Bile chokes in the back of my throat, but I manage to keep it down.
Greer bites her lower lip, and I sense the argument on hertongue. But for whatever reason—maybe it’s the mess I am staring back at her—her face softens.
“Please, Greer. I need this.”
To see the kingdom.
To be anywhere that is not within these walls.
Deep in that palace is Isolde’s body, and I can still feel it.
Greer’s shoulders deflate as I take a step back. “If you get me in trouble, I’ll make sure the king gets both our necks.”
The smile that climbs my cheeks is sad but filled with relief. “I don’t doubt it.”
Chapter 25
Wilder
Malachi and his parties.
The sickening choke of haelmarrow smoke hangs in the air as I walk into the great hall. The food goes untouched while Malachi’s guests drink and smoke their worries into oblivion. Strip away the ceiling and add a canopy of trees and stars, and it would almost remind me of the palace back home. Of the nights I barely remember because I’d get so high I couldn’t recall my name.
A mess of drink and flesh and forgetting the dead. Because while it’s more present now with the Well slowly ripping the realms apart, it was always there. Squabbles and wars and battles between realms.
I cross my arms over my chest. My hand rests just below the long holster of blades strapped to it. I don’t need a blade to stop the hearts of every Fae in this room, but after a century of having my magic muted by the obsidian walls of the prison, I can’t seem to go without them.
All those years, my mother insisted I train with blades and brute force before magic, and I finally understand. Beinglethal while wielding is helpful. But it’s more important to also be lethal without it.
A male across the room holds out his hand, palm up. Feathers float in a tornado, spitting up into the air. Those around him fawn over his pointless party trick, while the male beside him uses magic to retrieve a fresh glass of wine. All around me, Fae rely on what flows through their veins. It’s why the palace will suffer the hardest should the Beating reach these halls.
My mother’s harsh rule was merciless, but I understand her reasoning now.
Scanning the crowd, I sink into the calmness of my magic brewing in my chest. It’s no longer a comfort like it once was. Now I know, at any point, it could stop.
A female with dark hair and bright-red eyes watches me from a nearby couch, and when my gaze lingers too long, she winks, presenting me with the opportunity to make my move. I smile, maintaining the illusion.
Malachi’s court whispers about me endlessly. The king who does as he wishes while Aurora sits on my throne back in Vaelier. It should bother them, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes them more determined to break my loyalty.
Little do they know it’s been a century since I’ve bedded anyone. And even if I can read the lust in her eyes—sense it hanging in the air—I won’t bed her.
The dark-haired Fae waits for me to approach, but I don’t. I won’t. I have no interest in entertaining the image I uphold.
My gaze continues around the room, which is foggy from the cloud of haelmarrow, searching, until the static shifts from someone standing behind me. He maintains his distance to make sure no one suspects us, and I quietly open a thread with my magic.
“Have you been discreet?”
“When am I not?”Arrogance, only my friend wears well, bleeds from his tone.
“You know the answer to that question already.”
“I’m discreet enough. Thankfully, Malachi is too busy preening over himself as always to notice. My magic does the rest for me.”
It’s why he was chosen for this role. The only member of my group with the skillset to go entirely unnoticed, if he so chooses. Fire magic, when wielded properly, does more than the brute destruction it’s praised for. It can sear beyond physical structures.
Burning memories.
Thoughts.
