Page 35

T he other lords from neighboring courts arrive entirely too damn early. The floodgates have opened at the house, a flurry of activity as the manor is prepared for the nobility, for the dinners.

Seeona has been buzzing around, tweaking everything, dusting every already sparkling surface. She flits into my rooms to fuss over things that will never be seen by the court members, but she doesn’t seem to care about that.

Want to come play dress up and entertain a bunch of nobility? I ask Artemis teasingly.

She puffs. Sounds like a great use of time.

Ingrid sighs, pulling at the bodice of her dress. She’d opted for a deep green velvet gown; suiting her coloring. “This is odious.”

Deah snorts, fussing over her hair in the mirror. “You can’t seriously dislike wearing dresses this much?”

“It is positively odious,” she repeats, her voice forlorn as she huffs at the fabric. “I loathe wearing dresses.”

“Why are you speaking like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re an old hag.” Deah looks Ingrid up and down. “It’s not even that bad.”

I chuckle from my corner of the room, examining the two dresses Seeona had laid out for me to try on. Deah and Ingrid, already dressed, agreed to come help me choose .

Ingrid wraps her arms around herself. “It feels wrong for Emmy not to be here. She loved this.”

Emotion stings my throat like a swarm of bees, I force myself to swallow past it. Seeona had already set my makeup, lining my eyes with kohl and swiping on pink lip stain. I can imagine what I would look like should the tears fall.

I slip behind the partition in our room, taking my favorite dress of the two with me. I slip the silky material over my legs carefully, eyeing the flowing details at the skirts of the dress. It was the least dramatic of the two I’d been given.

Smoothing out the billowing layers, I step from behind the screen to show Ingrid and Deah. Their mouths hang open in tandem.

“That one.” Deah nods, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down. Ingrid’s head bobs mutely beside her.

“You haven’t even seen the other.” I gesture toward the bed where I’d left the second dress.

“Don’t need to, that one is perfectly you,” Deah answers assuredly.

“Ingrid?” I don’t want to press her. She’s still healing from the incident with the chef, now Emmy’s death too.

Ingrid’s eyes are shining as she says, “You look royal.”

“Because she is,” Ridge says, emerging from behind Deah and Ingrid. He strides past them, focusing wholly on me, hands folded behind his back.

As always, my world stops the second I see him. He’s wearing all black, his suit fitted to his muscular and defined body. His thick hair styled perfectly, mused yet perfectly in place. His golden eyes and silver hair are a stark contrast to his ebony attire.

He drinks in my ember-colored gown, cascading to the floor around my feet. The skirt is a mix of satin overlaid with sheer tulle. The sleeves around my biceps are a sheer wisp, dancing around my breasts and arms. Seeona had swept my hair back, only a few curled pieces framing my face.

Ridge’s eyes graze my bare collarbone, the golden curls brushing my shoulders. His lips pull into a fully male smile .

“You are a dream.” He brings one hand forward, cupping under my neck, mindful of my hair. He leans in closely, kissing me lightly below my ear. Hope you’re not attached to this hairstyle. I plan to fully wreck it after this meeting.

I lean into the kiss he presses to my neck, drawing my hands up to his biceps.

“What do you have for me?” I suspiciously reach for the other hand tucked behind his back.

I can hear Nalin, Lotog, and Laz gathering in the hall. Idle chatter. The scuffle of heavy boots. A roaring laugh from Laz. The sounds of familiarity and comfort.

The sounds of home.

But a sharp reminder that Emmy isn’t here immediately levels out any joy that was rising.

When I look back at Ridge, his eyes are dancing. “I had something made for you,” he murmurs, finally bringing his hand from around his back.

A black, dainty crown sits in his hand. The dainty framing reminds me of my markings, arches curve up with tips shaped like flames. The metal is grooved, as if it had once been burned, yet it remained in its rightful form. Such an elegant and delicate thing resting in Ridge’s large, calloused hands.

He turns me to face the mirror in the corner, and my breath catches. Together, we truly look like the rulers of this dark home. Even with my high-heeled shoe choice, Ridge towers over me, maintaining eye contact in our reflection. I can see his devastatingly handsome face as he smiles at me, hovering the crown over my head.

The moment he places it on my head, the tips of the crown flicker to life; sputtering ember flames that dance at the top of each arch.

“It’s perfect, Ridge,” I tell him without taking my eyes off him in the mirror. “What kind of power makes this crown burn?”

In the distance, the door is closing behind my friends as they scurry from the room. I don’t care though, not as Ridge steps forward, wrapping his hands around the small of my waist, his lips finding my shoulder. His touch is so tender and doting, I close my eyes and let my head rest against his.

His rough stubble scratches along my bared skin, goosebumps forming in their wake. Every touch he presses to me leaves a tingling trail; as if marking every part of me.

I wonder if others can see it; the claim we have on one another.

