Until a year ago, Hope had only interacted with a handful of people, and handful was being generous. The most accurate, real truth was that she had only known one person: her mother,whom Hope and Ciaran buried under protected woods after her mother’s past lover—Hope’s father—assassinated her.
She was a twenty-five-year-old orphan with twenty daggers hidden in her black leathers. Two of them were the most dangerous crystal blades ever to exist, created with Cardinals’ blood. The Black Lawful Stab, made with the blood of the Cardinal Queen, and the Red Lawful Stab, with the blood of the five Cardinals, throbbed against her thighs, demanding that Hope use them, to harm, tokill.
It was a constant battle to resist the urge to touch them, to unleash them and wield them, but self-control had been the first of many lessons in self-discipline Hope had learned and mastered. The blades had a beating pulse like the arteries of any living being, but they were not individual entities. They needed her, and she wouldn’t let them win. Her mind was stronger than the blood of the Cardinals.
Hope inhaled, the scent of night and pine filling her nostrils and soul at the same time. She couldn’t resist closing her eyes as a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Even with the purest, rawest darkness of shadows surrounding her, she didn’t need to see him to sense the man approaching.Hispresence.
With it always came an irresistible physical reaction, a pleasant turmoil of feelings. Her thighs tensed, her nostrils slightly flared, her chin tilted upwards, impatient for his closeness. Her hands imperceptibly shook, her core tightened, the rhythm of her heart sped up, impatient for his touch and everything else that had been forbidden until he let go of his panom blood for her. All so they could exist together.
Nothing and nobody else caused anything remotely similar to her whole body, soul, heart, and mind. Only he did.
“Darkness Commander,” she prayed, her eyes closed as his scent became even stronger.
A soft kiss on her brow sent goosebumps up her spine. She held her breath as his hands clasped her waist firmly, her hands surrounding the leather around his powerful torso. His familiar shadows created a protective bubble around them. Hope couldn’t stop smiling, forgetting the rest of the world even existed.
Ciaran was her happiness, her safety, and her protection. She had never felt such strong, decisive feelings. Such beautiful yetterrifyingfeelings. Even the Fifth Power in her veins didn’t seem as powerful as what she felt for him, as the bond they shared. This man was herhome.
“Organ Mandor,” he whispered in her ear, making her chuckle. He moved her long, dark braids to the side to kiss her neck.
Even the overwhelming, mind-blowing and heart-warming emotions and thoughts Ciaran caused were proof that she was nowhere near prepared to rule this world. Unquestionably a governor of nations, a Ruler of Rulers, would not find feelings difficult to understand and digest. Surely a true Ruler wouldn’t be frightened of such things.
Hope was inexperienced in love, but as she felt his body around hers, holding her tight in the middle of the shadow storms covering the Radel Sea, this didn’t seem to be a problem.
This felt right. Their unionwasright, as if it had always been meant to be. As if whatever the world threw at them, they would be able to fight together. They had always been alone, but they were no longer. They had each other. Two leaders of different nations, of different power-wielders, united by love.
Against hers, every single muscle in Ciaran’s body tensed.
She stroked his cheek as she opened her hands and Gave red sparks to look at him in the darkness. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
His dark blue eyes glinted, reflecting the red sparks of her magic floating around them. His black hair fell smoothly overhis shoulders; the metal ring on his bottom lip bobbed as he hesitated for a millisecond. “Whispers,” he muttered, his jaw clenching even harder.
Hope’s brow furrowed, not taking her black eyes from his. Whatever message the god of night and darkness was whispering to Ciaran, it wasn’t good. Both his biological arm and his metallic arm tightened around her waist and her back, pressing her even closer, as if he wanted to keep her from harm. She waited, holding him tight, hoping that would ease whatever discomfort the news was causing him.
After what seemed like a lifetime of uncertainty and tension, he pulled back, holding her face with both hands. Hope always welcomed the cold touch of the metal of his fingers, the warmth of the flesh of his other hand, but the way his lips were tight in a line, the tips of his fingers shaking only enough for her to feel it—that was new. She had never seen Ciaran faced with anything. He didn’t only seem affected. He looked frightened. Forher.
“Hope,” he said, biting his bottom lip before continuing. “There is someone waiting for you. Someone we hadn’t expected. Someone we hadn’t counted on.”
She pursed her lips, nodding as her hands immediately went to the hilt of her daggers, her never-faltering comfort and reassurance. “Where are they?”
Ciaran swallowed. “In your House. She is in the Organ House.”
“She?” Hope’s eyes narrowed.
“The Cardinal Queen has returned, freed from her two-hundred-and-fifty-year curse, and she is sitting on your throne.”
3
Lenna
In this place, and with these people, nights were not for sleeping. Not that her turbulent, now forevermore screaming mind would shut the fuck up for a minute to give her a damned break, anyway.
Her private room in the navia had never felt bigger. Lenna’s shaking hand caressed the cool mattress. It was the same mattress where she used to sleep, cuddle, and make love to the man who owned her heart. The man who wouldn’t even look at her now. The man who could no longer love.
He can’t love. He can’t love. He can’t love anymore.
Her hand gripped the mattress as she let out a low growl. The volume of her voice was not relevant. The soundproof barriers she had Given this space had kept the others away from her. This was the place for her to feel. The place for her to hate. The place for her to regret.
She didn’t need others to worry. She didn’t need others to care. Worrying or caring didn’t change shit. Sasha had offered her help, had offered her shoulder to cry on. Perhaps next time she would call her. Perhaps next time she would share her pain with somebody else. It was hard to care about others when she reached the bottom of her well.
