by K. A. Linde
“They. They. They. Tell me who they is.”
“Edric,” Cyrene whispered. She glanced at the door. “I won’t risk your life. I want you safe.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“What are you doing in those massive dungeon-like rooms that is so important?”
Rhea shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Help me to.” Cyrene took her hands. “It was not so long ago that you and I were like sisters. Much has changed in a year, but surely, Master Barca can continue his work without your aid.”
“I am…working alone,” Rhea finally admitted.
“Alone?”
“He doesn’t exactly approve of the work I’m doing.”
Cyrene’s eyes widened. “What exactly are you doing?”
“You’ve seen the explosions…the bombs,” Rhea said softly. “It started for the wrong reasons. Eren—do you remember Eren?”
“Yes,” Cyrene said, recalling the High Order who was currently deeply involved in Edric’s military. He had been the one who had stopped she and Daufina.
“I did it for him. We were placed together for your investigation, and the time we were together, I fell for him.”
“Oh, Rhea! That’s incredible.”
“But…he was in love with Maelia.”
“Oh.” Cyrene’s face fell. She had forgotten that Eren had been sweet on Maelia all those months ago when they were on the same boat for procession.
“And, when the news came back that she had been killed, he took it hard. He stopped seeing me entirely. I thought, by making these bombs work, he could use them in the upcoming war. That it would give us an edge in battle. I’ve been stockpiling an arsenal.”
Cyrene’s jaw dropped. “Against Eleysia?”
Rhea nodded. “Yes, if war comes.”
“And you believe this will win him back? That is why you wish to remain?”
Rhea’s cheeks heated. Her bright red hair fell into her face, and she hastily pushed it aside. “I do not presume to think that a High Order could want to marry a Second.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Cyrene said, cursing the Class system.
“It’s true! But…I have to hope. And, as long as I have hope, then I’ll stay.”
“I don’t want you to stay here.”
“You cannot protect everyone,” Rhea told her. “And you are not my only ally. I am a survivor, Cyrene. Count on it.”
“I will.” Cyrene nodded as tears pricked her eyes.
She felt like she was always walking away from Rhea. One step out the door.
They embraced like sisters once more, and then Rhea laughed softly. “Let me help you into this dress.”
As Rhea was buttoning the hundreds of tiny buttons on the back of Cyrene’s dress, she took a deep breath and made a confession of her own. “You are right about the prophecies.”
Rhea’s fingers stilled and then continued. “It has the sense of truth.”
“I just wish…it weren’t about me.”
“Perhaps it’s not.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No, I don’t,” Rhea said.
“I went to see the letter writer for our Presentings.”
“Did he tell you what you were looking for?”
Cyrene shook her head. “He was just a man. He had no clue. Another dead end.”
“Cyrene,” Rhea said, finishing the last button and coming around to face her.
Cyrene’s heart was jackhammering in her chest. Her magic felt brittle and unpredictable, as if she were able to use it to attack the nearest person to her. She folded her hands behind her.
“A prophecy is never certain. What you know about it is a riddle. Unless you have more information than what I read a year ago, you should know that…you can make your own destiny. Your life is not predetermined.”
Cyrene pulled Rhea in for another hug. She hoped against all hope that what Rhea had said was true.
If only every person and creature in all of Emporia didn’t believe her to be this destined Heir.
Belief was powerful.
It had the ability to make things come true.
Cyrene heard a knock at her door as she finished the last touch of rouge on her cheeks. She tightened her leash on her spitting magic.
“Who is it?” she called even though she could feel the matching pulse of her magic behind the door.
“Who do you think, love?”
Cyrene wrenched the door open and came face-to-face with Kael Dremylon. “What are you doing here?”
He grinned that wicked grin that she had grown so accustomed to and bowed slightly at the waist. “To escort you to the ball, of course.”
“And how will that look?”
His eyes said it all. He didn’t care. “Forget appearances tonight. Just be with me.”
Cyrene chewed on her bottom lip. “Edric might kill you.”
“I’d like to see him try.” Kael tugged her forward with the force of his magic and dropped a kiss on her lips.
“Kael,” she admonished halfheartedly.
He tipped the door to her room closed behind him. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“My name. I adore the sound of it on your tongue.”
“Kael,” she repeated.
“Perfection.”
His hands slipped into hers, lacing their fingers together. He drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed each knuckle. She braced herself for the magic that sputtered out of her at their nearness.
“Don’t you see?”
“See what?” she asked.
“You and I. We’re a matched set.”
“Are we?” she breathed as his tongue darted out to caress her thumb.
“Together, no one can stand in our way.”
Cyrene took a breath and then pulled away. As much as her body…her magic ached to give in to what Kael was saying, she had not forgotten her promise in that cell back in Eleysia. She could give in to lust and no more than that, and she was sure that Kael would take that, but he would not be satisfied. It was easier to keep things simple. And, tomorrow, it might not even matter.
“Don’t we have a ball to get to?” Cyrene asked instead.
