I’m desperate to know what happened today. What took him so long? On his stag, a trip to the wall and back would only take about two hours’ time. He was gone for twelve. What happened in between?
“Are you hurt?” I ask, my voice is soft but strained.
He blinks, meeting my eye with recognition for the first time. His eyes are bloodshot, but the grey returns. He drops his hand away from my throat and steps away.
I swallow.
“What would have hurt me? There isn’t anything to fight!” he yells, hands tossed into the air. “There’s no one standing my way. No one to kill, nothing to maim. Nothing I can DO!” He swipes at another table, Crumbling Court décor crashing to the floor and shattering. I wince.
He turns again and presses his forehead to the stone wall as sobs wrack his body. Shit, I think. Tears well in my eyes as I feel a touch of the same helplessness he does. What am I supposed to do? How do fix this?
I don’t think I can.
A set of footsteps stomps from the hall behind me and a solider appears, dumbstruck as he stares at the destruction.
“Can you go get Tyadin, please?” I ask the guard.
His eyes dart over the foyer and back to me. Then, he nods and rushes down the hall away from us. Hopefully, Tyadin can help clean this up without a massive diplomatic issue on our hands.
Rev screams in frustrated agony and punches at the stone wall. His fist collides with a sickening crack and blood splatters onto my shirt.
I jump forward and catch his wrist mid-swing and twist it before he’s able to get a second hit in. It’s my turn now to shove him against the wall, turning him to face me. One hand holds his blood-soaked wrist, and the other is pressed firmly on his chest.
“Stop it,” I demand again. “I know you’re hurting but you have to stop.” My voice breaks, bottom lip trembling. I’m strong enough to stop him from hurting himself, but God does it hurt to see him like this.
And now I hate myself for hoping he’d return today. How selfish was that?
I know how important this mission is, but I’d stupidly feared losing him.
Rev’s chest heaves beneath my hand; his broken eyes latch onto mine.
“Rev, what happened?” I ask in a whisper. His face crumples, just like that. His shoulders slump, and he presses his face into my neck.
I suppress a shiver at the pleasure his breath sends cascading down my skin but well... it’s not the most ideal circumstances to get all hot and bothered, Cae.
His chest shudders in a wave of sobs, and he collapses into my arms. Together, we sink to the ground in a heap of awkward limbs and tears.
I don’t say anything more. There’s nothing to say.
I know this moment. I’ve been there—more than once. It’s rock bottom. The moment everything seems to collapse in on you. When even the light of stars hide behind the storm clouds, and there seems to be no hope left to grasp.
Rev is broken. Right here and now, he’s at his most vulnerable. And there isn’t anything to fix, I realize. So, I don’t shush him or tell him it’ll be okay. I just hold him and let him cry.
The fae prince of the Luminescent Court dissolves into tears in my arms.
Minutes later Tyadin arrives. At the sound of footsteps approaching, Rev clenches me closer, his face pressed tightly into my neck. Tyadin stops, his eyes wide as he surveys the foyer.
“What the hell happened?” he whispers. His lips part as he examines the broke Rev in my lap.
“I’m sorry,” I say with an awkward grimace. But what else is there to say?
He swallows and lifts his head high, chest puffed out. “Can you get him out of here?”
I nod. “I’ll get him to bed.”
“I’ll take care of the rest,” Tyadin says with a determined set of his sharp jaw.
I prompt Rev to stand, and he obeys without much effort. I wrap his arm over my neck and grip him around the waist. His head hangs low—in exhaustion or shame, I’m not sure. I don’t suppose it matters much. His feet only shuffle on the stone floor, but he follows my guidance down the hall and up the stairs to our rooms.
He pushes his bedroom door open but then pauses, resisting my pull for the first time.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he whispers, and with a determined expression, he presses through the doorway, pulling me with him. I stumble forward, his arm still over my shoulders.
He marches to the bed, pulling me along with him until the moment he drops onto the mattress, face first.
He finds his way beneath the covers and groans, pressing his face into the pillow. I back away slowly, but he lifts himself up.
Is it entirely insane and wrong that I take his moment to admire the muscles on his back flex?
“Caelynn?” he says through a gruff voice.
“Yeah?” I whisper. Does he need something? Water? A potion?
“Will you stay with me?” he says weakly like it pains him to ask. My stomach sinks and heart lifts all at once.
It pains him to need me. To want me.
I swallow and pretend that fact doesn’t hurt. But I couldn’t possibly blame him.
“Of course,” I say, even though my heart aches terribly as I eye the place beneath the sheets he carves out for me. My breath trembles. Am I really going to do this to myself? “I’ll never leave you, so long as you want me.”
It’s not like I don’t torture myself in every other way. Why not this too?
So, I crawl into the bed with Rev.
His arm slips beneath my head, and the other curls over my waist, pulling me closer. My breaths come shallow here, cocooned in Rev’s chest and arms.
Tears sting my eyes, but I allow myself to fall into this feeling. His warmth fills everything, and in only moments, everything falls away. Every doubt, all the fear and pain, until all that’s left is him.
Reveln. Mine.
I shake my head, a quick reminder not to fall. Not totally. Reveln is my mate, but he will never be mine. Not really.
