Page 65

Evander

T he cornflower blue gown clings to her, coasting down the edge of her body, hugging her gorgeous curves before splaying out wide below her waist. The bodice is delicately embroidered with an intricate pattern, threads of a deeper blue and silver intertwining throughout.

Sheer sleeves trail to her elbows. When I emerge from the washroom, she is seated on the edge of the bed, weaving her golden hair into a long braid.

Though some of the other gowns in the armoire boasted plunging necklines, this one is more modest, skimming the top of her breasts and showcasing the crest of Vaohr that hangs from her throat.

It’s the right choice if she is to see the king or the priests today.

The color is perfect, bringing out the cobalt in her eyes and making her hair shine an even deeper shade of gold. She is striking. Striking and mine.

She glances up at me and smiles, the gleam in her eyes making my heart ache. I don’t want to bring her in front of these monsters. Every instinct in my body tells me to run with her, but she will never leave without her sister.

“You should leave your hair down,” I suggest as I move to gather my tunic off the floor in front of her.

Her hands fall from where she’s braiding it.

“More wholesome?” she questions with a teasing tone.

“No,” I reply, tossing her a flirtatious smile as I tug the shirt down over my head. “I just want it down so I can run my hands through it.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but I know the comment will keep her mind at ease. And I really do love how she looks with her hair down.

“You’re a tease,” she jabs.

“Only for you,” I croon. “I’m going to see if my father placed clothes across the hall for me. I can’t show up like this if you look like that,” I say, gesturing to her in the gown.

I gather my things before leaving her room and walk the short distance across the hall.

To my dismay, I catch sight of Luthais down the hall, leaning against the wall, watching me.

Does this man ever let up? I nod to him, letting a smirk curl on my lips before I push open the door to my own bedchamber.

It’s not a bad thing that Luthais just saw me leaving Bria’s room so early in the morning, solidifying that I kept her placated all night.

Even if it wasn’t the way he thought or the way I wished.

My room is laid out the same as Bria’s, and I imagine most of the rooms set up for guests are of a similar fashion. Aamon was correct that the lodging is a far stretch from the quarters for the king’s guard in the lower half of the castle.

In the armoire, I find a black dress tunic and matching pants, golden thread woven throughout.

I glance at the brown leather armor I had thrown on the bed when I’d first entered and decide to leave it there.

If we are to make this work, I need to appear as though I trust them.

So, I strap one sword around my waist and tuck one of the daggers deep into my boot, pulling the chain from Rayna out of the tunic so that the crest of the temple is visible across my chest to match Bria’s.

Though when I emerge from the room, Luthais is walking away from me, a few doors down. And he has Bria with him.

I assumed the soldier was watching me, but it seems he waited for my absence before approaching Bria’s room.

My jaw hardens as I see Luthais place a hand on the small of her back, ushering her down the hall.

She is willingly walking with him, but him touching her sends a searing hot rage through my bloodstream.

There is no doubt in my mind that we do not want to learn what Luthais will do or say to Bria if he has her alone.

I pick up my pace, half jogging up the hallway to meet them, grasping Bria’s hand as I slide in beside her.

She immediately locks her fingers with mine and I feel the brush of the ring against my palm.

“Where are you two rushing off to?” I ask, keeping my tone even, not a hint of the irritation waging war inside.

Bria’s eyes flick to me, and relief is apparent in her face.

Her hand is hot to the touch, and that look in her eyes tells me her magic is flaring.

I stroke my thumb along the back of her hand and lean in to plant a light kiss on her head as we walk.

Keeping her calm is crucial. I’ve witnessed firsthand what happens when her magic needs release.

Luthais reluctantly removes his hand from her back since he was unsuccessful in steering her away quickly enough.

“I was escorting Lady Bria to the dining hall. Captain Lansing is waiting,” he clarifies, shooting a seething glance at me over Bria’s head.

“Thank you so much, Commander Keating, but I assure you, I can take it from here.” I maneuver Bria closer to me and pick up my pace, watching in delight as Luthais falls back behind us.

