As quickly and quietly as she’d arrived, Cielle spread her wings and launched from the window. Even beneath the canopy of Vatha, her feathers caught the light, and she vanished into the afternoon haze.
“Well.” Sebastian strode to her side, sweeping her curls off her neck. “I guess all we do now is wait.”
Ciana nodded, eyes still searching the sky—for what, she didn’t know. She toyed with the tiny ring on her pinky finger.She wasn’t ready to take it off; not yet. Maybe she was on the right path and one day wouldn’t feel so afraid.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Ciana and Sebastian whirled as the heavy knocks rang through the room.
“Lady Ciana Visseau! Sir Sebastian Riqueti!” The male voice was deep and unfamiliar. Sebastian frowned, striding quickly across the room and yanking open the door.
Four guards waited on the other side, dressed in full Vathan regalia. Niktael’s insignia—a white oak tree set as the backdrop to a lit torch—blazed proudly across their chests.
“Is something wrong, gentlemen?” Sebastian’s words were polite yet cool, his gaze sweeping over them.
One of the guards straightened. “King Niktael requests your presence in the throne room. Immediately.”
The airin the Vathan throne room was different from any other time Ciana had been here.
Gone was the warmth she’d started to associate with the king and his kingdom. Instead, something tense and heavy draped over the resplendent room. Even the trees lining the sides were colder, like they were nothing more than statues devoid of life.
The throne room was also far from empty. More guards lined the hall, all similarly dressed. There had to be at least an entire platoon, all heavily armed and standing at attention.
At the far end of the hall, seated rigidly on his wooden throne, was Niktael. He was dressed in finer clothes than Ciana had ever seen him in, a lush spotted fur coat draped over one shoulder and his carved oak crown settled heavily on his brow.
Fear curled in her gut, hungry and wild, when he refused to meet her gaze. His eyes remained downcast, locked on a spot beneath his throne.
“I don’t like this,” Sebastian murmured. He’d grabbed his sword before leaving her room, but even that weapon seemed useless with the number of guards surrounding them.
Ciana agreed. She did not like this—not one single bit. Her instincts shrieked at her to run back the other way.
But the four guards from before still followed at their feet.
There was no way out of this—whatever this was.
She walked forward, clinging to Sebastian’s side, doing everything she could to control her breath and the racing beat of her heart.
Nothing worked, but she tried.
When they had nearly reached the front of the throne room, another figure emerged from the curtained shadows behind Niktael’s throne. A man with dark skin and red-brown braids, garbed in flowing robes. Power thrummed from him, an agelessness pulsing from his moss-green eyes.
Ydros.
Ciana and Sebastian halted at the base of the dais, jaws tight. It was only then that Niktael finally looked at them. Ciana’s breath left her in a rush when she saw the sadness in his soft brown eyes, the regret shining from his handsome face.
“I’m sorry,” he said, so soft that only she and Sebastian could hear.
Sebastian tensed. “Your Majesty,” he said slowly, “respectfully, what is the meaning of all this?”
“The king is finally heeding my counsel.” Ydros’s deep voice boomed through the hall. Ciana’s skin burned under the weight of his power.
“And whatcounselis that?” Ciana cringed at the not-so-subtle snarl in Sebastian’s question.
Ydros was unphased. He watched them cooly, arms crossed behind his back.
“Lady Ciana Visseau confirmed the rumors from the north. The Queen of Onita is responsible for setting Kol, the Scourge of the First War, free from his prison in Enfara.”
Ciana’s heart slammed to her feet. No. No, she would never. She didn’t?—
