Page 65 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

The following day, music fluttered through the open windows, emerald green curtains swaying to the soft, melancholy beats. Arenna sat on a windowsill overlooking the lively city of Emerlon, waiting just outside the royal library for Kayson.

A valley of green and a glistening lake lay between her and the city, but she could still make out the buildings, hear music flowing from tavern doors, and maybe even smell pastries from bakeries.

“I can take you there, if you like.”

Arenna didn’t turn at the sudden male voice. Long before he spoke, she smelled the rain. “I would like that very much.”

Kayson rested his forearms against the windowsill. “Emerlon is the heart of this kingdom,” he said. “Legend says you can hear its music for miles, as if it might beckon you home.”

She listened closer, memorizing each note, certain it came from a violin. “Is there a theater?”

“No,” Kayson replied. “But I’d like there to be. Have you been to one?”

“Only once.” Arenna smiled at the memory.

Back when Jaksen was good and kind. When she thought he loved her.

Her heart ached. “When I was still permitted to travel, Jaksen and I visited House Casierie one fall so they could finalize plans for a mining excavation. They had just built the theater, and it was packed to the brim.”

“You enjoy music then?”

She smiled again. “Love it.” Arenna leaned her head back against the window frame, running her fingers along the edge of the planter box outside. “There's such beauty in writing and performing music, knowing the reason you wrote the lyrics is so different from why people sing it back.”

Kayson snickered. “Poetic.”

Arenna rolled her eyes, then slid off the sill. “I suppose so, coming from someone who doesn’t seem to like anything.”

“I like things.”

She crossed her arms. “Name one .”

He shrugged. “Scythes.”

“ No . Something real,” Arenna said. “Name one thing you truly enjoy apart from the destruction of weaponry.”

Beyond the open window with the view of Emerlon, Kayson fixated on something she couldn’t decipher. It took him a while to answer, his expression shifting through different emotions. Arenna wondered why such a simple question made him hesitate. “Storms.”

Arenna’s lips lifted. She hadn’t expected such an honest answer or something so simple. “Rain, specifically?”

He nodded. “And thunder.”

Maybe that’s why she smelled the rain every time he was near. Arenna smiled, locking her gaze on the clouds forming above. “What waits for us in the library?”

“Itta thinks learning about Drakian culture and Kenia will help you understand your power better.” Kayson pushed open the massive library doors, holding one side for Arenna to walk through.

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t help,” she said. As she followed the king to the library, Arenna noticed a scythe blade above the massive doors, nailed against the stone walls. Though she no longer feared Kayson, she couldn’t shake the dread that lingered when she remembered his title.

“Kayson,” Arenna whispered, glancing his way. His face drained of color, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Are you okay?” she asked, wondering what had caused such a reaction.

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just . . . my name . . . you’ve never said it before.”

Arenna blinked.

“It’s always bastard or Reaper.”

She smiled slightly. “Well, you are all those things,” she said, stepping closer. “But which do you prefer?”

“Bastard is nice.”

Arenna didn’t expect the fullness of her laugh or the way Kayson’s face lit up as he watched her, eventually laughing too.

When the laughter faded, silence fell, and a fluttering sensation stirred in her stomach. The king coughed. “What did you want to ask earlier?”

Arenna frowned. “What?” He gestured to the scythe, and the fluttering was replaced by dread. “Oh, that . It was silly.”

“What was it?”

Arenna swallowed. “I wondered what you did to earn the title of Red Reaper.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her skirts. “I heard stories about you growing up. We sang songs about you and your weapon, all the souls you . . .” Her words caught in her throat.

When she looked at the king, his eyes were sad, his tone calm.

“When I was younger and consumed by revenge, I probably deserved that title.” Kayson swung open the library doors, beckoning her inside.

“After my parents were killed, I changed. I was angry, and that anger went unchecked for a long time. It festered and spread like a disease until I couldn’t control it even if I tried.

I quickly stepped into the role of king, much earlier than I ever expected.

“Soon after my reign began, the kingdom was hit harder than ever before.” Kayson slowed beside her, his movements heavy.

