Page 76

Bria

I hesitate outside of the royal dining hall. The double doors are closed, high expanses of cream painted wood ornately decorated in gold. A lone servant stands between them, his hand resting on one of the intricate golden handles, waiting for us to approach.

A surge of energy sends flames flickering inside me and my body tenses.

I haven’t used any power in too long for me to be entering this room.

Steadying my breathing, I force my exhale to be longer than my inhale.

I will my body to relax a bit more. The whiskey is helping.

I feel lighter on my feet and have a nice buzzing sensation in my head, but it’s not enough to dampen the realization of what’s about to happen, what I’m about to see.

Ev slides his body closer to mine, sensing my tension.

He releases my hand and instead curls his arm around me, keeping me close.

His touch evens my breathing, and my nostrils fill with sandalwood again.

I feel his mouth on my ear, but don’t move to look at him, my eyes fixed on the doors ahead. The flames stir inside but lessen.

“Breathe,” he reminds me, whispering against my skin.

They are anticipating a more docile version of me, not the outspoken, magic-wielding warrior in training I typically am.

Though, they have no idea who the real me is anyway, I suppose.

Aamon only remembers me as a young girl with a smart mouth who bent the rules but never broke them.

But to play the part now, I snake my arm around Ev’s waist, melting my body against him, and we move in tandem.

The alabaster skin of my legs peeks from the dress with each step forward. I concentrate on my feet and keep moving, allowing Ev to guide us toward the doors. The servant opens them, and warm amber light seeps out onto the rich carpet before us.

The room is enormous, far larger than the ballroom back on my father’s estate.

Those same grand chandeliers dripping with crystal hang around the room, light falling out of them like stars.

The walls are high, draped in the royal blue and gold of the main room with giant paintings covering the surfaces.

I dart my eyes around, trying to take it all in.

Servants are stationed in each corner, and there is a large stone fireplace on the far wall.

The dining table in the center of the room is another long black walnut piece with space for at least twenty, though there are only seven chairs tonight—one high-backed, ornate chair at the end and three on either side, facing one another.

Aamon is already here, seated to the right of the high-backed chair, the seat of honor beside the king.

It makes sense for his captain of the guard to be there.

Father Mallory is across from him. The other chairs remain empty, and my heart sinks a little, noticing Nimai is not in one of them.

Will they not bring her? Did they change their minds about letting us see one another?

If so, we will be storming the dungeons tonight to get her out.

As we enter, Father Mallory shifts his focus to us and stands.

Aamon turns at the sound of the doors, following suit and rising to his feet.

He strides over to us, his eyes dragging over the matching outfits we’ve donned for the occasion.

I stare straight ahead, forcing my eyes to glaze over a bit, remembering my role tonight.

I allow Ev to hold some of my weight to make it obvious that I am not fully in control of my own body.

Aamon’s jaw tenses and his lip curls upward as he approaches us, extending his hand to grasp mine.

“Lady Bria, you look exquisite,” he croons, pressing his lips to my hand.

It hurts to watch him. Evander looks more like his mother, but I can see the same cut of his jaw, the same curve of his brows, when I look at Aamon.

Plastering on a smile, I force out a girlish giggle that makes me want to vomit all that whiskey onto his polished shoes.

“Thank you, Captain Lansing.” Ev tighten his grip on me, his fingers digging into my hip. Aamon’s lip twitches. Good , I think.

Aamon extends his arm, showing us to our seats.

We are to sit facing the doors, meaning I’m required to sit between Father Mallory and Evander, likely so that Aamon can watch me all night.

So he can observe how the elixir impairs me.

I like the occasional drink now and then—I often drink with Ash, Ev, and Quinn—but I don’t indulge.

I don’t like to be out of control, to lose track of what my body is doing.

I did that enough when I first arrived in the rebel camp—lost myself in whiskey because of my family and my fate.

So tonight, it’s important that I pay attention to what I drink, not too much but enough to keep me looking affected from the belladonna.