Rev
My whole body is stiff and aching as I wake. The sun is only just peeking in through the window, and something beside me shifts.
I blink rapidly and pull away as I realize Caelynn is in my bed.
Holy shit.
I playback the events from last night and run my fingers through my hair. God, I’m an idiot. I seriously lost my shit. And she was there, holding me up. Holding me together.
Caelynn lies beside me, face as serene as I’ve ever seen her, her chest falling and rising in a calm rhythm. I watch her for a moment. Then, I pull a strand of blond hair from over her angelic face and tuck it behind her ear gently. I allow myself that one moment of delusion.
I let myself feel that desperate hope for what should have been but will never be.
Then, I sit back against the headboard and rub my face rigorously. Back to reality, Rev.
Fuck. Reality sucks. What the hell do I do now? I tried to enter the Schorchedlands and failed—again.
I’m a failure. An absolute complete failure. Everything my father ever said about me was right.
I tried to convince the gates to let me through three times yesterday. And when it continued to refuse me, I lost it there, I scratched at the bright green vines. I tried to climb the outside of the wall, resulting in cuts and scrapes all over my body.
The wall wouldn’t let me in.
You don’t belong.
I don’t belong anywhere. I’m not a real prince, so that throne doesn’t belong to me. My mate is a banished criminal who killed my brother. And now, the one quest I’ve been given doesn’t want me either.
I’m as lost as I’ve ever been.
Caelynn stirs quietly, her body twisting and squirming as she wakes. Her eyes find mine and she smiles. “Morning,” she says, with a surprised blink.
I let out a bitter snort but find amusement in watching her realize where she is. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring up at the stone ceiling.
> “Breakfast?” she asks without meeting my eye, and I can’t help but smile. She’s not going to comment on last night at all, is she? Why does it make me care for her even more? I press my eyes closed for one moment and then open them and allow a smile.
I climb out of bed but notice out of the corner of my eye how Caelynn’s eyes linger on my chest. I resist the urge to point it out.
Nope. Our desire for one another is predictably intense, but it’s just the magic inside us trying to pull us together. Well, it’s mostly the magic.
“Breakfast,” I say, reminding myself what I’m supposed to be contemplating. “Yes. But not in the hall. Not today.”
Caelynn sits up and stretches, her shirt rides up enough to expose a sliver of skin. I avert my eyes quickly.
“The sitting room, then?” she says. “We can get a tray delivered instead. I assume you’re hungry.”
I sigh. “Starving.”
TYADIN IS ALREADY IN our meeting room when we arrive. He looks up and smiles, but then his eyes narrow like he’s noticed something suspicious. I take a seat at the couch, shoulders slumped awkwardly. I have plenty to be bashful about that has nothing to do with the sexy shadow fae who happened to share my bed last night.
It didn’t mean anything, but Ty wouldn’t take it that way.
“Everything okay?” he asks. I nod slowly but don’t meet his eye.
“Well enough,” Caelynn answers. “How about you? Anything we need to do to assist the cleanup?”
Oh, right. I totally trashed a room in a court that is not my own. “I can pay for anything I—”
Tyadin waves me off. “It’s fine. All taken care of.”
I’m not entirely convinced, but I’ll take the opportunity to let it go for now. I’ll make sure I more than make up for whatever I destroyed. Assuming there wasn’t anything priceless in that part of the castle. I hope I didn’t destroy any Crumbling Court’s heirlooms.
“Something came for you,” Tyadin says casually to Caelynn, but the tense set of his jaw sends a jolt of anxiety through me.
I sit on the couch across from him, and he hands Caelynn a letter with the High Court’s seal on it. My breath catches in my throat.
Caelynn got one too? My eyes are pinned to the envelope between her fingers. She stares at it like she’s unsure if it something precious or if it will explode if she makes any sudden movements.
“Cae and I each got one,” Ty says. “But nothing for you,” he adds slowly.
I bite my lip and nod. “That’s because I already got mine.” I rummage in my pocket, push the gemstone farther down, and pull out a wrinkled parchment.
The invitation came via raven at the Wicked Gates yesterday. The bird circled overhead and then finally dropped the envelope right onto my stag’s saddle after my second failed attempt at getting through.
It’s like it was watching to see if I’d fail first before delivering a message from the queen. Stupid bird. The queen’s message may have played a role in my breakdown yesterday.
My stomach aches, thinking about what might be inside the letters. The queen obviously knows where I am, and if Caelynn is also receiving mail here, she must be keeping tabs on her too.
I don’t like that thought one bit.
Is she choosing Caelynn as her new savior? Is she planning to declare me an official failure?
I unfold the crumpled and ripped parchment.
My fingers run over the calligraphy writing on elaborately-decorated parchment.
Prince Reveln,
The High Queen Zanter-Leisha has requested your presence at the Royal Gala this weekend.
Beneath the formal letter with a date and time is a more casual scrawl from the queen herself.
Unless you are inside the Schorchedlands at the time of the event, I expect you to attend.
I drop the invitation on the table in front of me, staring wide-eyed. Waiting for my allies’ reaction. Do they see what I see? A veiled threat.
