Page 6 of A Storm in Every Heart (Enchanted Legacies #2)

ODESSA, PRESENT

I ’m still furious by the time Kastian and I arrive at the end of the lengthy road connecting Ashwater Manor to the village of Storia.

The Ashwater estate is a large and impressive castle-like mansion, dropped on top of a sloping hill.

On our right, at the base of the long driveway, stands the new soldiers’ barracks, and beyond that, the vast field where the guards are engaged in sword training.

Behind the house, a sprawling rose garden hides the portal to the human realm.

Evidently deciding that he’s done enough to torture me for one afternoon, Kastian falls out of step with me and resumes his normally long strides. “Thanks for the lovely walk, Dessa,” he calls over his shoulder, his voice carrying as he heads toward the barracks. “We should do it again sometime.”

I can practically feel steam coming from my ears. Arrogant asshole!

What was the point of that? If there’s nothing urgent going on at the manor then why would Kastian waste his afternoon looking for me?

I continue to curse under my breath as I walk the last few yards up the driveway. I need to go find Alix. If my best friend really sent that self-satisfied prick to ruin my shopping trip I’m going to give her a piece of my mind. She might be the queen, but that won’t save her from my wrath.

I reach the heavy wooden front door of the manor and push it open to reveal a grand entrance hall.

Directly across from the door, a sweeping wooden staircase descends onto the mosaic tiled floor, and at the top of the landing, an enormous arched window casts sunlight down in golden beams. To the right of the stairs is the formal dining room.

On the left, a closed door leads to the former sitting room which has recently been re-appropriated into a sort of makeshift throne room.

The Ashwater Manor has always been a magnificent home, but it was never meant to serve as the official palace of Vernallis.

Having spent most of my adult years working in the palace, I’m still amazed by how Daemon and Alix’s casual court contrasts with King Thorne’s.

It feels less like a royal court and more like a chaotic family business.

As if summoned by my thoughts, my Aunt Beatrix’s loud voice echoes out of the kitchen. “I’m simply suggesting that you pick a date!”

Oh no. I stride across the entrance hall and through the dining room, already sure I know what this argument is about.

“We have other more pressing things to deal with first,” Daemon’s low voice replies, the annoyance so obvious in his tone that I can picture his scowl.

“What could be more important?”

“I didn’t say more important, I said more pressing. Please, Mother, not now. Alix and I have to go?—”

“Fine, fine! Just tell me a season, then?” Aunt Beatrix replies. “Alix, please! Just consider the time it will take to plan!”

Before anyone else can speak, I push open the door to the large kitchen and all eyes swivel in my direction.

Aunt Beatrix is standing by the kitchen window, glowering, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun and her flour-coated hands on her hips.

She’s wearing a frilly purple apron and in front of her on the counter is an unfinished pie crust. It looks as if she’s ambushed Daemon and Alix on their way out the door, because Alix is standing in the open door to the back garden, one foot inside and one out, and Daemon is right behind her, carrying an enormous stack of papers and craning his head over his shoulder to talk to his mother.

“What’s going on here?” I ask, forgetting my anger for a moment as my gaze darts around the busy room.

Alix’s face splits into a grin and she leans around Daemon to talk to me. “Oh good, you’re back!” she says brightly. “I was just going to ask a servant to look for you.”

“Come on, Peaches. We have to get to the meeting,” Daemon grumbles, cutting me off as he ushers Alix further outside. He glances back over his shoulder at me. “Come to the barracks with us, Dessa. We’ll explain on the way.”

“Wait!” Aunt Beatrix squeaks. “I’m not finished.”

“We’ll discuss this later, Mother,” Daemon growls, jerking his head for me to follow them.

I sigh, and shoot my aunt an apologetic glance before trailing across the kitchen after Daemon and Alix.

“What was that about?” I ask, momentarily distracted as the door swings shut behind us.

“We got a shitload of letters from the other courts,” Alix answers, gesturing at the pile of papers in Daemon’s arms.

I crack a smile. “Is ‘a shitload’ a technical term?”

“It is now,” she huffs. “I have such bad mail anxiety this is like torture, but until we can appoint an emissary we have to go over every letter ourselves.”