Evander drags out the chair for me and keeps his hand along my waist as I sit, ensuring he has his hands on me to show my unsteady footing.

I straighten myself in the chair as he pushes it in before settling next to me.

I can feel the weight of Father Mallory and Aamon’s eyes glued to me and heat rushes into my chest. Acting is not a strength of mine.

I prefer bluntness and not giving a fuck what people think of me.

Glancing around the room, I search for more alcohol that I can consume to dull my senses just a bit more.

There’s wine in front of me and though I abhor the taste of it, I could down the glass if no one was looking.

Evander brings his chair in close to mine, far closer than where Father Mallory sits to my right.

He lays his hand on my thigh and grips his fingers in.

The movement isn’t painful, but tight enough that the message gets through.

I need to pay attention to my surroundings. To the eyes on me.

My brain is panicking, scrambling for ways to look sedated. Heat is building in my core as well, striking my spine like a match and flaring to life within me. But then the doors in front of me open again and all eyes turn toward the ethereal figure haloed in the frame of the cream double doors.

My mouth drops open and Evander shoves his glass of wine at me before I can think.

I tip my head back and let the vinegar-like liquid pour down my throat before slamming the glass back into his hand.

I glance over to Father Mallory, but he is nearly drooling, his mouth slack as he too stares at the doors.

He didn’t notice me at all in my rush to drink, too consumed by her.

Aamon has risen from his seat but remains next to it, waiting for her.

I glance back toward the door and allow my eyes to adjust to the figure before me.

Nimai.

She is just as I imagined her. Or just how the visions had been, I suppose.

Which makes more sense. Because the mere fact that she is actually standing here before me means they were indeed visions, not just nightmares.

Which also tells me that I did indeed see and feel her pain and terror. And heads will fucking roll for that.

Her long black hair is down, thick waves of obsidian shining with deep blue and violet hues around her shoulders.

A choker matching mine sits around her neck, but she is shrouded in a gown of pure white and gold—almost the opposite of the one I wear—with gold lace atop the bodice, gracefully brushing along her collarbone and sitting just below her shoulders.

It’s far more regal and modest than what they’ve dressed me in and I suppose that should be expected.

I’m the whore and she’s the pure virgin.

We’re both pawns they want to use, but they’re clearly making a statement regarding my place compared to hers.

Standing in the doorway, she looks radiant.

Her mossy green eyes are glassy. I can see that from where I sit.

They lazily take in the room, as if slowed down from their normal movements.

But when she sees me, there’s a spark. Something flickers in her eyes.

Her perfectly pink lips turn up in a small smile and she moves to walk forward, staggering a bit.

Luthais stays next to her and steadies her with an arm around her waist, the same gesture Ev just used with me to make it seem as if I was suffering from the belladonna. But she is actually suffering.

I notice Luthais is not dressed to match Nimai. That part is good. At least there is no intention of pairing her off with him. He’s just here to drug and guard my sister. He grips her tightly and they walk slowly toward the table. Her eyes reach out to me, and I can feel her.

She’s still in pain and her gaze does not break from mine as she moves.

Behind the glassiness of her eyes, I can see my sister straining against the sedation.

She’s in there. No matter the drugs they gave her, she knows what is happening.

And she’s terrified. That fear stretches out to me, grasping around my heart. Squeezing it tight.

Evander must notice the gaze and the bond strengthening between us because he grabs my leg tighter, digging his fingers into the flesh of my thigh to remind me where I am. Who I am right now.

The wine is rushing to my head, making the bond between us feel fuzzy.

It’s there and open, the connection between us, a link like I have with Silas, only stronger.

I’m kicking myself for drinking the wine, but I needed to, needed to have slightly less control over myself, even though it frays the edges of this connection and makes it harder to grasp.

Luthais half carries her to the table, holding her lithe body easily with one of his massive arms as he pulls out a chair for her and sets her down gently.

She is nestled between Aamon and Luthais, seated directly across from me.

Her body slumps a bit as she sits but she remains upright, almost as if the bones in her body have softened.