Arenna kept pace, unable to speak. “My siblings were murdered, and after losing them . . .” He straightened as they passed his parents’ statues in the library.

“I lost myself.” She wondered if he consciously straightened his posture in front of his parents’ memorials or if it was instinctive.

“We were betrayed, and I swore I would scour both continents to find who was responsible.” Kayson paused in front of a secret alcove door, avoiding her gaze.

“That’s when I became the Reaper, I suppose.

I didn’t harvest souls,” he said with a bitter chuckle, “but I’m ashamed to admit I took lives instead of offering mercy with that blade. ”

His eyes met hers, distant and bleak. Unable to find words, she placed a hand on his arm.

“I don’t know the extent of the songs and stories, but I didn’t hurt children, and I didn’t take the innocent lives of Varios’ ports, towns, or cities.

” Arenna’s blood drained from her face, and she resisted the urge to pull her hand back.

Memories of her mother’s death at the hands of a scythe flashed in her mind.

“The people I killed under that title were from Houses or armies.”

Arenna felt he could see into her mind, that he knew exactly what weighed on her heart. “My mother was killed by a scythe. I can still hear it scraping on stone, and I can still see the golden crown on a man’s head as he walked through the smoke and flames of my port.”

Kayson froze. “I didn’t do that to Craydon, Arenna.”

She didn’t know what to make of this conversation. Everything she had been taught did not match the male standing before her, the gentleness in his words and demeanor. Right now, he wasn’t the Fae King or the Red Reaper. He was Kayson.

“I believe you,” she whispered. And Arenna meant it, despite everything she’d been told.

The king seemed to shudder with relief.

“But I don’t understand my memories. Ever since I arrived here, nothing makes sense.”

Kayson’s features tightened, as if he were fighting an internal battle. “We’ll find the answers soon enough,” he said. “One way or another, the truth always comes to light.”

She nodded, though unease the size of melon curdled in her gut. Kayson waved his hand above the handle of the secret library, whispering something too low for her to hear. Seconds later, the lock clicked three times before groaning open, its hinges squeaking.

When they stepped into the room, Arenna was surprised to find it empty, aside from a woman draped in white silk robes, sitting in the center.

She watched intently as the king approached the woman, whose eyes were covered by a white cloth.

Her dark, curly hair was unbound and concealed by a sheer veil, her hands neatly folded in her lap.

“My king,” the woman said, her voice angelic and soothing.

“ Dravaryn ,” Kayson whispered. The way his accent changed to utter the unfamiliar term sent a shiver down her spine.

The robed woman nodded, smiling, and lifted her hands.

Much like a painting being ruined by fire, a barrier around the room slowly melted away.

The tops of the bookshelves were seen first, followed by rows of aging texts and small tables.

After the room shifted, the woman disappeared, her body fading into nothing.

“What was that?” Arenna asked, confused and in awe.

“Priestess Pavati,” he answered. Kayson hurried up a set of stairs leading to a half-circle platform before a set of oval windows.

To the right of the small sitting area was a large tree, sprouting from a hole in the floor and twisting until it reached and spread across the ceiling.

“She guards the texts of this library, making the room appear empty unless unlocked.”

“Like glamor?” Arenna followed, walking up the stairs and stepping through the arched pillars on either side. The room smelled of aged parchment and dust.

“Similar, but her power is different, stronger. Priestesses are born from a specific bloodline. Their sole magical purpose is to protect ancient libraries and history.”

Arenna nodded, gazing at the bookshelves. She ran her hand along the shelves by the window, reading off the titles on the spines. “ The Draconic Legacy . Wings of Time . Fire and Stone . Draka of the Mountains . Ether Fragments Explained . Is everything here about Drakians?”

“Not everything, but most. There are also texts on humans, Fae, and Medryds.” Kayson grabbed a book from the shelf, dusting it off with his black sleeve.

“Pheanixios was full of life and culture. As you know, there were four predominant species, and each one lived, spoke, and acted differently. When the continents were severed, a lot of that history was lost. Scholars did their best to rewrite most of it, but much was never recovered.”