They don’t speak for several long moments.
“Why would she even want me there?” I say, tossing my hands up. “She doesn’t, does she? She’s telling me I better be in the Schorchedlands by then.”
Because the other option is that, in days, I’ll be expected to parade in front of hundreds of fae at the High Court and pretend I’m not an utter failure.
I eye a similar invitation in Caelynn’s grip. Tyadin’s is the same.
Each of us were invited to a last-minute High Court ball.
“Is it a test? Is she giving up on me as champion? If I show up at the ball, she’s going to announce Caelynn as the new champion.”
Why else invite Caelynn as well? She’s not well-liked by anyone of merit in the High Court; in fact, many wish her dead. But she is the runner up of the trials.
“No.” Caelynn smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “She wants to put on a confident face,” she says smoothly, her eyes holding mine for longer than usual. She’s studying me. She’s concerned for me.
I don’t blame her. I am too.
If the people of the realm, any of them, learn that I can’t get inside the Schorchedlands...
“The scourge has stopped spreading, so the people will be at ease, and seeing you could make them feel even better,” Tyadin muses.
“Lulls in the spread have happened before,” I tell them. “And they’re historically followed by a huge attack. More children will die before it’s over. Showing up to this gala is a terrible idea.” I press my palms to my eyes.
“You’ll just have to trust her.” Her smile is forced.
I shake my head, stomach sinking. Over and over, I’ve failed. “She wants me to fail,” I say, voice dead.
Caelynn’s hand drops to my forearm, and I blink at her delicate fingers touching me. “Then, she’s in one hell of a fight. I won’t rest until you win this.”
I clench my jaw. “Me or we?” The words slip out before I even consider them.
Her eyebrows pull down. “What?”
What if Caelynn is hoping I fail, so she can take my place as savior?
My breaths come out quick and shallow. I look up and meet her darkened stare, concern so damn clear it’s insane I’d consider anything different.
Well, if it’s not true, it should be. “Maybe you should go,” I say. She may not be hoping for the chance to fix her mistake in the trials, but maybe she’s the right one for the job.
“No.” Her voice is sharp. She pulls her hand away and crosses her arms, her jaw set.
“At least if you try,” I say calmly as hopelessness seeps into my bones, “we’ll know if some of our theories hold merit.”
“And if they do, I’ll be the one in the Schorchedlands. It can’t be undone.”
I bite my lip. “Then, you’ll be the hero and so be it.”
“No,” she says again. “I will not take this from you unless it’s a last resort. I know what it will mean for you if someone else completes the quest.”
“And what does it mean for you?” I spit. “There’s no happy ending for both of us, Cae. I was prepared to take this reward without even considering how selfish it is...”
Without considering what it could mean for Caelynn if she were to earn back her place in our realm.
“Stop,” she says, angry eyes pinned to mine. “My life is what it is because of my own deeds. I deserve the punishment. You do not.”
Caelynn drops to her knees before me and places a hand on my thigh. She looks up at me with fierce eyes. “Look at me,” she demands. She grips my chin beneath harsh fingers when I don’t obey, and she forces my gaze up to hers. “You deserve this,” she tells me. “What we did, we did together. You saved my heart. I wouldn’t have ever gotten over Raven’s death. Never. It would have destroyed me in ways Brielle and Drake never would have been able to comprehend. You deserved the win as much as me, if not more.”
I narrow my eyes, watching her.
“You are worthy of this, Rev. And I will not let you give up.”
/> I swallow.
“Me neither.” Tyadin steps forward, getting down on one knee before me. “I believe in you, Prince Reveln. My future king.”
I let out a huff that’s part laugh, part cry. “At least until your dwarf kings takes back his kingdom.”
Tyadin’s eyes shine. “A man can have two kings.”
“We can figure this out,” Caelynn says. “Do not let the queen or your father or anyone else see your weakness.”
“They’ll exploit it,” Ty agrees.
“So, you’re going to show up to that gala, with your head high and eyes bright. And you’ll show them the kind of leader you will be. Brave and poised, even in the face of adversity.”
I cover my mouth in my hand, not even believing what I’m hearing. From her. Caelynn of the Shadow Court. My brother’s murderer. The fae I vowed to kill.
And right now, she’s the only thing holding me together.
Caelynn
I sprawl out on the luxurious bed in my own room and stare at the invitation. The High Queen invited me, Caelynn of the Shadow Court, to a ball. Average members of the Shadow Court haven’t been invited to events like this in several hundred years. The Shadow Court queen hasn’t even been invited to ruling court events in a decade.
The fact that I was invited is significant, even if Rev doesn’t understand how much. I don’t know if the queen has ulterior motives, but I can’t discount the message this sends.
The Shadow Court matters.
There’s a gentle knock on my door, so I leave my invitation on my pillow and hop up to answer it. Tyadin leans against the frame, his hands in his pockets.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Just checking on you,” he says.
I hold the door open wide, inviting him in. He enters slowly, eyeing the parchment on my pillow. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” he says. “Being invited to the High Court palace.”
I rock back on my heels. “Yeah.”
Curse of Thorns (Wicked Fae Book 2) Page 7