“Indeed.” He didn’t seem fazed by her nonanswer.
He extended his arm and whisked her back out the door. Perhaps he was used to her ignoring his advances. Maybe not answering him felt more like a victory to him than a straight refusal.
The ball was in full swing when they arrived. And they did make an appearance. Cyrene would have been happy to walk in from a side entrance and disappear into the crowd. But the consort didn’t disappear and certainly not on the arm of the crown prince.
The crowd quieted, and hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to gape at them together. Kael was dressed in the all black regalia he’d taken to wearing, and Cyrene was in a full blood-red dress. And, in that moment, Kael was right; they were a matched set. Blood magic infused her very bones, creaking and clawing at her insides to expel some of her energy, and the essence of their mingled magic radiated around them.
It was Edric’s eyes she found first. They were narrowed and irritated across the ballroom. He stood with Kaliana—a weakened, injured pair. A sharp contrast to she and Kael, and the shift in the room seemed to recognize the tides turning, as if this were their court.
Cyrene ventured deeper into the room with Kael. The sea parted for them as they drew toward the dance floor. Her mouth went dry when she saw the stunning woman in green standing before her.
Elea’s lips pursed, but she held her head high. She couldn’t rightly be offended that the consort outshone her at her own Presenting ball…but she was. Even if she could never voice that opinion. Or that she wanted Kael for herself.
“Dance with me?” Kael asked Cyrene, taking her hand.
“I believe the new Affiliate should receive her first dance,” Cyrene said instead.
Elea’s eyebrows rose as Cyrene stepped bac
k.
Kael had the decency not to say a word about the tense interaction. He held out his hand to Elea. “May I?”
Elea’s entire face burned bright as crimson. “Of…of course.”
The music began, and Kael had moved Elea through her first pass of the intricate steps when a rumble went through the crowd. Cyrene looked up at the commotion and found a man at the front of the room.
A man with light hair, an easy smile, and cunning eyes.
A man in the finest dress attire available, which only accentuated his muscular frame from hours upon hours of training and military drills.
A man who had shattered her heart into a million pieces and thrown it into the ocean on a whim.
Dean.
“Did someone say there was a party?” Dean asked with a self-indulgent smile on his face.
Cyrene was frozen. Completely immobilized.
This could not be happening.
This is impossible.
Dean had dumped her and walked away.
She had spent all of this time trying to forget him. To forget the diamond engagement ring that he had slid on her finger or the feel of his body on top of her as they’d made love or the way one smile could lighten her very soul.
She remembered the way the tangy scent of the sea seemed to cling to him. The light in his eyes the first time they’d met and how she had scolded him for killing a deer. The feel of his fingers through her hair. Every little defense he’d made for her against his family. And innumerable other instances when he had set her on fire.
Now, he was here. In Byern, of all places.
What is he doing here?
What did he want?
Her first thought was that she needed to get him out of here. She took two hasty steps forward and then stopped. No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t acknowledge him. People would know. It would complicate things.
Creator! What am I supposed to do?
Her heart raced as she swung around to find Edric striding toward Dean. She chewed on her bottom lip, knowing she had to make a decision. Either she fled the ballroom now before anyone could put two and two together or she faced Dean like the consort she was…and gave him the greeting he deserved.
One heartbeat.
Two.
She cursed violently, took a deep breath, and then forced herself into a role she was not looking forward to playing. She plastered on a soft smile and moved through the crowd to the front of the room.
Edric beat her there by only a few seconds. He looked disturbed to find Dean standing before him.
“What do we have here?” Cyrene asked. Her chin was held high, and she dared not show an ounce of recognition.
“An emissary from Eleysia,” Edric said tightly. “Why the prince is here though, I have not gotten that answer.”
Dean raised an eyebrow and cocked a smile. “In my country, we entertain our guests before interrogating them.”
No, you don’t.
“Well, we’re not in Eleysia,” Edric spat. “And we’re not on good terms as it is.”
“I don’t wish to speak of the unpleasantness of my parents’ deaths. Come,” Dean said, maneuvering Edric away from the door, “let’s have a drink and dance. Tomorrow, we will discuss the diplomatic measures my sister has sent me for.”
Edric grumbled in frustration. “So, she accepts the offer?”
“Tomorrow,” Dean said with an easy smile.
He hadn’t once looked at Cyrene, and she was grateful. She didn’t know what one look would betray.
It was clear Edric did not want to wait another day, but he was a good host. Dean was royal after all. Not some subordinate messenger that Queen Brigette had sent. Respect was due between the men.
“Of course,” Edric said finally. “Allow me to introduce you to my consort, Cyrene.”
Cyrene saw a muscle twitch in Dean’s jaw before he finally flicked his brown eyes toward her. Her heart constricted, and a thousand emotions churned through her all at once. First and foremost was anger, but others competed for the crown—pain, heartache, love, betrayal, lust, hope.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Dean said, taking her hand and placing a kiss on it.
She didn’t trust herself to speak. She just nodded and then removed her hand from his.
