throne. One of his long legs stretched to the floor, bracing his tense posture, the other bent and his heel rapping a discordant rhythm atop the throne’s marble base. “He’s volatile, Faedrah. Disrespectful. His very presence within these walls undermines the welfare and safekeeping of our entire kingdom.”
Jaw agape, Faedrah spread her arms wide in amazement. “Was not the queen appraised with the same disfavor upon her arrival in this realm?” Their hypocrisy was ludicrous. “Was she not erroneously feared and judged far outside her ultimate result as our loyal champion and savior?”
Her father sprang forward in his seat, one rigid finger aimed directly at her face. “You will speak of your mother with none other than the utmost esteem and admiration. She sacrificed everything in the interest of this kingdom.”
“As has Rhys!” Faedrah threw her fists down at her sides, striding forward a step. Over and again, she had relayed the details of their meeting—Rhys’ portraits of her, his astonishment at learning the wickedness of his father’s immortality and how his heart had called to her through the unending span of time and space. She’d conveyed her beloved’s bravery—his persistence to defend her, his diligence to stand strong and fierce by her side no matter what the cost. Yet, despite her most ardent efforts, her parents simply refused to see reason. ʼTwas as if she stood before them spouting nothing but hot air. “He denied the entirety of his existence to ensure my safe return home.”
“Our daughter does present a valid point, Caedmon.” The queen placed her hand atop the king’s arm and eased him back in the seat. “Though the memories of my world are long lost to me, not a day goes by I do not recall the enmity I faced those two years prior to your escape from Seviere’s dungeons.”
Faedrah’s shoulders fell and she shook her head. Though her mother’s validation was welcomed, reminders of the long internment the king had languished under Gaelleod’s pitiless cruelties would merely bolster her father’s determination to forestall Rhys’ release.
The king’s jaw firmed to such a degree, Faedrah feared his teeth would crack. “Still and thus, I cannot allow the son of our nation’s most perilous enemy to roam freely about the castle halls!” He flung a hand over his head as if to encompass the room. “The Council would unseat us in a thrice!”
“No worries of that happening, Majesty. We’ve got the bugger chained up nice and tight in the pit.” Denmar refilled his wine goblet from the banquet table, plucked a wedge of cheese from a silver platter and used the slivered tip to point at the king. “The entire rank of the First Battalion volunteered to stand watch. On my honor as captain, should Gaelleod’s heir think to make good his escape, he will not breach the lower levels alive.”
Faedrah fisted her hands, her nostrils flaring. “So this is how you reward the man who forfeits his life to save your future queen? By shackling his limbs and tossing him into a dank hole reserved for our most callous criminals?”
The king sighed. “He is a criminal, Faedrah.”
“Oh really, father?” Sarcasm dripped from her words, yet she was powerless to curtail her wheedling tone. “On what grounds do you convict? Freely presenting you the map to Gaelleod’s Crystal Crypt? Or, perchance, the more bothersome transgression—stealing your daughter’s heart.”
His face flooded a deep red, and the tips of her mother’s fingers whitened on his arm.
“That’s enough, Faedrah.” The queen’s eyes hardened as if the king’s anger had leached through his skin and into her hand. “No one here doubts Rhys’ affections for you. The goddesses would have never allowed him safe passage through the veil was his love not true.”
She blinked and ʼtwas as if the motion removed all traces of irritation from her gaze to replace them with empathy… and a passionate plea for understanding. “But yours is not the only fate we discuss this day. As the future sovereign of this kingdom, you must recognize our concerns stretch far and wide. We simply do not yet know if the man can be trusted.”
A heavy door slammed behind her, and Faedrah glanced over her shoulder to find Vaighn crossing the throne room at a hurried pace. Her gaze fell on Fandorn as she turned back to her parents.
The wizard faced an open window, peering toward the pristine blue sky, one bony hand grasping his wooden staff. Of all those present, he’d yet to cast his lot regarding the outcome of Rhys’ future. A shiver stole over Faedrah’s skin. She could only deign to guess what thoughts might have been coursing across the ageless canvas of his mind.
Whilst, certainly, Fandorn had done his utmost to guarantee Rhys’ arrest, ever since her love had been led away in chains, the wizard had remained silent… pensive, and his inattentiveness conveyed a grim pall which robed her in despondency and gloom.
“Thank the nine you’ve finally returned.” Vaighn grabbed her shoulders and whisked her to his chest. “Your absence has weighed heavy on all those within the realm.
”
She stiffened in his arms, all at once bound in a war between falling into bouts of bitter tears and delivering a hard smack to his jaw. He was her brother. At a time, he’d once been her dearest, most-trusted ally.
