Daimon was fairly certain his heart stopped beating at those words. His gaze slowly lowered to Neve, Maliena, and Ren. Maliena was staring at him, her brow raised as if waiting for him to say something. It took him much longer than necessary to collect himself.
“What was that again?” Daimon breathed.
“They want you to come back to the palace tonight.”
Nine
Evelina
After grindingthe feverfew leaves and replenishing their jars, Evelina cleaned up the quiet healing room. It was so late in the evening that the other healers were likely in bed or on a night trip to one of the camps. She straightened a few mortars and pestles and called it a night. The corridor that she stepped into was quiet but filled with a soft, warm glow that the palace provided at all times. This was one of the rare occasions where the palace felt like it used to—safe and cozy. She could almost pretend it wasn’t the place of discomfort and worry that it had turned into. It made her want to turn around and go back into the infirmary, to soak up the last dregs of comfort within these walls.
Walking through the empty halls, she neared a private door to the throne room. It was cracked open, enough to see a sliver inside, and she could hear the council in session on the other side. The meetings weren’t asecret,but she never went to them. It wasn’t where her talents were best suited. She was the fourth in line with the weakest magic, leaving her to serve her realm by healing. And taking a fae consort chosen for her when the day came. That was something she had no control over—arguably the biggest decision in her life was to be made by someone else.
Evelina had always resented that Manors were the only royal fae line, but the human rulers used to be elected by the empire. It was how Moros was able to squeeze his way onto the throne. He was just a simple farmer before he became king; after quickly gaining attraction from his alluring speeches and promises of maintaining peace, he won the votes of the humans to be the next king.
A fae’s immortality didn’t grant them their life to rule, only the life span of the human monarch they shared the empire with. Otherwise, the Eternal Crown would never tie itself to a new fae. But now that the human monarch wasn’t someone they shared the crown with, it remained with the Manor ruler, only changing to each predecessor by death of the fae wearing it, or by abdication. The land needed strength replenished, slowly draining each fae who wore it until the moment it left them.
It kept their land safe—strong. Which meant the Manors had to be strong, too.
Love was an afterthought to Evelina’s family. Their duty was to breed heirs with their chosen fae consorts. How was that fair? All in the name of a pure fae lineage, she supposed.
Voices filtered through the crack in the wooden door, and just as she was about to continue on, she heard a deeply familiar voice. She pressed in closer to get a better look. She had to rotate at an awkward angle to see the room through the small crack in the door. The entire council had already gathered. All three of her siblings were present and accounted for, seated in order from eldest to youngest—with a notably empty seat at the end, where she should be. Carwyn, seated at the front with her sandy blonde hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head. Ren to her right, his long hair brushing his shoulders as he leaned over to whisper to Carwyn. He wore soldier leathers—though he tended to more often than not since joining the naval fleet on the western coast. Lastly, there was Lyria—soft and gentle Lyria. She was older than Evelina, but could easily be mistaken for the youngest.
The rest of the council was there too. Keir, the Aegis council head and member of the alpha aerial legion; Seretha, the Undine council head; and Maliena and Neve, leaders of the Nocturna.
She spotted a broad-chested soldier in his naval uniform sitting in the second row of chairs—dark blue leathers with gold thread sewn into the cuffs of his sleeves. His hair was tied back in its usual low knot and his skin was slightly tanner since she had last seen him.
Senna. She smiled, glad that her friend was home. He had only been gone a few months, but he was close with all the Manors, returning often from commanding the naval fleets to bring reports back to the palace.
And another soldier, too—possibly a commander or high-ranking officer from the looks of it—one she didn’t recognize. He was standing at the front of the table, everyone’s rapt attention fixed on what he was saying.
Something hot curled in her core when she looked at him.
His frame was filled out from what had to be years of training, his face shadowed with a beard that hadn’t been trimmed. Her eyes trailed down the expanse of his broad shoulders, down his muscular back and trimmed waist. He still wore his uniform, light armor made of black wyvern scales, and a thick metal plate covering his left shoulder and crossing down to his right side to protect his chest. A Rider.
His body was perfectly toned from years of training. She couldn’t see his thighs from where she was standing, but she could guess that they were just as strong as the rest of his body.
So strong that he could probably pin her to the ground and?—
“Nice of you to join us, Princess Evelina.” Seretha’s sharp voice snapped her attention back to the present.
Everyone in the room turned to look at her and her cheeks flared red. The heat that had filled her core vanished and turned into embarrassment.
“Care to join?” the soldier added.
She opened the door and stepped in, having no other option after getting caught. She lookedanywherebut at the soldier she had just been caught staring at. Which was a mistake, seeing as Carwyn was smiling brightly at her.
“She’d love to join.” Carwyn motioned for her to take a seat.
If Evelina made an excuse about being too tired, or having healing duties to attend to, no one would be surprised—likely wouldn’t even try to stop her. But without her approval, her feet were moving, pulled forward by the curiosity of seeing what this soldier was here to say.
“The rebels have been growing in strength and numbers, the attack on Nox Grove?—”
The door shut behind her and made a loud snap as it closed. The soldier stopped talking and glanced up at her. He looked as if he had just been in battle, his face smeared with dirt and hair askew.
“Sorry,” she muttered, finding an open seat in the back instead of next to Lyria. The Rider’s eyes followed her to her seat, his gaze lingering. She tried to ignore the way he was affecting her; she shouldn’t be thinking aboutanyof the soldiers in this way, not when her consort would one day be chosen for her.
“The rebels have been aiming to take the crown for decades now and are growing more bold. With the attack on Drogheda and the grove, the tides are changing,” the soldier continued.