I nod. By “we” she means the semi-official council of Vernallis. Herself and Daemon, me, Kastian, Fox, Jett and sometimes Aurelia, when she feels like turning up to the meetings. We meet at least three times a week, but today isn’t a usual meeting day, and Jett isn’t even in the country.

“I don’t mind an extra meeting, but that’s not what I meant,” I say as we exit the garden and trek back across the courtyard I just crossed to reach the house. “What’s wrong with Aunt Beatrix?”

“She wants us to pick a wedding date,” Alix answers with a sigh.

I glance between the two of them. “Well…you have to admit, it wouldn’t kill you to choose a date.”

Daemon glowers. “We’re bonded. That’s better than getting married. We don’t need to have a fucking wedding to prove that.”

I narrow my eyes. “I mean, you do if you want to secure Alix’s position as queen. She can’t officially hold the title until you’re married, even if she’s doing the job already.”

Alix rolls her eyes. “He knows that. Don’t listen to him, we’re definitely getting married. I just don’t want my wedding ruined by some invasion or uprising or some shit like that.”

My brow furrows. “Is that likely?”

She looks pained. “No idea. I never realized how hard it is to run a country—I mean, obviously I knew it was, but woof. There’s so many tiny disasters all the time, and with the mess that Thorne left us…

I just want everything to be more stable first so we can enjoy ourselves and not spend the entire wedding worrying that the guests from Thermia will murder the ones from Solistine. ”

“Is that what this meeting is about?” I ask. “Thermia and Solistine?”

“No. The King of Hydratta sent another damn letter this morning,” Daemon replies grimly. “And at least half this stack is from him.”

I groan. There are four Fae kingdoms on the continent of Ellender, and although there hasn’t been any major inter-court conflict in centuries, all four courts have their own internal problems.

Thermia, the snow-covered kingdom to the north, is notoriously isolated from the rest of the continent. Barely anyone goes in or out of the country, so it’s hard to know how seriously we should take the rumors that no one has seen their queen in years.

The desert kingdom of Solistine is the closest thing Vernallis has to an ally at the moment, but all the information we’ve been able to gather about them says that their king already has one foot in the grave.

He has seven children, but refuses to name any of them as his heir.

If the king dies without a clear successor, there’s likely to be a civil war.

Since becoming king and queen, Alix and Daemon have had friendly diplomatic chats with the elderly King of Solistine, and they’ve met twice with a cagey but unthreatening emissary from Thermia.

They’ve also received numerous letters from the island kingdom of Hydratta, but anything to do with that kingdom is complicated at best.

“Is Hydratta angry that you haven’t responded to any of their letters?” I ask.

“‘ Angry ’ isn’t quite the right word,” Alix laments. “More like ‘suspicious,’ I think?”

“The standard thing to do if we don’t want to meet with the Hydrattan king would be to send an emissary to their court,” Daemon says. “But there’s no one to send.”

“Jett?” I suggest half-heartedly.

Daemon shakes his head. “No. The situation in Hydratta is precarious and Jett’s not a diplomat. He’s far too busy right now, anyway.”

I bite my tongue—literally—to keep from commenting.

Over the last year, everyone has easily fallen into their new roles. Daemon and Alix might act as if they’re overwhelmed, but in reality they’re handling governing shockingly well.

Kastian naturally fell into the role of advisor and second-in-command, handling anything Daemon is too busy—or too temperamental—to handle himself.

Fox, who was a career-soldier back in his home country of Thermia, has been turning the hundreds of guards we inherited from King Thorne into a brutal and efficient army.

Jett, who was a thief in his former life, has turned out to be an extremely effective spy. Between his charming personality and surprising affinity for deception, it’s due to him that we’ve gathered so much information on the other three courts of Ellender.

Meanwhile, King Thorne’s illegitimate daughter, Aurelia, is a talented enchantress.

She spends nearly every hour of the day locked in her tower working on various spells and potions, but when she does emerge, it’s always with something useful—a healing tonic for the army or a spell for accelerated crop growth.

It’s easy to notice that I’m the only one who hasn’t found a natural role within the court.

I’ve been tempted to suggest that I would make a good emissary.

I enjoy talking to people, but more importantly I used to be a lady-in-waiting in Thorne’s court and therefore I’m all too familiar with royal politics.

My affinity for persuasion could also be useful in a diplomatic role, but since neither Daemon nor Alix has brought up the idea on their own, I have to assume they don’t think it’s a good suggestion.

