Never in a thousand years would I have thought it possible to walk among the living. Netharis had me fully convinced demons don’t get to exist in this realm—we don’t get to have a life outside the hells.
But here I stand.
Nor would I have thought it possible to have a Nektos-chosen mate. But then I met Ryc…
Again.
And again.
Currently, I find myself in possession of both.
A small smile curls my lips as Eve and I wander along the bridge crossing the Daxing River. The north gates of the castle grounds lie ahead, and as I lift my gaze from the river, a figure clad in silver armor appears beneath the arching gate. An all too serious expression hardens on handsome features as lavender eyes meet mine.
Cyran.
Unable to stop myself, I let out a groan.
Eve leans close, smirking. “Busted,” she whispers.
The ever-stoic Captain of the Royal Guard crosses his arms over his chest as he drags his stare to Eve. The crease between his brows deepens.
Of course Cyran would catch me. I’ve been testing Fate, slipping from the castle grounds every night this week. I’ve gone unnoticed,until now.
“You’resupposed to be the star pupil, not me,” I mutter the tease and she stifles a laugh behind a fist.
“Again, Lady Ves?” Oh, he sounds less than entertained.
Again?
It’s been at least two weeks since he caught me last. That should have been plenty of time for him to forgive and forget—heavy emphasis onforget. He’s been just as busy as Ryc.
His concern is loosely warranted. I’ll give him that. It’s his duty to ensure I remain safe. Being innateless and wandering the city at night with the increase in undead is… frowned upon from his perspective.
But I know how to handle undead. Even without my innate.
It just means breaking Eldoterran law.
Which, I suppose, he’s trying to keep from happening as well.
It’s a foolish conception—banning blood magic practice. Blood magic serves a purpose, just as old magic does. It’s a self-governing magic. If a practitioner reaches beyond their ability, Nether is quick to collect a costly payment. Chances of subsequent mistakes are largely reduced.
“We are unscathed,” I reply, leveling a cool glare in his direction as Eve and I breeze past.
Guards posted beside the gate dip their heads in an acknowledging nod as we walk by but otherwise remain silent.
Cyran could learn a thing or two from them.
He falls in behind us, trailing along in our wake. Together, we wind along the stone path through the copse of trees leading to the north lawn. As we approach, deep voices carry across the lawn before we emerge. Eve, her brows creasing, tosses me a concerned glance.
One of the voices grows clearer. “Do you think she’ll greet him?”
Thatsounds like Fenryn, the Sovereign King of Sol.
I freeze, pulling Eve to a stop with me, keeping us within the protective shroud of the trees.
“Why is he here?” I hiss the question over my shoulder at Cyran.
“King Alaryc is hosting him as a guest this evening,” Cyran replies, and I grimace at his decision to not keep his voice down.
