Marcel nodded grimly. “He’s been trying to use her power against her. Against us. But she’s stronger than he realized.”
Between us, Bastien’s breathing had steadied, the ragged edges of his pain smoothing as the last of the poison drained from his system. Color returned to the flesh around his wound, the angry black receding to leave only a clean gash that, while still serious, no longer threatened his existence.
“Isabeau,” he murmured, his voice clearer than it had been in days. “I can feel her better.”
So could I. Her presence had grown stronger through the connection, the delicate thread between us thickening to something more substantial. I reached for her instinctively, projecting all my love, my gratitude, my awe at what she’d accomplished.
Her response was immediate. A wash of emotion so pure it brought tears to my eyes. Love. Fear. Determination. And beneath it all, a message that wasn’t quite words but that I understood perfectly.
Protect each other. I’m trying to save you too.
“She has no idea what she just did,” Marcel said softly, stroking Bastien’s forehead as our younger brother drifted into the first peaceful sleep he’d had since being wounded. “She doesn’t know the extent of her own power.”
I shook my head, still reeling from the miracle we’d witnessed. “No. And she’s doing it from wherever she’s being held. Imagine what she could do at the castle, at the nexus point.”
Marcel’s expression darkened. “If the Dark Lord realizes how much her power has grown...”
He didn’t need to finish the thought. We both knew the danger. If our enemy discovered that Isabeau could reach across dimensions, could affect physical change in this realm from her position in the mortal world. He’d stop at nothing to recapture her. To bend her to his will. To use her as a weapon in whatever cosmic war he was waging.
“We have to reach her,” I said, the words a vow more than a statement. “Have to find a way back to her before he does.”
Marcel nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the black poison had disappeared. “We will. For now, we let Bastien heal. Let Isabeau rest.” A grim smile curved his muzzle. “And then we continue climbing. Whatever’s at the top of this mountain, it’s important enough that the Dark Lord doesn’t want us to reach it.”
I settled more comfortably against the obsidian wall, positioning myself to keep watch while my brothers rested. The hellscape stretched endlessly below us, rivers of magma carving paths through blackened terrain, lightning erupting from the ground in unpredictable bursts. But for the first time since our arrival in this realm, I felt something dangerously close to hope.
Isabeau was growing stronger. Learning her power. And if she could reach us here, in the darkest pit of the Dark Lord’s domain, what else might she be capable of? What other miraclesmight she perform, this mate of ours who carried goddess-blood in her veins?
I closed my eyes, focusing on the connection that bound us.Rest now, my love, I sent through the bond, not knowing if she could hear me, not caring. We’re safe. You saved us. Saved Bastien. Rest and grow stronger. We’ll find our way back to you, no matter what it takes.
The bond pulsed once in response, a gentle acknowledgment, before settling into a steady rhythm that matched Bastien’s now-even breathing. Whatever came next, we wouldn’t face it alone. We had each other—three princes bound by blood and curse and love. And we had Isabeau, reaching for us across impossible distances, refusing to let go.
The Dark Lord had no idea what he’d awakened in her. But he would learn, just as we all would, the true extent of her power.
And gods help anyone who stood between her and what was hers.
thirty-nine
Isabeau
Alain’s voice drifted around me like smoke, words forming and dissipating before I could catch their meaning. The dream—if it even was a dream—had wrapped itself around my mind, refusing to let go. Bastien’s pain, the poison rising from his body in defiance of nature, the feeling of power surging through our connection. I could still feel the echo of it pulsing beneath my skin, more real than the silken sheets beneath my fingers or the prince pacing before me in growing irritation.
Plus, I felt sicker than a dog and had been vomiting all morning. Poor Brigida helped me by bringing me a bucket and emptying it when it was necessary.
It hadn’t been just a dream. The realization settled in my chest with the weight of certainty. The connection had been real. As real as the claiming mark that burned on my shoulder even now. I’d reached across realms, across whatever barrier separated us, and drawn the poison from Bastien’s wound as surely as if I’d knelt beside him in that hellish place. Though, the cost of the magic had placed his sickness in me. I was sure of that too, but something else was happening.
A warmth bloomed low in my belly, unfurling like a living thing, sending tendrils of sensation throughout my body. I’d felt this before—when coupling with my beasts in the forest castle, when the unicorn’s face had brushed my palm in the grove of ancient trees. But never like this, never originating from within me, as if my body itself had become a vessel for something ancient and powerful.
My magic. Not borrowed, not channeled through external forces, but mine. A birthright I was only now beginning to understand. It was fighting the toxin inside me, awaking to stand alert.
“Are you even listening to me?” Alain’s sharp voice cut through my reverie. His aristocratic features tightened with irritation as he snapped his fingers in front of my face. “I’ve been explaining the arrangements for your rehabilitation for the past five minutes.”
I blinked, forcing myself back to the present moment, to this white room that had been my prison and sanctuary for nearly three weeks. Though, I was sick enough for this conversation to not hold value.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, pressing my palms against the coverlet to ground myself. “I’m having trouble... concentrating today.”
Alain sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation as he leaned his rear against the ornate desk across from my bed. The posture was too casual for a prince, a crack in the royal facade he usually maintained so carefully. “I can see that. Is it the pain again?”
“No,” I lied. The truth would only alarm him, and I couldn’t afford his suspicion. Not when I was only beginning to understand what I was capable of. “Just sick, I think. Please, tell me again what thou wast saying.”
