Drake and Ariesian had been mistaken. It was clear she wasn’t needed here with him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t very well fly back to Aeramere on her own. And he wasn’t about tosend her off on a ship, her brother would have his head for such disrespect.
Until they finished this journey, he was stuck with her. Worse, he’d promised to take her to Wenfyre, a wretched turn of events, but he was a man of his word. For him, it was decided. The minute they returned to Aeramere, he would drop her off and come back to Brackroth. The distance would do him good. Her tears, her heartbeat, her scent, her voice—none of it would afflict him anymore. Not when there was a sea of distance between them, for even fae magic was not so strong.
“General Holtstorm?”
Kjeld straightened to find Queen Viktoria watching him curiously. The rain had stopped. “Apologies, Your Majesty. My mind was elsewhere.”
Her red lips pursed as though she almost pitied him, and she allowed his excuse to slide.
“If you require nothing else?” She looked between him and the door.
Damn it. He had to focus. He was wasting valuable time.
“There is one thing, Your Majesty.” Kjeld reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled slip of paper he’d found in one of the desk drawers. He unfolded it and held it out to her. “What exactly is this?”
Flattening the paper on the desk, he watched as she quickly skimmed it.
Her expression was unreadable when she said, “I feel like it’s fairly self-explanatory.”
Brow furrowing, he snatched it back up in case he had missed something during his earlier examination. Drawn in ink on worn parchment was a series of eight constellations, and scrawled across the bottom in unfamiliar handwriting were the words “the blood of the crown.” He recognized one of the constellations. It was a Tree of Life, an exact match for the tattoomarking Caelian’s heart. Which meant the rest could only belong to the other Starstorm siblings.
“I know these markings are the constellations of the Starstorm family line.” His gaze narrowed when he looked back up at her. “But what does this mean, the blood of the crown?”
Queen Viktoria shrugged, dismissing his question. “Heavy is the head that wears it.”
She headed toward the door and Kjeld refolded the paper, tucking it back into his pocket. The sooner he and Caelian could leave Brackroth, the better. But he couldn’t return to Aeramere empty-handed. He needed information of worth, he needed evidence, and Queen Viktoria’s word was hardly a measure of good faith. Especially not since she kept company with vampires.
“Are you still planning to attend Evarfest tonight?” the queen asked, pausing on her way out. Though before Kjeld could answer, she continued. “You really ought to consider it. For you won’t find what you’re looking for here.”
Her truth stung like a bitter wind.
Kjeld feared he would never find what he was looking for, as everything he had ever cared about was already lost to him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Caelian couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t focus on anything as she wandered through half a dozen bonfires on Elder Lothaire’s arm, because she’d heard Kjeld’s voice in her head.
Or more accurately, she’d heard hiswish.
It’d broken through the silence of her thoughts, scraped the walls of her mind with its vicious desperation. Hardly more than an abrasive whisper, it gutted her all the same. Yet it was one she could not grant, for she was not the keeper of time. She couldn’t rewind the clock, she couldn’t alter fate or moments from the past.
“I wish I never laid eyes on her.”
His words melded into a sliver of magic, a lick of power she tasted on her tongue before it was replaced with emptiness and ash. Her blood hummed, then cooled, a thrilling high and a devastating low. She supposed she should be happy to have heard his wish, perhaps it meant her magic was slowly returning to her. But why must it be him? And why must it be such a heartless wish?
Though it was all her fault in the end.
She had wished for him to fall in love with her, but she never meant it as a ruse, and she certainly never intended to force him to feel anything that wasn’t already in his heart. Maybe he was right. Maybe she’d somehow, accidentally, coerced his feelings into imagining love when it was nothing more than a brief instance of lust. Maybe she had tricked him, bemused his mind into thinking he wanted her. And if that was the case, then the moment she had full control of her magic once more, she would undo it all. She would take it back and wish for him to never love her again.
It would crush her, leave her absolutely wasted, for she’d fallen for Kjeld the moment she saw him. She’d known then, in the deepest part of her heart, that she was meant for him. And it hadn’t mattered to her that he was a mortal. She hadn’t cared in the slightest if he had no magic, if he would never be her fated mate. She wanted him then, exactly as he was—strong, quiet, beautiful. A soul that brought peace to her own, someone who brought calm to her chaos.
“Are you well, Lady Caelian?” Elder Lothaire asked, drawing her from the dark and quiet recesses of her mind.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t think I’ll ever be well again.” Dramatic, to be sure, but at least her tears had dried.
She’d cried so often, and so hard, and so much, she simply had nothing left. She wasn’t over Kjeld, far from it. But his wish, his desire, had been so clear in her head she felt obligated to listen.
“You know,” Lothaire drawled, his Northernlands accent thicker and more decadent that even Kjeld’s. “There’s only one cure for a broken heart.”