“Is this meeting why you sent Kastian to find me?” I ask, circling back to the reason I sought them out.

Alix looks sideways, her brows raising. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you ask him to find me in the village?”

She shakes her head. “No…I told you, I was going to send a servant to find you.”

I start to respond, but a sudden, sharp shout pierces the air above us, drawing our attention upward.

A huge dark shape in the sky hurdles toward us, growing larger by the second. I gasp, when he draws close enough that I can make out a familiar dark-haired man, his wings a breathtaking span of deep indigo, cutting through the air like a dart.

Jett lands ungracefully in the center of the courtyard, the force and speed of his landing kicking up a cloud of dust. He skids across the ground, his feet carving shallow grooves in the earth, while his massive wings unfurl dramatically behind him.

My eyes go wide. Except for once when we were in mortal danger, I’ve never seen Jett’s wings. It’s not normal to see any Fae’s wings unless you’re threatened or mated.

“The fuck is going on?” Daemon curses angrily. He drops his stack of papers on the ground and takes off running toward the center of the courtyard.

Loose papers fly around us as Alix and I chase after him, but he’s much quicker, and by the time we catch up Jett is already mid-explanation.

“—came from the harbor. A ship just arrived from Hydratta,” Jett coughs, out of breath.

“So what?” Daemon replies. “Merchant vessels travel to Hydratta all the time.”

“Yeah, but—” Jett breaks off, clears his throat and spits into the dust near his feet.

Daemon claps him hard on the back. “Take a breath, mate.”

Jett wipes sweat from his face before continuing. “This wasn’t just any ship. It was flying the flags of the king.”

Before Daemon can react, Kastian’s voice erupts across the yard like a thunderclap. “Which king?”

Summoned by the commotion, Kastian is striding toward us from the opposite side of the grounds, Fox right behind him. The amusement that was in Kastian’s face earlier is gone, and if I didn’t know him I’d take his expression as a sign to find cover.

Jett grimaces at Daemon, and waits for Kastian to reach us before answering. “The current one.” His face screws up as if bracing for impact. “But that’s not all. I talked to some of the crew and listened in on a few conversations…”

“And?” Daemon prompts.

Jett glances behind Daemon at Kastian and then, oddly enough, at me . “Maybe we should go into the barracks and sit down to discuss this.”

My eyebrows raise. Jett isn’t usually the type to notice or care about silly things like tact or decorum.

Unfortunately, Daemon isn’t either. “Spit it out,” he demands.

Jett sucks in a breath. “The King of Hydratta sent an emissary to speak with you. The word among the crew is that he’s decided to take a wife.”

“Fuck,” Daemon curses under his breath. “I suppose I should have seen that coming.”

Beside me, Alix reaches out and grips my fingers. “You don’t have to do anything,” she mutters under her breath.

I startle, tearing my eyes away from Jett to meet her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she repeats, her pale-blue eyes widening earnestly. “Fuck the king of Hydratta and his emissary. We’ll go to war with them if that’s what it takes.”

“Hold on,” Fox says roughly, his expression tight as it is every time he’s forced to speak. “We’re not ready for a war.”

Alix glares daggers at him. “ We’ll go to war if that’s what it takes ,” she repeats slowly, her voice turning low and dangerous. “Right, Daemon?”

“Right, Peaches,” Daemon echoes without hesitation. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Wait!” I blurt out, pulling my fingers from Alix’s grasp. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What don’t I have to do? What war?”

A heavy silence falls over the group. I blink at Alix, and only when I take in her tight, serious expression does realization dawn.

The king of Hydratta has been writing letters to Daemon and Alix for months because he wants an alliance and now his representative is here to announce the king intends to take a wife.

Royal marriages are only ever about land or alliances, and somehow, against all odds, I’ve found myself in the center of a royal household where the only eligible marriage candidates are Aurelia, who most people don’t know exists, and me .

It feels as if a blanket of shock has fallen over me. My heart pounds relentlessly against my chest, and I can’t quiet my racing thoughts long enough to think of anything to say.

Without really meaning to, I seek Kastian’s gaze, searching for… something . I don’t know what.

And I’ll never find out because Kastian doesn’t even glance in my direction; all I can see is his rigid shoulders and the back of his head as, without a word, he turns on his heel and strides away toward the barracks.