I shake my head. “No. Are you?”
“No. But hold on to my arm, and I will hold yours, and we will get through this together, Raelle.”
I grip the sleeve of his crimson coat and lift my chin.
“We are ready, General Mansi,” Micah says.
My father nods, and he and Zek yank open the enormous doors.
My heart tightens like it’s on the verge of combusting, and I dig my fingernails into the fabric around Micah’s bicep.
I don’t care to look at the people lining each side of the holy place, donning bright and elaborate formal attire, or the last rays of sunlight cast upon the scantily clad statue of the Stigian queen looming above us. My eyes aren’t drawn to the water flowing from the ceiling and washing over the towering figure or the dual staircases that lead to it. It isn’t the jewel-encrusted throne that my father was once shackled to or the woman who sits upon it. It is the man standing at her side that demands my attention.
My parah.
My enemy.
“Chin up, eyes forward. You will not submit, my queen,” Micah says under his breath, leading me over the threshold of the Stigian sanctuary.
His words are just as much for himself as they are for me. Both of us are facing the people who left deep scars on our hearts. We might not know the exact extent of the other’s pain—a brother hurt by his twin sister, and a woman betrayed by her parah—but we understand that our grief is real.
As we walk down the aisle, I build up the courage to look at Kyron. I start with his shiny boots and move onto the snug fit of his trousers. He wears a black coat with golden baroque embroidery along the high collar and down each side of his broad chest. A lump forms in my throat as I take in his sharp jawline, full bottom lip, and the tan skin over his high cheekbones. As Micah and I reach the bottom of the dais, I look Kyron in the eyes. His irises are still a breathtaking ebony with amber burning around his pupils. His stare is intense, but instead of shying away, I square my shoulders and raise my head higher. One side of his mouth quirks up and I swear a fragment of the man I once knew sparks to life.
A war rages inside of me. I want to laugh and scream, hug him and punch him, kiss him and kill him. I hate him for turning me inside out and leaving me to live a life without him. Let him take his fucking crown, so I can be done with him for good.
A Divine Sibyl moves to the center of dais, their hair covered bya veil that matches the light blue of their robe. They turn to Esmeray and say, “Bring forth your chosen heir and let them receive the anointing of the Statera.”
The queen rises from her throne, her tall, slender body unfurling with the grace of a feline. The skirt of her gold gown, etched with the silhouette of wildflowers, splits up the sides and flows behind her to reveal her tan, shapely legs. A large stone gleaming with hues of orange and red hangs from a chain around her neck. The Posseda. The second of the Sacred Gifts of the Statera, and the one that allows the Khiros of Stigian to siphon the dormant gifts of the Cyffreds. Esmeray takes several steps forward. She is stunning and cruel at the same time. Her golden crown with spikes like sun rays balances upon her head of silky black hair and gleams with the light. Long lashes frame her hooded eyes, and a sly grin pulls at her red lips as she holds her arm out. Kyron moves in next to her, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow. Her gaze meets mine, taunting me. She has at her side the person I wanted by mine. The bitch relishes in my agony.
Kyron made his choice, and I’ve made mine. I will not fall victim to my heart or the bond that tethers me to him. Even if it’s my daily struggle forever, I will learn to live without him.
Mother and son reach the end of the dais, and Micah and I move forward. My hands shake at the euphoric sizzle that buzzes through me. Soft tendrils like dark clouds lure me closer and I can sense the anticipation in the air. The Eporri has always let me feel the gifts of others, but with Kyron, the draw is unlike anything else. I crave his Ignita fire, Noctist shadows, and his Cognus power to feel emotions. I want to lose myself in his gifts, let them consume me until I’m one with them.
“Place your hand on my son’s head, little princess,” Esmeray says, her voice a rich, smoky purr.
Micah rests his palm on my shoulder, and I concentrate on the strength in his touch. My fingers tremble as I move them toward the soft strands on the top of Kyron’s head, and my eyes flutter shut. His skin heats mine, and I can’t stop pulling at his gifts.
As the Sibyl recites the incantation that binds Kyron as the next king of Stigian, I recite the words with them. Borin made me memorize the ancient blessing as a child, and the familiarity of it calms me until Kyron’s power stirs under my touch. I can’t stop from calling it forward. His shadows flow from his fingertips, infused with the heat of his flames. I smile, basking inthe gift that he once so freely let me reign over. It’s as I remember. Under my control, the gray clouds take on an iridescence that blends with everything around us, cloaking us from the sight of those present.
This power was meant to be with me.Hewas meant to be with me.
“Raelle,” Kyron gasps, his fingers encircling my free hand and squeezing.
“I missed this,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth on a sigh.
The gaping hole in my soul steadily fills, and euphoria replaces the relentless ache in my chest. I pull harder and the heat of his flames lick at my skin until it sinks inside. It’s mine—the shadows and fire. It’s at home in my body, nestling in all the cracks inflicted upon my heart.
“Raelle,” Kyron groans, and fear chases away my bliss.
A horrific image plays in my head. The night we fought the Stigians at Lake Holly. My anger, my power lust, and Kyron begging me to stop. I’d almost killed him the first time I used his gift. My gaze darts to his to find dread and… surrender?
I yank my hand from his and release his power. It brushes past me as if wishing me farewell and vanishes within him.
A bulky warrior with high cheekbones rushes to Kyron’s side. His long blue-black ponytail whips around his face and wisps of hair cling to his full upper lip as he places a steady hand at Kyron’s back. His black eyes burn with mistrust and speak to his willingness to strike if I advance on his prince.
The sanctuary has fallen silent, watching the two future rulers of feuding kingdoms. The Stigian people appear stunned by what they witnessed. A Cyffred has controlled the gift of a Khiros, and not just any Khiros but an elemental who wields three powers.
I gasp for air, my eyes wide as I stare at Kyron. His face has drained of color and his head lolls to the side. His eyelids are heavy, giving me only a quick glimpse of how his pupils have overtaken the gold in his irises.
