Page 44 of Crownless Heirs

She glanced over, and he leaned in. “Not hungry?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

His hand didn’t move, remaining a steady weight as the dinner dragged on. She forced a smile, doing her best to appear engaged, though her mind drifted far from the glowing chandeliers and silverware clinking against porcelain.

21

Blood

After dinner, Vaelric walked with her through the gardens, now bathed in starlight. The glowing blossoms shimmered like fireflies, casting soft hues of violet and gold across the path. They walked in silence, hand in hand, until he turned to her.

He cupped her chin and kissed her deeply.

“I’m sorry for how insensitive I was,” he murmured. “Truly.”

Her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to answer but couldn’t find the words. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Didn’t know what part of him was still real and what was for show. Her heart ached deeply because she wanted to believe he was just another pawn in his game, Bres’s game. It was all his fault. Right now she didn’t have a choice, though. She was here, and part of her loved him.

“As you heard,” he said softly, brushing a thumb over her jaw, “we’ll be leaving again. Just three days. Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone.”

He kissed her again, pulling her waist close to him. She could hear his breath quicken as he pressed himself into her. She moaned quietly as his grip tightened around her, but she placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

He looked down at her, still holding her, as she softly spoke, “You’re still wounded and healing; today took a lot out of both of us.”

Vaelric’s gaze softened, and he gently released his grip and kissed her forehead. “Let’s get some rest then,” he spoke in an almost whisper as he brushed stray strands of hair behind her ear. With one last kiss, he turned toward the gates, taking her hand, and they walked back into the hollow, aching chambers of the castle.

That night she lay in bed with the balcony doors open, watching the moonlight spill across the floor in shifting patterns. The curtains swayed in the breeze, drifting like ghosts through the darkness. Riona stared at the ceiling, Vaelric’s legs tangled with hers. Her ear pressed against his chest, his heartbeat echoing a steady rhythm.

I need more power to stand against Bres, she thought to herself in the night.

But outside the wind howled louder, as if it had heard her. She could feel the book through her veins, even locked away. Its presence hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown stronger. It called to her like a whisper just beyond hearing. And tonight, the voices didn’t stop. They lingered, threading through her thoughts, impossible to ignore. She tossed and turned beneath the sheets, her skin damp with sweat. A crawling sensation stirred beneath the skin, like something trying to wake inside her. An itch deep within her she couldn’t scratch. She sat up, pressing her knees to her chest. The book was locked in Bres’s study, sealed behind enchanted doors, but she could still reach it. She needed only the right moment. They would be gone for three days, and that was more than enough. One night would be all it took.

The day dragged endlessly. She wandered the halls, passing Bres’s study more than once, nodding casually at the guards as if she had nowhere in particular to be. Outside, she walked the grounds again and again beneath the midday sun. Her mind unraveling plans with each step. A sudden flash caught her eye. The sunlight striking the windowpanes sent a sudden reflection across her vision. She squinted up, and there it was: one of the colored glass windows above the study stood slightly ajar. That window was her way in. It wouldn’t be easy. She’d have to climb and edge her way along the outer wall from her own balcony, crossing the face of the castle until she reached the study window. There was barely anything to stand on, hardly more than a narrow stone ledge, but it would have to be enough. She had her way in. Now, she just needed the night.

As she waited for nightfall, Riona studied the guards with precision. Tracking their patrols, their habits, their comings and goings. She noted when they took their meals, when they stepped away to relieve themselves. Midnight would be the safest window, when shifts changed, and the halls quieted. In her room, she dressed in black from head to toe, her hair tightly braided and coiled beneath a hood.

When the moon reached its peak and the steady rhythm of boots grew more distant, she slipped onto her balcony. Her fingertips dug into the stone, inching along the narrow ledge. Every movement brought her closer, and with it, the book’s pull grew stronger. What began as a whisper had become a scream, so and sudden it shattered her focus. Her foot slipped. Her nails scraped down the wall, leaving streaks of blood as she caught a lower ledge. Dangling in front of a stained glass window, her grip slick and failing, she gritted her teeth and swung one foot up, pressing against the stone for leverage. With a final push, she scrambled up and grabbed the frame.

Her arms trembled, burning with effort, but she hauled herself across the last stretch of wall. And then, by the light of Lugh, her fingers found the edge of the window. She heaved herself through, collapsing inside.

The air inside was still, heavy with the faint scent of old parchment and fire-smoked leather. Moonlight filtered in through the stained glass behind her, casting fractured colors across the walls and floor.

Bres’s study was silent, its grandeur hollow. Tall shelves towered along the walls, lined with ancient tomes and relics sealed in glass. A single chandelier hung overhead, unlit. The room was beautiful. Ornate carvings, polished dark wood, gold trim along the ceiling, but like everything else in this place, it felt cold. Lifeless.

She moved quickly, silent on her feet as she crossed to the large desk near the far wall. The drawer was locked, as expected, runes etched across the wood in delicate, curling lines. Her fingers hovered above them, waiting. The wards recognized Bres’s magic, not hers. But the book didn’t care. As her hand neared the runes, the wood beneath her fingertips pulsed faintly, then flared with light. The drawer clicked open. Inside, wrapped in a dark cloth, was the book. The moment her fingers touched it, the hum she had felt in her blood now roared. It surged through her like a second heartbeat.

She unwrapped it slowly and placed it on the desk, hands trembling. The pages fluttered of their own accord, flipping past familiar markings until they stopped. Blood magic. The ink shimmered red in the moonlight as a red glow illuminated the space. Riona’s throat tightened as she read the price. It wasn’t a creature this time; no blood would suffice but that of a person.

Suddenly, the sound of boots echoed outside the door. The wards hummed loudly as the doors swung open. Riona froze, terror locking her limbs.

A guard stepped into the room. She lunged toward the window, but a voice stopped her cold. “Riona?”

Her heart sank. They had caught her, and she was as good as dead.

She turned; the guard stood just inches away. His eyes flicked to the book still glowing red on the desk, then back to her. He drew his sword.

“I can’t let you leave, Riona. I’m sorry.”

Riona tried to bolt, but the guard grabbed her robe, tearing the hood from her head and slamming her to the ground. She kicked free of the fabric and scrambled for the window again, but he seized her arm, yanking her back. His sword came down, sparking against the marble as she rolled away.