by Erin Rhew
Layla clenched her fists by her sides, trying to still the pent-up Vanguard angst that coursed through her body. She hated being helpless. She would rather fight through a thousand armed soldiers than stand by, powerless, while Wil lay dying in his room.
Beside her, Nash stiffened. Concern for his brother rolled off him in waves. Layla looked up to find her own anguish reflected on his face.
From down the hall, Queen Sansolena moved with the proud, stiff walk of royalty. Only the haunted look on her face indicated her internal suffering. Layla knew they all loved Wil in their own way, and hollowness carved out her insides at the idea of life without him—as if Prince Vance’s sword had pierced a vital organ inside each of them in the same instant it connected with Wil.
“Will my son die, Mars?” The queen gave voice to the question Layla knew plagued them all, yet no one but Sansolena dared to speak it.
Layla flinched as the words assaulted her. Nash reached out for her hand. Though she took it, she felt no romance in his gesture, just one soul reaching out for comfort from another. She squeezed his fingers with suspended breath as she awaited Mars’ answer.
“I don’t know.” The Volton heaved out a sigh. “Our best hope is the plan we discussed earlier, my queen.”
Sansolena nodded her assent, but the lines in her face deepened. Confused, Layla glanced at Nash. His bewilderment stared back at her. What had the queen and Volton discussed?
“Everyone…” Queen Sansolena sighed and made eye contact with each member in the ragtag group standing outside Wil’s chamber. “I will be putting Wil into a deep sleep. It’s his best chance for healing…for survival. Before I do, we should all take a moment to see him and tell him everything we need him to know because…” She faltered, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Because truthfully, he may never awaken.”
Layla gasped. She clamped her free hand over her mouth to stifle the soul-wrenching scream threatening to escape. Though somewhere deep inside she knew the truth about Wil’s condition, hearing the words spoken out loud made them real and breathed renewed life into her fear. Wil couldn’t die. He just couldn’t. She thought of his gentle smile, his warm blue eyes, and his blond locks, unruly from his hands running through them.
Wil…he had loved her all this time. She had to tell him how much he meant to her before he… She refused to even think the word.
Nash’s grip on her hand grew tighter. When she leaned in, just a little, he crushed her to him. He pressed her cheek against his broad chest, and they clung to each other like two people drowning. Layla watched from beneath Nash’s arm as Rex—the recently deposed king of Vanguard, former lover of Queen Sansolena, and father of Nash—move forward to place a stabilizing arm around the queen’s shoulder. Sansolena’s wan smile looked forced.
Nash cleared his throat and stepped back, releasing Layla. “I’ll go first.” They all watched in forlorn silence as he opened the door to Wil’s chamber and walked inside, his shoulders drooping.
While she waited, Layla’s thoughts drifted back to the moment that brought Wil to this point. She had seen Prince Vance’s sword stab Wil directly in the chest, but she’d been powerless to stop it. Chastising herself yet again, Layla lamented ever leaving Wil’s side. She never should have gone after Volton Mars, despite Wil’s insistence, and left the Ethereal to face Vance alone. If they had fought side by side, he might not be dying in his bed right now. She would never forgive herself for leaving him unprotected…especially if… Layla swallowed hard and sank down to the floor, placing her head in her hands.
She sat there as Wil’s family said their goodbyes, her anxiety growing. Nash came out, followed by Volton Mars, who stayed in the room for quite some time. Both men exited then disappeared down the winding hallways without a word. The queen took Mars’ place, and still Layla waited. Any moment now, the queen too would leave, and Layla would finally go into his room. She just hoped when the time came she’d be able to convey to Wil everything she wanted to say.
The door opened, and a tearful Sansolena stepped out. Pushing off the wall with haste, King Rex rushed to her side and assisted her down the corridor. Layla now stood alone in the hallway. Taking a deep breath, she entered Wil’s room.