“Why, Vaighn?” Balling her hands into fists, she pressed them against the hard wall of his back. He, above all, should have grasped the dire circumstances she and Rhys faced. “Why would you deliver me the hardship of such a cruel blow? Can you not see Rhys and I are of the same heart?”
He wrenched back from her, glancing toward the king and queen. “What madness is this she harbors to protect him?” Cupping her cheeks in his hands, he squinted into her eyes. “Has the vile demon ensnared her within a spell?”
A strangled laugh caught in her throat and Faedrah tore his hands from her face, withdrawing from the masquerade of his concern. Of course Vaighn would believe as much. He’d yet to experience the deep connection of unselfish love… the joy, the yearning… the anguished misery of being parted. “If standing in witness to the man who would willingly sacrifice his life for mine is an act of madness, then yes. I have fallen under his spell. I love him, Vaighn. He is the fated half of my soul.”
“Then let us be rid of this foul infestation.” He ground out his warning, facing the king and queen. “Allow me the honor of dispatching the fiend who threatens to defile the Austiere name.”
Rich words from a man who, as a troubled boy, had all but suffered these exact same odds. “Rhys is not Gaelleod.” The impending offense soured her tongue, but Vaighn had simply left her no choice. “Or do you also choose your loyalty be judged by the duplicity of your father’s actions?”
Vaighn jerked his face back to her, his cheeks ruddy with indignation. “How dare you.” Leaning in, he lowered his voice, heated and tight with a lifetime of unfulfilled frustration. “Not once, in all the days since my father’s desertion, have I shown anything but fealty and devotion to my king.”
Oh, that she could have spared him the wounds of such a terrible reminder. Tears filled her eyes and she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “That you have. Without fail, brother.” She tightened her hold. “What I ask now is for you to give Rhys that same chance.”
Lifting her chin, she stood proud and tall before her king and queen. “The sins of the father shall not be visited upon the son. Was that not your first edict as king, father? To remove the iniquities so unfairly placed at Vaighn’s feet? To displace the yoke of injustice worn by him due the traitorous deeds of Braedric Austiere?”
Striding forward, she glanced between the intensity of her father’s dark scowl to the bright, clear pride shining in her mother’s gaze. “I beg you. Do not repeal a ruling that has served you so well. For all the blessings we have gained by embracing Vaighn into our fold, so too may we benefit from welcoming the son of our united enemy.”
A long moment of silence hung suspended in the air.
“There is another choice.”
Faedrah spun on her toes at Fandorn’s soft summons. He slowly advanced, the heel of his staff aiding each measured step. “The boy displayed surprise over his abilities, did he not? Dare I say, even amazement?” Head tipping to the side, he waved one hand before him as if presenting his description as a gift. “Which leads one to ask if they had not before occurred.”
“Only just.” Faedrah frowned and then dropped her focus to floor, revisiting the events leading up to her and Rhys’ tumble through the mirror. The wizard was correct. Rhys had been caught unawares at Violet’s home, after he’d knocked Sir Todd to the ground. “’Twas as if the manifestation of his powers hinged upon the opening of the veil, deepening with each passing moment.” She shook a finger. “That must be it. Beforehand, the only other indications of his legacy were through his drawings… the sigil, his portraits of me.”
“Ah, yes.” Fandorn nodded, coming to a stop at her side. “’Twould seem once the pathway was clear, the powers he inherited were allowed a direct route to inhabit his form.” He pursed his lips, squinting. “And once landed in our kingdom, his transformation was made complete.” One of his bushy brows lifted. “A shocking revelation, no doubt, to be gifted the throes of such an all-encompassing power, and yet the lad went willingly to his confinement.”
Faedrah’s eyes flew wide. Her heart stuttered then raced. Yes, yes, once again, Fandorn had narrowed their focus to the topic at hand. There was no telling the amount of magic coursing through Rhys’ body upon their arrival, and yet he’d allowed himself to be led away in chains.
She smacked a trembling hand to her forehead. But of course he would. How else could he circumvent the risk of putting her in harm’s way?
Helios wept, he’d gone to the dungeons on purpose!
The king sat forward, glancing at Faedrah. “What are you hedging at, Fandorn? The boy’s compliance to be jailed dictates his willingness to conform to our rule?”
“Perchance. Perchance not.” The wizard shook his head. “’Tis too soon to tell.” The sleeve of his robe flapped as he waved a hand in the air. “Quite certainly, without assaying the limits of his strength.”