“Come. I will introduce you to my wife as well,” Edric said.
He curiously glanced at Cyrene and then offered her his arm. She took it without looking at Dean once and then walked with him toward Kaliana.
“What is your read on him?” Edric whispered into her ear.
“Foolish,” she said and meant it.
“Indeed.”
He has no idea.
Edric introduced Dean to Kaliana, but Cyrene heard none of their conversation. She only saw exactly what he was portraying to everyone. An engaging party boy, who drank deeply and flirted shamelessly with Kaliana, who brightened like a blooming rose from the attention. Whatever the reason that Dean was here…it was about more than her.
Perhaps he didn’t even want to see her.
Perhaps he didn’t even care.
She swallowed hard at that thought.
All this time, trying not to think about him and move on with her life, and then he was just here. Invading her space and…ignoring her!
And he knew she couldn’t do a damn thing about it if she didn’t want to reveal her relationship to the king…which she didn’t.
But it wasn’t Edric she was worried about. There was one person in this entire court who knew exactly who Prince Dean Ellison of Eleysia was…and what he had meant to Cyrene. And he was dancing with her sister.
Kael hadn’t looked up at her or Dean since he took Elea’s hand. Her sister looked entranced by her dance partner, and Cyrene knew it had been the right move to offer this dance as a truce. But she was not looking forward to when it would be over, and Kael would notice that Dean was here. She didn’t know what he would do or what their entire bargain had been.
As the song was drawing near the end, she moved to the edge of the dancers. She wanted to claim Kael’s next dance before he could do anything stupid. Dean was occupied with Kaliana. Surely, he wouldn’t even notice—
“Consort.” Dean’s crisp voice cut through Cyrene’s concentration.
She turned back to him, trying to mask her horror.
“Would you do me the honor of the next dance?”
Cyrene opened her mouth and then closed it. She could see Kaliana’s pinched face in her periphery. At another time in her life, Kaliana’s irritation would have been enough for Cyrene to jump into Dean’s arms.
“The next one was already requested by Prince Kael,” she said deftly.
Flames ignited in Dean’s eyes at her words.
“Nonsense,” Edric said. “Prince Dean is our guest.”
Anything to keep her from Kael. Though, Edric never did recognize the real threats.
“Of course,” she said, trying to appear demure. Instead of like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Dean offered her his arm, and with noticeable hesitation, she placed her hand on his sleeve. He escorted her out onto the dance floor just as Kael passed them. Kael’s head whipped around at the intrusion. He took one menacing step toward Dean with his teeth bared before realizing exactly where they were. Then, his royal mask snapped back into place. His expression said everything. If he had his way, he would kill Dean by the end of the night.
As soon as the music started up, Cyrene snapped at Dean, “What in the Creator’s name are you doing here? You dropped me on that boat. You do not get to come to my home at your whim. You should take this dance and then leave.”
Dean didn’t respond at first. He took her hand in his, placed his other hand on her waist, and tugged her closer. Then, he swung them into the waltz step.
“I’m here to get you out,” he said under his breath. “We received your message. Others are waiting on the outside. I made a mistake, Cyrene. I will never make it again.”
; “A mistake?” she snarled. “A mistake!”
She knew she sounded hysterical. How could he think what he did to me could be dismissed so easily?
His eyes were pained and honest. Eyes she had trusted and now could hardly look into. “I said I would always find you. Here I am, trying to right that wrong.”
“I don’t want to hear it. Tell me the plan, and never speak of this to me again.”
Dean was about to answer her question when a roar from the other side of the room silenced the chatter, the musicians, and all the dancers. Dean and Cyrene whipped their heads toward the noise and found Edric charging toward them. He had his sword in his hand and was pointing it directly at Dean’s chest.
“You,” Edric spat.
“Your Majesty,” Dean said with a rueful smile.
“You dare come into my kingdom, my castle, and lay hands on her after what you did.” Edric looked maniacal, like he had that day when he ordered Daufina’s execution.
“Oh no,” Cyrene whispered.
Dean stood tall and broad. He was at least an inch taller than Edric and seemed to fill up the space when confronted. He must have been expecting it.
“What offense do you speak of?” Dean asked.
Edric couldn’t say what he wanted to say. She could see him sputtering to find the words to say that she had been sullied by him. Virginity wasn’t a prize in marriage, as it was in some of the northern countries, like Kell and Mastira, but it was never appropriate to speak of.
“You courted her,” Edric spat.
The crowd tittered at the revelation.
“That is a crime?” Dean asked.
“You assisted in her kidnap, knowing full well that we desired her safe return, and held her in Eleysia for months without notifying the kingdom. You are a liar and a scoundrel. And I formally challenge your honor.”
“No!” Cyrene cried, jumping between the two men.
“I accept,” Dean said with glee.
“Stop it, both of you!”
“Clear the ballroom ten paces,” Edric said.
“This is absurd. Please, you cannot do this.”
“It is a matter of honor, Cyrene,” Edric told her. “And he has none.”