* * * *
Layla’s throat snapped shut, squeezing out any vestige of breath she brought into the stale room. The young man lying in the bed no longer resembled the Wil she knew. His blond hair stuck to his head, matted down with blood and sweat, and his vibrant blue eyes rolled around with a vacant, aimless wandering. They snapped to attention when he noticed her in the doorway. He smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. His face, flush with color under normal circumstances, matched the pillow on which he rested—a macabre, pallid white.
She shivered despite the warmth in the room. He looked even worse than he had earlier on the battlefield. In the hallway, she had heard the Volton’s words, had heard them and thought she understood them. Her mind grasped the severity of Wil’s grave condition, but nothing compared to seeing it.
“Layla, come on over here. I won’t Alter you or anything.” She stared at him in amazement. How could he joke with her now?
When she sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze fell upon his bandaged chest. She knew his fatal wound festered behind the bright, white gauze, and though she swore she would not cry in front of him, tears welled up without her permission. She batted them away, her Vanguard anger roused by this sudden display of weakness.
“I’m so sorry, Wil. I never should have left you to face Vance alone.”
He tried to smile, but pain exploded across his face. “I told you to go. I wanted you as far away as possible. As king and defender of Etherea, I chose to fight Vance alone, so don’t be upset with yourself over leaving. Please—”
“All right.” She agreed for his benefit, though she would never be able to forgive herself. He didn’t believe her—his soft smile told her as much—but he didn’t push.
“I need you and Nash to work together to protect the Ethereals, no matter what happens to me. I could not find two more trustworthy people in all the kingdoms.”
“Nash and I are Vanguards. Are you sure your people will even listen to us?”
“No one knows my brother is half Vanguard. When my father…” Wil’s eyes flooded with sudden sadness. “When my father tried my mother for treason, he did not specify the reason, so Nash’s secret is still safe unless he chooses to reveal it. As for you, my people know you are the Fulfillment. They watched you fight for us, defending the king and prince against Vance. If anyone had a doubt, you’ve erased it.”
“And your mother? Won’t she feel usurped?”
“She is the Dowager Queen now. My father’s order of succession has been in place for years, and my mother never intended nor wanted to rule alone. If you ever need her help or Rex’s, I’m sure they’d be happy to offer their assistance, but they agree that the future belongs to us…” His gaze shifted to the wall as he swallowed. “To you and Nash anyway.”
“Don’t talk like that. You are going to get better; I know it.” She grabbed his hand.
“Of course.” He acquiesced, as she had done with him moments ago. Showing him the same respect he’d given her, Layla didn’t push the topic any further.
“There is something I have to tell you, Wil.”
“There is something I have to tell you too.”
“You start.”
“Okay.” When he took a deep breath, his face contorted. “I know you love Nash, and I know that what happened between us in the tunnels only happened because you were under the influence of Elder Werrick’s binding. So, I want you to know that I release you from your responsibility to me as the Fulfillment. The Prophecy says the Fulfillment must marry high into the opposite kingdom, but it doesn’t say you have to marry me.”
She started to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her. His arm collapsed almost as soon as he raised it. Layla swallowed hard against the lump snaking its way into her throat.
“Please let me finish. Nash is also a prince of Etherea, so the Prophecy could be made true by the two of you as much as it could by the two of us. I do love you, Layla, more than I could ever begin to express. That’s why I want you to be happy, to be free. If I survive this wound, I won’t pressure you to be with me anymore.”
“You never pressured me.”
“Well, if I didn’t, the Prophecy did. I’m just letting you know it’s okay for you to be with Nash. Don’t feel bad about me or for me.”
His blue eyes shined, confirming his earnest words, but she saw the heartbreak in them as well. Wil—he always wanted to make the right choices and thought of everyone else above himself. She hurt inside just thinking about the physical and emotional pain he endured for others…especially for her.
