“Truth masking as legend. They’re also the symbols on our flags.” Draven points to his map. “Our ancestors have been crying out for the items to be found, brought together. But we’d rather pretend they’re fairy tales than try for peace.”
“Theycouldbe fairy tales, Draven. A hope sprung from your own ambition. I’d rathernotpartake in a useless treasure hunt.” Pass. Hard fucking pass on this whole childish endeavor.
His eyes narrow.
“I am not one for flights of fancy, Rune. There’s proof of each of them, and plenty of it—volumes documenting their presencein every major event since the birth of Arcadia.” Draven grabs a book, flipping it open to a marked page before thrusting it in front of me. In the beautifully illustrated plate of a great battle, a seraph is depicted riding a winged lion and holding a sword rendered entirely in gold foil. “Lightbringer at the Battle of the Bastion, a seraph civil war not even five centuries ago, where Altair’s grandfather came into power.” He searches another pile and spreads another open book atop the first, pointing at a detailed rendering of a ring, the mechanics of it theorized, showing it changing sizes on its own. “This book is only three centuries old, and it specifically says these drawings are from a visual inspection of the ring. There is evidence.”
“Why would immortals even allow these items to exist?” It seems too dangerous. If one person were to gather all of it, they’d be equal to a god.
“Once created, well … who destroys weapons like that?” He smirks, eyes sparking with desire. “They were created when the lines were drawn on each map. The how and where are up for speculation, but the why is clear. Power.”
“And no one else has looked?”
“They’ve tried. But few have my resources.” He gestures to the vast collection of books, some seemingly from the seraph, elven, and mortal lands, judging from their titles. “None would test our might with such items. My people would be freed of fear and tyranny. The mortals spared of the Selections. We’d be united territories—we’d be rid of the boundaries that have us fighting over dirt. Use those very tools to unite the land again. Who better to lead them than two immortals with mortal hearts? Perhaps this is why the World chose both of us. In return, you’ll have power, freedom, and your family.”
I move my queen to capture the bishop he’s so fond of, adding it to the little pile of black players against the side of the board.
The aftermath of the last war shaped my entire life. Nothing comes without a cost. “And what of the fallout, Draven? The body counts? A road to peace bathed in blood? What happens if you lose?”
“We won’t. Not together.” His head tilts, his eyes tingeing red at the challenge in mine. “I’ve been learning about you, Wraith. You don’t get to act like you’re holy. Not with me.”
I color, and I draw back my clenched fists.
“I didn’t kill good people.” I feel sick. He doesn’t know … he couldn’t know how much blood has filled the pages of my past. I was mostly sent to spy, but a few of those missions went sideways, leaving me with a body to bury, or scars, or haunting nightmares.
“Killing is killing. Only gods and saints act as if there’s a difference.” His long fingers twist, his king stealing my queen. I stare in surprise, unsure how I missed it. How did I not even realize I was so close to his king? So caught in taking that bishop, I forgot the endgame. But he never did. He places her on his side of the board, a little trophy. “But don’t worry, love, we keep our conquests to this side of the Wall, tow the seraphs and elves into line with those Arcadian Artifacts no one will dare challenge. Gain loyalty from the druids with our fated status and our unparalleled Arcana. We avoid war altogether, seizing power without a drop of bloodshed. Except, perhaps, King Altair’s.” His eyes darken. “As long as that Wall stays where it is, the mortals have no dangerous magic or beasties to fear.”
“Just you.”
“Justus,” he corrects.
My cheeks still burn. “What would your father do if he found us out?” I need to know the worst of it. This deal could be my family’s salvation and get us both what we desire. But if I don’t know the dangers, then I cannot plan countermovesagainst them. This plan is pointless if we both end up dead because of it.
“My father’s vision for Sedah lacks ambition. But he is protective of his power. He would force me to take on a more intensive obedience spell.” He shifts as if each fiber of fabric has become a razor. His look curls to a snarl, like a wolf backed into a corner. “If I refused, he’d torture me, or lock me away until I broke or could be replaced. He might force you to take my place under penalty of death, or likely the death of someone you love. Which is why we cannot be caught. Outside of this room, he has more eyes and ears than blades of grass in a field.”
Gone is the weakness I glimpsed. Instead, his face becomes a mask of steel, unbending and immaculate. I clear my throat, yet my voice still comes out strained. “There’s a slight problem with this deal. We can barely stand each other.”
He scoffs, a smirk lighting his features with amusement.
“I think we can learn to tolerate each other to get what we want.” Draven’s gaze is unbreaking, and his eyes slide down my body, appraising me. It feels intentional. He knows exactly what it stirs in me. “We can make the others believe it. Fated do not bond instantly. It takes time. Every passerby is our audience, every courtier our judge. If they think they’ve witnessed us falling for each other, then we can write any story we want. I can protect you and teach you to protect yourself. It will explain why we’ll spend so much time together, while we search for the Arcadian Artifacts—and your family—right under the others’ noses.”
“You really want to do this?” I point between us.
His full lips coil in the corners, reminding me of a jackal before it snarls.
“Yes.” He really looks me over now, as if he’s measuring all my scars, weighing my worth against his own, testing if I’m thereal thing or fool’s gold. “Unless, of course, you have some other pressing proposal? Childish dreams of romance with maybe one of your little study pals?”
For a moment my thoughts stray to Wynter, his soft smiles and pretty silver eyes. I wonder if he’ll think I stood him up at the ball, or if he’ll have heard the rumors of our abrupt departure. He is both gentle and kind. But it doesn’t matter, and the more quickly I strike that idea from my mind, the sooner I can move on. Between him and Draven I don’t even know who I’d choose if I had the choice.
I’d just want someone who’d choose me back, I suppose.
“No,” I say decisively, folding my hands together on the table. “But I’d still like to know what that would look like for us. A story we tell others? Or one we tell ourselves?”
He blinks a bit, the colors in his eyes shifting in an almost dizzying way. I suppose I’ll learn the language there one day. They finally settle on indigo as he swallows, shifting in his chair, leaning against one side, supporting his head with his hand.
“I need you to play your role as my partner, at least right now. But … when the dust settles …” Draven runs a thumb along his fingers, his wings pulling tighter around his shoulders. “I won’t ever force you to remain at my side. When our deal is done … it’ll be in your hands.”
I nod. “My family returned and power of my own. So long as I pretend to be your bride and mate and help you seize your throne.” Anxiety twinges in my gut. It could be years before we track those weapons down. Does my family have that long?