“You,” he answers against the nape of my neck, not bothering to break contact with my skin. Every touch is so deliberate, so unhurried. His breath caresses my skin, leaving me lightheaded. “Everything you touch turns to something worthwhile, love. Even me.” He takes a deep breath, placing another featherlight kiss on my skin. “There is no power embedded in this crown, there is only you.”

I close my eyes, swearing to never ask the gods of anything again if they let the teardrops remain in my eyes. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Ridge removes his lips from my neck, looking up at me in the mirror. “There is nothing you could or couldn’t do that would make you unworthy of my love, Aledrya.”

“Am I allowed to wear such a thing?”

“You may do whatever you wish.” He kisses behind my ear again, eyes never leaving mine in the mirror. “You and I are one. That makes you a queen.”

My heart threatens to crumple, but I lift my chin to our reflection in the mirror. “I do quite like the crown.”

His grin is wicked. “I quite like you in it. I think I’ll enjoy the sight of you in nothing but that crown, too,” he purrs into my hair, his hand moving to hold the base of my throat. “Let’s go convince a bunch of old bastards to fight for Xecelsion.”

I turn, kissing him fleetingly before I allow him to lead me from our rooms.

In the hall, the others halt their conversations the second they see Ridge. I instantly notice Hune’s absence from our group.

He does not wish to reveal his presence to the others—not yet, Ridge explains, straightening his black jacket.

There’s a low whistle as we step into the hall. “I’m beginning to believe you’re royalty looking like that,” Lotog remarks to Ridge as I bring my attention back to the group .

Nalin claps Ridge on the back, but moves around him to put his arm around my bare shoulders. “Not as good looking as your tethered one, though. She outshines even you, Ridge.”

“Agreed. Now, if you’re partial to having use of that arm, stop touching her,” Ridge snarls, eyes focused on Nalin’s arm against my skin. His arm tenses and slowly falls away.

“That has to get better, right? Does he become less possessive at some point?” Nalin poses the question to no one in particular.

“Not likely,” Ridge answers, still growling as he takes my hand.

We set off down the hallway, led by Ridge. We’re to meet in the formal boardroom at the far wing of the house, an area I’d not yet been to.

I’m taking in how elegant this dark hall is, the arched corridor making me long for the Ravels Caves. I miss the view of the Pass from the Overhang.

The Ravels is almost back to fully operational. Soon, we can allow others back in, Ridge promises as we walk.

Ridge stops at the end of the hall, letting me take his arm before he throws the heavy, double wooden doors open, revealing a room full of royalty.

“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting.” Ridge’s voice carries through the room, a mask of indifference on his face. He steers us toward the far side of the table, the others slightly bowing their heads as we pass. He smirks, pulling out the chair at the head, gesturing for me to sit. The room holds a collective breath as I gather my skirts and slide into the leather seat.

The room contains a wooden table, grains swirling through it artfully. The black marble flooring nearly makes the room oppressively dark, if not for the wall of windows looking over the Tridonic. A towering wooden bookcase lines the back of the boardroom, with fresh flowers in vases scattered across the room, offering a pop of color. I breathe deep the scent of lilies, thankful for the comforting smell.

Ridge selects the seat adjacent to me—placing me at the head of the table—the others filling in around us. Laz quickly claims the seat closest to me, opposite of Ridge. The lords and ladies scurry to the remaining open seats, each one of them wide-eyed. It’s the first time I’ve seen Ridge act so formal and apathetic, and like the other sides I’ve seen; it makes me shiver.

I take the time to look around. The lords all appear to be in their thirties, save for a few who seem older. None possess the icy eye color that marks a highly powerful Fae. The ladies are, for the most part, attractive, and appear younger than the males at their sides.

One lord in particular, a fair, raven-haired male is peering down at me with a notable look of disdain. Ridge locks in on him instantly.

“Demaris, is there an issue you would like to get out into the open?” Ridge’s words are clipped, no trace of the voice he’d used with me in the privacy of our room.

He straightens, but to his credit, doesn’t balk. “I am curious who is sitting in your seat, Your Majesty.”

Ridge leans back into his chair, a cat toying with a mouse. His smile is lazy and disarming as he looks to me. My skin prickles under his gaze. “She’s quite lovely, isn’t she?”

“Indeed.” Demaris doesn’t bother sparing me a glance, although his lady gives me a genuine smile. “Very regal and elegant, she suits you and your kingdom. I have yet to see that crown before, what is the meaning of it?”

Ridge offers me a wicked smile before turning back to the table. “A crown suitable for the Queen of Xecelsion. Only the finest would do for my Aledrya.”

Demaris’s jaw unhinges, the others around the table instantly bowing their heads.

A murmur of, “Your Majesty,” floats through the boardroom.

I bristle. The attention is unnerving.

Demaris doesn’t join the others; his wild eyes now locked with mine.

Lovely. He’ll be fun to deal with.

“Was this the meaning of this meeting you’ve called?” Demaris presses Ridge, taking his oily attention elsewhere .