“Thank you,” Bria whispers. She too fears what might happen if she remains alone with Luthais.

We walk hand in hand until we come to the grand staircase.

I wait for her to gather her train before winding my arm behind to steady her.

It’s been a very long time since she’s worn a dress, let alone a gown like this, or real shoes instead of boots.

I bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing and my nostrils flare as she hesitates before descending. But Bria catches it.

“Is something funny?” she hisses, keeping her voice low with Luthais only a few steps behind us.

“Absolutely not.” I duck my head toward her, hiding the grin spreading across my face. “You look ravishing,” I add, and a responding flush blooms across her chest.

She quirks her lip up at me. “As do you.”

Jasmine and vanilla tickle my nose as I breathe in the scent wafting from her hair, tightening my grip on her waist. She left her hair unbound like I asked, so it pours like liquid gold down the back of the dress.

Even after all her time in the rebel camp, she looks at ease in the gown, regal.

This is the noble girl I fell for so long ago and knew I could never have. Yet here we are.

Bria is powerful enough to take down Easthallow, especially with the aid of the rebel forces and her sister at her side.

And I could see her ruling an entire kingdom if she chose to do so, but the sharp reality is she will never get that chance, the chance to be the fearless leader that is seemingly bred into her.

The fact that she has to die for any change to happen is something I am unwilling to accept.

No matter how ignorant and na?ve it makes me.

As we make it to the end of the stairs, I watch as Bria stares at the mosaic floor once again, entranced by the depiction.

The bloody battle commissioned by the king was something I had forgotten before yesterday.

Yet another way for Braddock to display his power and get those who trust him to believe in the false story.

I pause, allowing Bria to release her dress, but keep my hand locked tightly around her.

Unsure of which dining hall we are going to, I allow Luthais to walk ahead.

The servants’ halls, the guards’ quarters, and the dungeons were where I spent most of my time when in the castle, seeing little of the formal areas in my years here.

Following him down another hallway, we come to a large dining area.

Far larger and more formal than what I’m used to.

The table is an expanse of black with an ornate gold runner that cuts through the center of it.

A large swath of freshly picked spring flowers rests in the center, flooding the room with the pleasant scent of hyacinth.

A tray of tea and coffee is poised in front of my father and the high priest seated next to him.

To my relief, the high priestess is nowhere in sight. Nor is the king. I am all too aware that I will need to face them eventually, though I dread the prospect. Any delay to that is welcome.

Aamon rises as we enter, as does Father Mallory. They stand on the opposite side of the table. I’m glad to have the space between Bria and the supposed holy man. Father Mallory has been in Easthallow for ages and although I don’t know his exact age, he has to be in his late seventies at this point.

Bria bows her head as we enter, a polite gesture to the evil men standing before her.

She is a lady after all and holds a rank above my father, whether he wants to admit it or not.

Being forced from her home and joining the rebels did not change her status and she holds her posture straight, exuding the stature she once had, further driving home the thought that I am not worthy of this woman who stands at my side.

But I have to remind myself I’m not worthy of her in their world.

In our world, Bria and I are equals. Made for one another.

“Lady Bria, may I introduce you to the Reverend Father Mallory, the high priest here in Easthallow,” my father says, gesturing to the man beside him.

The decrepit old man reaches across the table and grasps Bria’s hand in his own, his wrinkled eyes darting to the crystal-inlaid ring upon her finger.

He smashes his thin lips onto the top of her hand, and I move my own hand from her waist to the small of her back, steadying her to accept the disgusting gesture.

“A pleasure, Father Mallory,” Bria replies, a fake sweetness smothering her voice.

I have to stifle a grimace as the old man licks his lips after releasing his grasp on her hand.

It’s as if he can taste the magic emanating from her body.

His eyes are secured on her and only her, looking as if he wants to devour her, not managing so much as an acknowledging glance at me since we entered the room.