Veyka.
If she was my mate then why did her name mean nothing to me?
My father rose to stand beside my mother, the two of them a steady wall, one strengthening the other. As it had always been. I had never seen their alliance falter.
They walked in tandem to the door, my father stepping ahead to open it for his wife, my mother letting him.
But she paused to look back at me, assessing. Reproving. “You look terrible. Go up to your room. Bathe. Sleep.”
She did not wait to see if her order would be obeyed. The door shut behind them, and I was alone. Me and my beast.
Scolded like a child.
The Brutal Prince. High fucking King of Annwyn.
I slammed my fists into the wall hard enough that the room shook around me. But the stones of Eilean Gayl did not care about my anger or frustration. They held steady.
My head fell forward to join my fists.
Sleep.
My mother was right in that at least. I’d made plenty of battle plans, led armies to victory on less sleep and more exhaustion than my body was dealing with now. But this was more than I’d ever faced before. I was a hairsbreadth away from losing control to my beast. And if I did, there was no telling what havoc he would wreak.
41
VEYKA
I begged the Ancestors for sleep, my vows to never ask them for help again swallowed by the misery that filled every corner of my body and soul. To lose a husband, a mate… what did that mean? I thought I had understood. Living these last weeks without Arran, knowing I was the cause of his pain and near death, I had died myself. A little bit each day. Until I was nothing more than a shell around what had once been, for such a short time, a full and beating heart.
Dead.
Arran was not dead.
Arran is alive. He is alive. My mate is alive…
I started, suddenly awake. Rolled over, reaching for—
Nothing. No one. Alone. I was meant to be alone.I deserve to be alone…
Shivers wracked my body, dragging me from nightmares of swirling darkness and screams.
Cold… I’d been cold ever since we left Baylaur and crossed into the human realm. Was I never meant for warmth? Was warmth a privilege I did not deserve?Like love…
I was alone again in the forest, hunting down Gorlois’ soldiers. There was the succubus, clawing its way across the frost-gilded forest floor. Bits of dried leaf and pine needles clung to the tarry black bile that coated its hands, its jaw, its face—Arran’s face. I couldn’t pull my amorite blades. I could not run. I fell to my knees, ready to let it take me. Let him take me. It was no more than I deserved. That fetid darkness, cutting through the crisp air to fill my nostrils… but it was not. It was spice and earth and warmth and Arran…
I didn’t open my eyes. I was a fucking coward. Arran had known it from the moment he arrived in Baylaur. He’d called me useless, a waste of my crown. He was right. I was nothing without him, and now…
My eyes popped open against my will, an ingrained need to survive, to escape the darkness that found me even from behind what should have been the safety of my own eyelids.
A white wolf sat at my bedside, preternaturally still.
I blinked, trying to make it go away.
I was still sleeping. Still dreaming. I shut down that part inside of me that cared about my own survival and closed my eyes, even though I knew there would be no escape from this agony.
There was no longer a difference between sleeping and waking. It was all a nightmare.
42
