“I know.” I bit the inside of my lip, an attempt to tamp down my worries. “The moment we’re done here, I have to leave. I can’t give him that kind of power over my family.”
She hesitated, her jaw tightening. “You won’t let him force you into marriage, willyou?”
“What choice does that leave me?” I asked. “You know what he can do under the Accord. He won’t hesitate. He’ll slaughter them legally.”
Arielle studied me for a long moment, something fierce and protective flashing in her eyes. Then she nodded, slowly. “Okay… then let’s not waste another minute.” Her voice was lethal. “Let’s go downstairs. Everyone’s waiting for you. We’ll talk and plan.”
Chapter 9
Elariya
“Where Our Hearts Still Meet”
Arielle and I walked into a vast living room where floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the beauty of the Fae realm beyond. But it was the three Fae warriors standing together by the wall that made my lungs tighten and my nerves spike.
Bastian stood among them. Seeing him earlier had been enough to make my head spin, but the others—all of them together—was something else.
They were the Bloodsworn. Warriors bound by oath to Wolfe. With Arielle they formed his Veythral. His inner circle.
Tattoos spiraled up the Fae warriors’ arms in patterns from the old languages, and the three of them looked born and bred for violence.
The one beside Bastian had shoulders broad enough to blot out the sun, long dark hair pulled back to reveal a face carved from granite and shadow. Scars mapped stories across his exposed forearms, and when he shifted, I caught the gleam of blades strapped to his thighs.
Beside him stood another—leaner but no less lethal—with blond hair that fell like a curtain over one side of his face before disappearing into a warrior braid. His eyes were the color ofglacier, but there was a lightness to him, as if humor lived under all that steel.
They should have terrified me. Every line of their bodies spoke of death and danger, of power barely leashed.
But when their gazes found mine, something unexpected flickered there.
Gentleness.
A softness that didn’t belong on faces made for war—as if they saw something in me worth shielding.
Bastian, Alaric, and Garrick.
Their names rang through my mind from my notes. But I didn’t recognize them from their faces.
I’d written that Alaric was the spitting image of Wolfe. Dark hair. The same cut of features. The same… presence. So, I guessed he was the one beside Bastian, and Garrick was the blond.
I didn’t know what to say, so when Arielle and I stopped before them, I did the first thing that made sense in the presence of royalty.
“Your Highness.” I bowed deeply to Alaric.
“No, no.” He stepped forward at once, raising his hands. “Please rise. That’s not necessary.”
Garrick moved past him with a bright, hopeful smile and came straight to me, setting his large hands on my shoulders. “You remember something?” His eyes lit. “You knew he was Alaric.”
The hope in his expression told me he’d been a friend to me.
“It was from my notes,” I admitted, guilt sliding in when his face fell. “My journal.”
“Oh.” He forced a nod, disappointment flickering fast. “Of course. Yeah. The journal.”
“Don’t worry,” Arielle said gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “She’ll get used to you again. Give it time.”
“Sure,” Garrick said, but his voice dulled. Then he looked back at me, softer. “I’m glad you’re back. And safe.”
“Thank you.”
