“Zenith is an invaluable resource, it’s what powers our lights, our energy, and typically it’s been found only in our kingdom. Only druids can move it, and make it usable through our unique magic. That should’ve been enough to convince the elves to let us take it but the lines on the maps have moved over the centuries. They’ve argued that because it’s within their borders that it’s up for debate, which is why a member of the royal family is required to recover it, to maintain our delicate alliance.” He rakes me over. “But if I bring you along, it makes a statement.”
“Right.” I nod, but my heart is jolting. My brother was taken to those lands, expansive though they are. My mother likely transferred there. “Are children that were Selected more likely to have been given to lords and ladies in their courts?”
“That’s the case in Sedah, but with elves …” He shrugs. There is a tightness to the movements, a distaste to the frown he wears. “I can only assume it’s the same. Why?”
“My twin brother was chosen by them at the second Selection.” My hands clench together, thumbs twirling about themselves.
“That was, what? Fourteen years ago? Would you recognize him if you saw him?”
“I’m not sure.” I sigh. “I have to believe I would.”
“Even if he was raised in Court, it’s doubtful he was raised near the palace. King Eldarion refused to raise an heir from the Selections. Eventually he held a trial to find one. Changelings competed.”
I cross my arms and find myself glancing to the map he has on his walls. I hesitate but can’t help myself from asking, “Where would the elves put mortal prisoners? The ones taken from the prison you told me about—Destarion.”
Draven follows my gaze and clears his throat. “I’ve seen them at their Court as … playthings. Elves tend to treat prisoners and some of their Selected as more sport or entertainment than a solution for the Curse.” A hint of pity enters his gaze. “Rune, you should know … the chances of your mother—”
“I just have to know for sure.” I can’t help the brittleness in my voice.
I’m surprised when Draven’s hand reaches for my shoulder, as if scooping shattered glass. Even more surprised by the look of tenderness in his eyes. “I will find out for certain. And if something happened … I’ll make sure whoever is responsible pays with their miserable lives.”
15Giving a Damn
Tell them you couldn’t leave them; people always want to hear that. Tell them of your potential, without speaking of the prophecy. Tell them you left early because it was too hard to let go otherwise. Tell them whatever they want to hear. Tell them …
—Draven’s long list of excuses
DRAVEN WAS GONEbefore I was up this morning, but he’d left me a note telling me exactly what to say to anyone asking about last night. I curl it into my palm when I get to the sign-off—XO Your Fated Mate. It pulls a rise out of me no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, the prick prince of darkness and his coy fucking smiles. I crave a distraction from the way he has my toes curling every time I think of those eyes on me. Before we went to the ball, I would’ve taken him into my bed that night, just to feel something with someone annoyingly attractive. But with the deal, everything is messy. If I want him, it feels like more than a vow but a real commitment, and if I deny him, it chafes against me.
But I don’t know if he’s manipulating me, or what he really wants.
And I sure as shit don’t know what I want from him.
Rumors of my and Draven’s sudden engagement spread through the Forge like hot ash on a high wind. Whispers follow me as I rush to meet my friends for breakfast, and when I find them in the Atrium, Ember gives me such a long, teary hug it earns some questioning glances from the others. I guess she’s glad I stayed.
“Is it true Draven’s claiming you’re his fated mate?” Amaya bursts out, brows disappearing into her bangs.
Draven wanted to check the temperature of the rumor mill about us being fated, but it seems everyone’s heard some version of it. He and I planned how to respond late into the night, but somehow, I thought it’d be easier to reply to.
Ember swats her shoulder and Amaya shrugs. “What, he even broke off his engagement. Everyone is talking about it.”
“Yes, it was a surprise for me, too.” I rub my neck, trying not to fidget further.
“A lot of fated mating bonds don’t take at first,” Wynter says, giving me an out. But I find my hackles rising a bit. “Some get rejected. You … do get a say in it if he wasn’t clear about that.”
“I know that.” Maybe I should’ve been gentler with that pronouncement, because I didn’t know it. I add, “Thank you, though, for looking out for me.”
“Of course. I know you can handle yourself.” Wynter swallows, chewing his cheek. “Out of curiosity, how did he know for sure?”
Our status is now public knowledge, but the prophecy is one Draven cautioned to keep quiet. We can’t be certain how others might react to it. So I lie, “We both felt it.”
Morgan’s eyes narrow, as if in disbelief. I take note of the reaction—he seems almost angry.
“I knew you liked him!” Amaya grins, then musses my hair and says, “Does this mean I’ll have to get a new sparring partner? I don’t want to piss off the prince by throttling his bride-to-be. But it’ll be hard to replace someone who always makes me look so good.”
“Har har.” My words are sarcastic, but the smile is genuine.
Felix gives me a gentle hug, and it fills me with the same feeling of calm I haven’t experienced since hugging my brother. I want to cling tighter. He breaks off, grinning wildly, and says, “Congratulations, I’m really excited for you. Are you happy?”
