“We’re already on the verge of war. The druid king knows the seraph king wants to eradicate the Curse and annihilate the mortals in vengeance, but our kingdom is situated between them.” Draven clenches his jaw, and I wonder if it’s rage cracking between his teeth. “The druids lost more than the other immortal nations the last time around. Our power makes us useful in a fight, but the seraphs found us expendable. With the Curse still in place, my father knows it’d be foolish to attack the mortals, as they’re our only source of growing our numbers. He will avoid it at all costs.”
“And if the Curse was no longer an issue?” I fold my arms, hugging myself a bit.
“Let’s hope we never find out. But … I shouldn’t say more.”
His eyes fall on me and I can hear the accusation in the loud silence. I’m about to be transferred to the seraphs. Soon we could be on opposite sides of a new war. The wordsbe careful what you wish forring through my mind. But it’s my father in the seraph realm. I must try to be reunited with him.
“Be glad you have a father who loves you so deeply. I honestly think mine would rather slit my throat himself than risk me spilling any secrets of our country to the seraphs. Not that I ever would.” He reveals this dark confession to the ceiling, his gaze as black as his contemplations.
“Is he not like a true father to you?” The Lord of Westfall’s cruel face enters my mind and I force it away, back into the recessed shadows of my nightmares. I expect Draven to snap at me. We’re veering dangerously close to the personal. I’m surprised when he laughs humorlessly.
“He … adopted me as a weapon. One he honed to his level of perfection, no matter the method.” Draven’s lashes flutter a little and my stomach turns. “I think he learned to care for me. The seraph king saw that weakness and that’s why he demanded me as recompense. My ‘father’ has held me at arm’s length since.” Draven’s jaw clenches, bones stressing under flesh.
My heart sits at the back of my throat, choking me. “Do you think you just sparked the war?” If I get transferred to Nevaeh, will I have to turn right back around and fight the very people I escaped? I’m sure I’d be forced to swear a loyalty oath to the seraph king, which would mean no running, and as the king’s royal advisor, there’s no way my father would be freed to just go. But when I think about Ember, Amaya, Wynter, and Felix, I can’t see them as my enemy.
“I admit I’ve listened in to the princess’s thoughts. The seraphs’ halos are meant to block that gift, but she doesn’t wear it every hour of the day.” His gaze skims my knowing glance, a dangerous smile coiling his lips, before he amends, “Don’t be jealous. Getting that close didn’t involve anything too scandalous.”
I roll my eyes, why would I care, but my face heats.
“However, as much as she might desire me, she wants to be revered by her people. Marrying a ‘heathen prince’ would tarnish her image. She cares about how she’s perceived more than anything in this world. The seraphs see us as occultist, nature-worshipping monsters, who revere the ‘wrong’ gods. If you’re still feeling sorry for her, know that she doesn’t want this either.”
I wasn’t. Or at least pity didn’t quite soothe the serrated edges of my thoughts around her. I hated the way she looked to my father as though he’d poured his love into her in my absence. Even her sense of entitlement around Draven. As if she owned a bit of him. I cut those thoughts off as a smirk edges his mouth, his eyes sparkling to life again.
“If your father agrees to give me to Nevaeh, what happens to me then?” I ask quietly. My father had a rhyme about being chosen by the seraphs, too, one I stewed on long after he was Selected:Beware the seraphs of the skies, obsessed with truth from on high, they judge and punish every lie, atone your sins lest you die.
“Cute.” Draven’s tone drips in sarcasm, and I shift on my feet, face flaming.
“Just tell me what it means for me.” He seems honest right now. Even as I try to pause my thoughts, wondering how he might use them to his advantage.
“You’ll probably be entered into their military academy, the Aura. Separated into clerics and scribes, soldiers and politicians.It’s a mirror of things here, but more severe. Perfection is the only allowable thing in that kingdom.” His eyes roll to the coffered ceiling, his tone dripping with disgust. “But after that, you’d be placed with whatever seraph was most worthy to be your marital partner. It’s all arranged. You’d have less choice than here, where you have great potential, and therefore power and say. Here, you could choose anyone you wanted.”
I wonder if that truly meansanyone.
“But there, perhaps you’d be able to see your father more. He must have considerable sway over the seraph king, although I’ve heard he’s not wholly trusted, as a former mortal.”
A jolt of concern seizes me.
“Still, if the king allows him to watch over the princess, he must be able to bend his ear. But Nevaeh is a difficult place. I’d be glad to never live there. They judge people based on their intent and inherent goodness. You’re sorted and placed depending on it. Not just who you want to be but who you are beneath it. Along with any parts that might be deemed flawed.”
Pass.
“My thoughts exactly,” he adds, and I glower at him.
“How do I stop you from doing that?” I hate the ease with which he reads my mind. It makes me feel exposed, as though every moment he’s gathering more leverage against me. I force my thoughts onto a field near my old home, the way the winter stripped the trees bare, the snow silencing the grass and the animals into cold, hushed whiteness. Try to hear my thoughts when they’re buried beneath ice,Princeling.
His head tilts, brows twitching, but I keep my thoughts quiet.
“Train. Learn to block your thoughts, but you’d have only a couple weeks to dedicate to it. This High Priestess Arcana is the one responsible for the ability to read minds.” He gives me an arrogant look that grows darker. “Those of us attunedto the High Priestess can guard our thoughts, persuade others. Seraphs can’t hide their lies or thoughts. Their halos change color when they speak even a small falsehood. They value honesty and goodness above all.”
“You could teach me to build some walls, ones that could help.” I chew my lip, nerves fraying. He looks me over from head to toe as if to silently ask why he would bother, and I tack on, “Maybe it’ll work there, but if not, it’ll help while I’m here. So you don’t have to hear my voice, if for no other reason.”
“Well … that alone might be worth suffering your presence.” He sits up, grimacing as if he’s mulling it over. “I suppose it’ll give me some quiet, and if you’re really set on being reunited with your father and living your life in Nevaeh, I’ll get to break this betrothal and continue working toward my reign here.” A hunger grows in the far-off look of those eyes, as if they search through something unseen, a feast of every opportunity he thought was denied him. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, suddenly the prince again, even without the wings and horns.
It occurs to me the command he holds may not just lie within his immortality. Looking at him now, I see how ambitious he is—his desire to lead, to command, annoyingly entices me.
His voice is hesitant in anticipation. “I don’t know if this training will help you there, but it might give you some leeway at least … to survive. Are you sure that you want this?” His narrowing eyes suggest he can’t imagine a life where he’d give up certain power for another person.
“I want to go,” I say, and he slides me a look. I emphasize, “Iwillgo.”