“Since Elder Werrick’s binding, I don’t know what to think. I thought I loved Nash, but then you and I…” She rubbed the side of her arm, searching for the right words. “If I had more time, I could figure it out, but…”
She watched a fresh wave of pain cascade through him, whether from his injury or her words, she didn’t know. Layla blinked back a tear before it escaped and took a deep breath. She knew he longed for her to reciprocate his love, but she just couldn’t do it. Not after the Elder’s meddling, not until she knew for sure. Yet time might be a luxury she didn’t have, not with Wil anyway. She weighed the consequences of giving him his dying wish and sticking to the truth.
“But what?” His soft, hopeful voice stung.
She bit her lip and unleashed the closest version of truth. “I could love you. You’re kind, compassionate, strong, and selfless. I’ve never met anyone like you, and I’m sure I never will again.”
“Please say that again.”
“Say what? That I’ll never meet anyone like you again?”
Wil started to laugh but winced instead. “No. The part where you said you could love me.”
Wil’s affection, dazzling in its intensity, washed over her. How, after everything, could he still look at her with such adoration on his face?
“I could love you.”
His face lit up. In spite of his wound and his sallow appearance, he radiated happiness. Wil closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillow. She didn’t understand. How could he look so joyous when she’d only confessed to the possibility of loving him?
“I never thought I’d hear you say anything like that to me. I’ve dreamt about it, but I never thought I’d actually hear it.”
At his sincerity, a sharp ache smoldered inside her heart. “Wil—” She tried again, needing to tell him more and to explain everything she thought and felt.
“Please stop.” With his simple request, her confession faltered upon her lips. “If I’m going to die, I want to do it with those words etched in my mind.”
“Wil, don’t say that! You’ll be fine.” Her drive—to make everything right, to shine a revealing light on the truth between them—burned within her. “Besides, we can’t leave things so unresolved. I have more I need to say.”
“Say it when I wake up then.”
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Such a small action made him gasp in agony, but he persisted, planting the lightest of kisses across her fingertips. She pressed his hand to her own parched lips in response. When he smiled, a trickle of blood escaped his mouth.
“I’m happy right now.” He wheezed. “So happy—”
His words garbled, Wil began to convulse. Layla took his face in her hands, trying to pull him back from the precipice, but she lost her grip. Panicked, she ran to the door and threw it open.
“Volton Mars! Queen Sansolena!”
Chapter Three
Mia
Mia stared at the young man before her with a mixture of curiosity and weariness. She understood why others found him so handsome—rich, dark hair and those shocking green eyes. If she succeeded, he would be her…she stopped herself, determined to keep her mind clear. She had to give off an air of mystery, to lure the Ethereals into her web so they followed her plan. More than anything, she needed them to follow her plan, so much depended on it. She could not slip up. She could not make a mistake.
Taking a steadying breath, she refocused her thoughts and slid her gaze across the prince in front her. She wouldn’t even think his name or give any indication she already knew about him. She had to forget how much she’d been told about him…how much she’d been told about them all. Feigning ignorance factored into her plan.
“Who are you?” he asked, after spending an inordinate amount of time regarding her.
She noted how his gaze bounced from her amethyst-colored eyes to her hair and back again. As planned, her appearance intrigued him. Though he’d asked a different question, she heard the real one layered beneath it. He wanted to know why she resembled the proclaimed Fulfillment. That question would then lead him to an inevitable one…could Mia be the Fulfillment instead of Layla? And if she were the Fulfillment, what did that mean for him? For Wil? For Layla?
“I’m Mia.” She almost grinned, pleased she’d answered his question but given him nothing more. When his lips twisted, her grin broke into a full smile at his evident irritation. “And you are?”
He hesitated. “Nash, brother of the king.”
“The injured king?” He flinched, a subtle movement most might miss, but she caught it.
“According to our friend, Samson, you’re an Outlander.”
“He found me in the Outlands.” The less Nash knew, the better.
