Wyatt Castor is rejecting our offer. He is rejecting me, and by doing so, stating that he does not want peace between us. Wyatt does not want peace within his own kingdom. He is a monster, truly, and does not deserve his throne; but alas, there is nothing I can do to stop him. There is nothing any of us can do to stop this.
He turns to the guards. “See them out.”
“Wyatt, please—” his mother pleads, but he ignores her.
The guards grab me by my arms, thrusting me upwards as my father remains silent. I turn to him, tears in my eyes and his expression is one of grave impasse.
I’ve never felt more discouraged, more judged, than I do at this moment.
The guards drag me away, their hands harsh on my skin and the tears come unabashedly.
“Daddy, I’m sorry, I?—”
My father sighs. “It’s alright Ivy, we?—”
The guards shove us out into the courtyard, and I hear screaming. The air smells of ash and fear culminates inside of me because even though I’ve never seen them myself, I have heard the stories. Terror laces through me as I look up at my father.
“It’s alright, sweetheart, I promise. We will get through this.” His assurance is not genuine, but the love in his eyes is. This is not what we wanted, I know that. But we have no choice in the matter. My father can not force Wyatt Castor to take me as his bride any more than Queen Temperance can force Wyatt to listen to reason.
My father offers me his hand, helping me up into my carriage. He looks at me with a warm expression, my father peeking through the facade of a great king.
And then I seethem.
The warriors decked in black tactical gear, their faces covered up to their eyes, purple flames wielded in their gloved hands. Death in their gazes.
Necromancers.
Before I can open my mouth and warn my father, the fire hits him, lighting him up in a purple haze.
“Daddy!” I call as he cries out in agony. I reach for him, the heat of those flames grazing my skin. I can’t touch them. They will kill me, but the fear, the harsh truth of what happened, renders me frozen. I watch asthe necromancers advance, one of them catching sight of me, and I just know…I am next.
My father lunges forth, slamming the carriage door shut, beckoning for the driver to run, to leave and take me home where I will be safe.
I move to open my door, but it is no use—it’s locked and spelled to prevent attacks from necromancers and other enemies who wish to harm us.
All I can do is stare out the window as the carriage takes off like a bat out of hell, my vision blurry from tears at the sight of my father being consumed by purple flames that turn him to dust.
When I arrive home, I am numb. My voice is raspy from crying, my heart broken into a thousand pieces. I could have handled Wyatt’s rejection, but this?
Not only was I rejected, but I lost the one man in my life who truly loved me, and now our kingdom is more at stake than ever.
Wyatt may try to take his throne and defy the law—and as a prince, he may even get away with it. He’s the king’s oldest heir. Amaleheir.
He was born to rule a throne, despite the fine print.
But me? My father had no male heir, he only hadme.
And I am not capable of assuming his throne without a mate of my own—without the full completion of my powers.
My father’s advisor, Ptaris, meets me at the gate with a solemn expression, and I can’t help but crumble to the ground as the tears come once more. He makes no moveto help me up, but instead, kneels on the ground beside me.
“Ivy, I am so sorry, my dear.” His voice is warm and full of sadness. He reaches one hand out and rubs my back, and I continue to sob.
This is a somber day for our kingdom, indeed.
“I c–couldn’t open the door,” I say as my voice squeaks. “All I could do was watch as he?—”
Ptaris pulls me into a tight embrace. His comforting scent of lilies and cedar makes me feel worse—because it reminds me of my father. He and Ptaris were so very close, especially after my mother died. He’s always been my father’s advisor, but to me, he’s like a second father.
