“Your mother is the reason my father left,” I tell him. “Or they killed him.” I shake my head, trying to untangle Caspien’s claims. “Caspien was ranting. I don’t know the details. He just claimed your motherhandledit.”
He stops, in the middle of the room. With the light hitting his face from the window, I can see the dark circles below his eyes. I heard him begging me to wake up, felt him next to me the entire time. I know he’s exhausted, but the evidence makes my heart squeeze in my chest. And adding all this to his plate is not helping, but he has to know.
“My father was the only one who didn’t agree with me being sent away. He wanted me to be Varethiel’s queen.”
He nods, then tips his head back, looking at the ceiling. “So you’re saying,” he bites out, his arms flexing as he lifts his hands to the back of his neck and linking his fingers together. “That my family may have killed your father and sent you away causing massive storms that have almost destroyed the entire energy system—all to maintain power over a weakened, destroyed world?” He lowers his head and is nodding by the end.
“There is more…”
He huffs out a sigh, dropping his arms. “Tell me.”
“He”—I swallow—“killed Nova.” My voice is quiet.
Cillian drops to his knees in front of me, his hands tightening around my free hand. “Whokilled her?”
I look at him with big eyes, my lips pressed together tightly, tilting my head the smallest amount. It's silly to be scared of a name, but it feels like if I say it, he will appear, be summoned to this very room.
I swallow again, building the courage. But I don’t have to.
“Caspien killed Nova,” Cillian says slowly. It’s a statement, not a question, but I confirm with a small nod.
“He thought she was me…” I say sadly.
He places a hand on my cheek. His lips brush mine gently. His thumb runs along my cheekbone for just a moment before he pulls away.
“They will all pay,” he says, voice deadly calm. “You have my word, Queen. Though apparently the word of a Vaylor doesn’t mean much.”
Shoulders squared, he strides out the door.
Chapter
Forty
NISSA
Three days later, Cillian storms into the Royal Guardians’ command meeting. The wooden door groaning as it is thrown into the wall.
“Did you know?” he demands, his voice low. He doesn’t even glance at anyone else as he marches across the floor and leans low into his best friend’s face, hands fisted on Niko’s desk.
Niko’s eyes dart around the airy room before landing back on Cillian. “What the hell are you blowing on about?” he snaps back at him.
I should be paying more attention to the Guardian’s reactions from my hiding space. But it is hard to pull my attention from the commanding energy that pulses around my mate.
His anger can be felt through the room, the weight of his rage pressing in like the depths of the sea, “Watch how you speak to me,Lord Commander,” he snarls.
The tension around the room thicken as he uses Niko’s title this way, pulling obvious rank. This is a king speaking to his subordinate, not friends.
Even the wind in the room seems to be holding its breath. The Guardian’s glancing at one another, waiting to see their commander’s response.
Some lounge on the cloud couches with their arms crossed over their chests. Others stand, watching Cillian and Niko with wide eyes. The males in this room have extensive inception mark that stretch high up up each of their necks. But none are quite as high as their leaders.
Niko’s back straightens and he shifts in his seat. His eyes move around the room across his unit, taking in their watchful eyes.
Cillian ignores the other Guardians. They aren’t importantyet. But I keep a close eye on them. Each face has varying levels of shock painted across it. Some, maybe, even a hint offear. Those are the ones that hold my attention the most.
“Were you part of the cover-up?” he demands. “Caspien confessed everything when hekidnappedNissa. When he almostkilledher!” I swallow, looking back at Cillian. My heart constricting. This anger is real. The pain of him almost losing me, palpable.
“She’s well enough to talk?” Niko’s eyebrows drop down low as if he’s processing new information, fidgeting with a quill pen on his desk.