Frustration flickered across his face, marring his otherwise handsome features. She smiled to herself, not trusting his patience should her lips turn up yet again.
“Sooo,” he dragged out the word. “Are you an Outlander?”
“No. I’m a Vanguard.”
Nash cocked his head to the right. “Why were you in the Outlands then?”
“I went to escape Vance’s oppression.” Mia stared at the wall behind him until her vision blurred. She willed tears to form. Given the pressure she’d been under, summoning them proved easier than she expected. When the familiar tight burning started near her lids, she blinked at the prince. He shifted in his seat. Mia wanted to snort at his reaction. Tears always made men uncomfortable. “Vance killed my family.” She paused and swallowed, hoping he believed she needed a moment to collect herself. “I ran as far as I could and ended up in the Outlands. Samson found me.”
Nash cleared his throat and shifted again; she increased the flow of her tears in reply. “What do you know about the Outlands?”
“Very little.” She sniffed. Looking as pathetic as she could manage, she attempted to wipe her eyes, an impossible feat given her bound hands. Nash frowned as his gaze landed on her restraints. She bid him to unbind her hands, and for a moment, she believed he might. To her disappointment, he gripped the side of his chair until his knuckles turned white and left her tied up. Mia ground her teeth.
“Do you believe you are the Fulfillment?” Nash kept his voice steady despite the turmoil she read upon his face.
Mia waited a moment to respond, both to further escalate his frustration and to collect herself. In this moment, she needed to be most convincing, to begin what she’d been tasked to set in motion. She gestured with her chin, drawing Nash’s attention to the blazing F upon her upper arm. The dark purple birthmark matched the shade of her eyes.
“The First Ones speak for themselves.”
Nash shook his head. “It’s too obvious.”
Mia’s head jerked back. She struggled to maintain her composure as his reaction, so unexpected, derailed her careful planning. Her mind racing, she grappled for a response.
“Too obvious?”
“Yes. See, Mia…” His clear distaste tainted the sound of her own name. “I know about the First Ones.”
“Who do you think you are? An Ecclesiastic?” She smirked at him, acting like she retained complete control, but her insides knotted. She couldn’t lose her ability to direct the
conversation.
To her surprise, Nash laughed, though she noted no pleasure in it. “The Prophecy states, ‘In a time of war, when the land is divided amongst the two, she, with raven black hair, purple eyes, and a special blessing from the First Ones shall bring peace’.”
“I think everyone in the three kingdoms and in the Borderlands is familiar with the Prophecy.” Mia rolled her eyes for effect. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, the special blessing wouldn’t be something as simple as a birthmark. If it were, the First Ones would have just said raven black hair, purple eyes, and an ugly purple F on the upper arm.” He flicked his hand toward her arm. “Special blessing is vague, indicating something mysterious. There is nothing mysterious about your birthmark.”
Mia’s heart pounded as she felt the tables turn and the conversation slip away. “And there is something mysterious about her?”
The word her hung between them for a moment. Mia took another deep breath, worrying she’d pushed him too far. Beneath his shirt, she saw Nash’s muscles ripple and hoped she’d managed to touch a new nerve.
Mia clenched her teeth. She hated acting this way, so out of character, but she had to press on. No one could know the truth. She had to win this game…
Nash relaxed. When a smile broke out across his face, dread curled around her, creeping across her body until it lodged in her stomach. “Break those bonds.”
Panic shot through her. She fumbled around for the right words to say, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.
“If you’re a Vanguard, those bonds shouldn’t hold you,” Nash pressed, feeding on her paralysis. “Break them.”
“I can’t.” Her mind raced, sorting through a variety of options to explain her lack of strength. “I’m only half Vanguard.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
Nash’s grin widened. She couldn’t let this situation get away from her. She had to remain on top, in control. A Halfling…Mia could make that work. The more she thought about it, the better it sounded. How better to appeal to a Halfling than to be a Halfling too?