Then I know something undeniable. Unexplained but certain all the same.
It is mine.
It belongs only to me.
The image vanishes as quickly as it came. I don’t know if it was a vision, a prophecy, or a hallucination. My hands are held out in front of me still, and the phantom outline of what I’d envisioned shimmers in my palms. From the looks on everyone’s faces, they see it, too.
Understanding what it foretells.
I can’t focus on the intense stares of those around me, only King Altair’s simmering fury. He’s going to kill me.
And I know in an instant why—he sees me as a threat to Arcadia. How could he not after what we’d all seen? My breath catches as the mechanical hum begins again.
“Father—no!” Princess Reva tries, grabbing for his hand.
Then shadows erupt around me. I drop as if the floor has shattered beneath me, plummeting into the darkness at the same moment I hear one lastshickt.I’m yanked through the shadows—the sound of a fast-riding chariot blaring in my ears one moment, gone the next—and then I’m colliding into Draven.
He thrusts me behind him as King Altair suddenly closes the distance between us too fast, wings spanning out so wide theyengulf us. A heavenly, golden sword appears in his hand at the same moment Draven calls a black sword crackling with fiery red energy along its blade. I’ve never seen it before. It’s glorious.
He slams it against the glowing edge of Altair’s sword to keep him back, his own burning like lava, sparks flying. His mother and Prince Ansel scream, but I can’t see beyond the two males in front of me. One protecting me with his blade and body, the other intent to annihilate me. My gaze shoots to Altair’s halo, only large enough for maybe a wrist to slip through, but certainly not a neck.
“She is an abomination. You saw the truth of her. Give her to me,” Altair growls.
Thunder crackles through the room and lightning sparks off Draven’s blade, the burning energy cutting into the seraph king’s sword. “Touch her and I’ll end you.”
“STAND DOWN!” Silas hollers, and a green energy sluices into the two of them. Altair and Draven break apart, as if puppeteered to do so, their eyes glinting emerald for a moment. The strange coloring dissipates.
The seraph king lifts his sword, looking at the notched split Draven’s blade carved from it. Altair’s mends itself, light weaving to fill the spot until it is unblemished once more. I watch as Draven’s blade transforms, too, bending and coiling and shrinking until it is a ring along his finger, glowing fiery red before cooling out again.
Princess Reva breathes heavily, reaching for her father’s arm, but he jerks away.
Prince Ansel slips his mother’s grasp and collides into Draven’s other side, arms wrapped around his waist. I’ve never seen the princeling so absolutely feral. He bares his fangs, protecting both me and his brother before his mother scoops up thechild and sweeps out with a couple of guards. The tension in the room is more tightly drawn than a nocked bowstring.
“You dare use your magic on me?” Altair demands of Silas.
“You forget that I, too, am king,” Silas growls. He strides forward until he stands between them, a poisonous jade light filling his irises, and I realize he did not use his Judgment Arcana just against Altair, but on the seraph guards, too. Their eyes glow green, swords drawn, standing ready to bring their own king to his knees. “I tire of your demands, Altair. I know what the others say of my kingdom. The elves refer to us as ‘night elves.’ Mortals call us heathens, worshippers of chaos. And you seraphs call us demons. But we are druids, not some weakened version of your peoples, but ourown. You forget our strength with every slight, and I am so very tired of pretending I am remotely in fear of you.”
My father’s hand inches toward the hilt of his sword, and he looks to me with a mirrored desperation and devastation in his amber eyes. I want to run to him, cling to him while we have the chance.
“Your debt to me still stands, Silas Vos.” Altair is as immovable as a mountain and yet Silas does not look any more tamable than the sea. “Give me this girl. I will handle her as I see fit. Then we can call off this false truce. My daughter Reva deserves better than this leftover uprising scab anyway.”
His daughter folds her arms, her gaze shifting between Draven and me. At least she attempted to stop her father from beheading me. I swallow, panic firing through every synapse at how close I came to death, a position I’m still in but at least now I’m on my feet. Draven and his father exchange a look. Judging by the way they hold themselves, prepared for a fight, I realize we’re inches from catastrophe.
My hand slowly moves to hover over my deck. I realize how badly I should’ve been mastering more powerful Arcana, ones that could aid in a duel. I don’t know if I can help in a fight of this scale, even though it’s all I want at this moment.
My father holds no green glow in his warm eyes. Yet he hasn’t moved. Not to stop his king from executing me, not to beg for my life, not todoanything.
“If you insult my son, then you insult me. I will do what I should’ve done from the start of this arrangement. Prince Draven.” Silas gestures to his son. “Do you want to end this betrothal? You know what it will cost.”
Me, I realize,it will cost my life.
My breath catches. I don’t think there’s anything I or anyone here will do to stop the seraph king should Draven hand me over. My father can’t. And Draven could guarantee he isn’t stuck with these horrific people for an eternity. I hate how my knees quake. How powerless I am.
“You would allowhimto decide this?” Altair’s face curls into a scowl. “She is a danger to all of us, Silas. You included, and I’ve never known you to back down from a threat.”
Silas ignores the sheer fury drifting off the seraph king, still waiting on Draven’s answer. I’ve never seen the prince so still. Desperately I open a small sliver in my mental shield, binding a thought up and spearing it to him. A promise and an offer. All I have left.
Save me and I will give you anything.