Denmar slammed his goblet to the table. “I take no pleasure in where this is headed, you crafty old hobgoblin. The son of Gaelleod is no idle threat.” He crossed his thick arms. “What happens if the laddie loses control, goes off half-cocked and destroys our legions? The castle would be left in ruins and nigh on defenseless.”
Faedrah gritted her teeth. How could they not see? Rhys would rather languish and rot in the dungeons than to cause any of her loved ones such a grievous fate.
“Indeed, we would have to be cautious. Until his true nature reveals itself, perchance our best course is to ward him with a spell.” The wizard stroked his long beard. “Nonetheless, every indication we’ve witnessed thus far points to one conclusion. Control is precisely what the boy longs to achieve.”
“Then do it.” Faedrah clutched Fandorn’s arm, hope sparking alive and anew in her heart. “Offer Rhys a chance to take your test. That is all I ask.” She spun to her parents. “That is all I have ever asked.”
The king exchanged a meaningful stare with the queen before refocusing on the aged wizard. “How shall such a thing be determined, Fandorn? Moreover, how can you ensure the safety of our kingdom?”
“’Tis a matter of great simplicity, Your Highness.” The wizard smiled. “You give the boy to me.”
* * *
Faedrah!
Rhys jolted awake, rattling the heavy chains at his ankles and wrists, and blinked into pitch black obscurity. Son of a bitch. The back of his head hit the dirt wall with a muffled thud. That had to be the worst fucking nightmare in all-time history. He raised both hands to his forehead and fumbled the sweat from his eyes. Not like sitting in this maggot-infested shit hole set the mood for visions of sugar plums but, god damn.
Filling his lungs, he balanced his elbows on his bent knees and slowly exhaled, hoping to steer clear of cardiac arrest. Shit, even being stuck alone in the darkness with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company was better than that fist fuck of a dream. Too bad the thick blank wall of nothingness made the perfect movie screen to replay the graphic images.
He closed his eyes and his bark of laughter fell flat against the damp dirt. Good one, dumb ass. Like that was supposed to help.
Faedrah had been sitting alone, in the study at Leo’s, her loose hair a white waterfall sheeting over the back of the chair. His confusion over why she was there… why they were both there… had put fear in her eyes, and her reaction was so far off her usual, sexy stubborn sass, he’d almost laughed. For God’s sake, she didn’t need to be afraid of him. He was head over heels in love with her.
As he’d closed in, she stood, backing toward the mantel. The misery on her pretty face nearly killed him. She shook like a leaf, her cheeks were pale, but the way she crossed her arms was defensive, and from her constant glances around the room, she was looking to hightail it outta there.
He’d reached for her, w
anted to reassure her, to pull her into his arms and kiss away whatever the hell was bothering her, but he’d gotten distracted by the weirdness of his hand. It wasn’t his, and the sinking realization he’d somehow seriously fucked up had covered him in a layer of ice cold sweat.
The long, scraggly nails… the lines of dirt embedded in his skin… the scent of a freshly turned grave and sour stink of decomposition…
Something scurried along his shoulder and he swept it into the void. No doubt the smells in his nightmare were an offshoot of his pleasant accommodations. He turned his head and tried for a fresh breath but, as his chest lifted, it seemed to bump a compressed wall of air.
Jesus Christ. He was fucking losing it.
In the dream, Faedrah had pulled a kitchen knife from her sleeve. She’d jabbed in his direction, but he’d swept it aside with an easy wave of his hand. She didn’t understand what had happened, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come up with a single way to convince her everything was okay. Regardless of what he looked like on the outside, he was there, inside, and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he would ever hurt her.
Squeezing his eyelids tight, he growled as the body he’d been wearing grabbed her upper arms. He’d tried to let go, not be so damn rough, but his hands refused to listen, and he’d cursed a blue streak as they slammed her against the wall. She fought, kicking and scratching. Her head thrashed, hair tangling in a white mass as he’d stepped in.
Their struggle had caught in his peripheral vision, and he’d turned his head, and every hope for a future with Faedrah died on the spot as Leo’s hungry leer stared back at him from his father’s study mirror.
His throat closed, and Rhys dragged in a breath, holding it against the building panic. Oh fuck, he was going to hurt her, make her scream… and there wasn’t a god damn thing he could do but watch her torture unfold through his father’s black eyes.
The weight on his chest increased. His heart jack hammered in his chest and his skin grew clammy. Rhys shot to his feet, bracing both hands on the cool damp wall. God dammit, he’d never had trouble with confined spaces before, but his entire body had compressed like it was being squeezed by a blood pressure cuff.