“As much as I wish showing off my captivating Queen was the purpose for this meeting, we both know far darker matters are to be discussed.” Ridge’s voice is commanding and deep, every set of eyes is trained on him.

“The Woven Wall is no longer,” Ridge states, rising from his seat and strolling behind my chair. “Rathian plans to raise his armies against ours.”

“You mean that he’s finally making a move against the Fae?” an older man with gray, thinning hair asks, eyes still trained on Ridge as if his life depends on it. He wears a deep, royal blue robe with gold tassels along the shoulders. His lady’s dress mimics the same coloring and style. He looks to the other lords. “Do we see a human as a threat?”

I can sense Ridge’s irritation before the words are even out. “He wields power that is not his own. We believe that Abacae now fights with him, and they’ve created a legion of horrors. We’ve seen many, most notably the Amphithere.”

Demaris’s face goes taut. “So it’s true.”

“Where is this power coming from, then?” the older lord questions.

Laz looks pained as he sweeps his eyes over the table. “He possesses the Unborn Vase.”

The room falls quiet. I can hear Laz’s steady pulse; it's so eerily silent.

Deah shifts uncomfortably, Laz shooting her a look. Her deep purple dress is so striking against her skin tone, and a few of the lords slide their eyes to her briefly at the movement.

The gray-haired man is staring at Ridge, eyes wide. “To disrespect the Phoenix god in that way; no one knows what that could bring.”

“Do you know anything of it?” Deah finally speaks up, brows knitting together.

The man purses his lips, folding his hands over his rounded belly. “I know enough to recognize that Rathian is a fool to mess with it.”

“He doesn’t know anything of value,” one of the other lords is saying, further down the table. Based on appearance alone, he looks to be the youngest of all of them. He has bright blonde hair, his hazel eyes stark against his tanned skin. There is no lady with him, instead a man with jet-black hair and sparkling green eyes sits by him.

He looks strikingly similar to Treia.

Treia’s father, Ridge’s voice drawls, his eyes not leaving the men arguing, though. The blonde man is his partner. Treia’s mother died shortly after Treia was born. She was raised by Norm and Walin.

The men down the table are escalating their argument.

“I would not expect you to understand our heritage, boy. Others of us didn’t sleep our way into nobility.” Demaris is snarling across the table at Walin, the blonde-haired man. Norm’s eyes flicker with anger, planting his hands on the table and pushing himself up.

“ Enough .” Ridge’s power shakes the room, rattling the pitchers of water down the table. The entire room snaps their attention to Ridge, who is still standing behind me. Despite his eruption of power, he remains perfectly still.

“You’ll speak kindly toward anyone who is part of my kingdom, or you won’t speak at all.” Without looking, I can tell that Ridge’s eyes are promising death if anyone speaks out of turn. “Laz, give your report.”

Laz clears his throat, eyeing the men down the table. Norm slowly finds his seat once more. “The king has an army ten thousand strong. A portion of it men, but there are many creatures like the kind we mentioned.”

“He has yet to actually make any formal threat, though,” Demaris interjects, rubbing his jaw.

I bite down on the urge to tell them he had already breached our home using the chef. I watch Lamond’s jaw tense, his teeth grinding together. His arms tense at the table, the warrior-like presence so at odds with the lords surrounding us.

“He destroyed the Ravels. I would like to think that was a form of formal threat. Unless it does not apply to you because it did not happen on Covendale soil?” Ridge moves to stand beside me, leaning onto the table. I can feel his power cascading down the wood, sending a shockwave to anyone who so much as touched the surface.

“Do not be so na?ve to think this is not coming to you and yours, Lord Demaris. Rathian will not stop with Xecelsion. He will not stop until the Fae are gone, or he has all of the power for himself.”

Demaris’s face contorts at Ridge’s words. I can see Nalin from the corner of my eye watching the man very carefully.

“Understood, Your Majesty,” Demaris replies, leaning back in his seat. His dark eyes lock on me as Laz continues on with the details on the king’s army. I sense something nearing me. It feels like a slimy, phantom touch on my arm, probing me for information. I mentally reach out and grab onto it, squeezing as hard as I can.

Demaris gasps sharply, but I don’t release him. Instead, I tap into my nullifying power, sending it through my veins and into the phantom limb still in my grasp.

The touch retreats, and Demaris sags into his seat.

“What the Above was that?” he demands, shooting up from his seat, sending a glass to the floor in the process. Laz, who had still been talking, narrows his eyes at Demaris.

Aledrya. I can distantly hear Artemis’s voice down our tether, but I ignore her.

“Oh, that was me,” I purr, folding my hands on the table. “I don’t play well with men who touch without asking.”

Lamond nearly spits out the water he’d taken a drink of. Deah slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Demaris, what have I told you about touching things that do not belong to you?” Ridge’s voice is light, but he bares his teeth at the man. “What were you hoping to discover?”

“Yes, Father. Tell us what you hoped to learn,” Nalin speaks, a cocky grin spreading across his face. My surprise at his words causes me to let my mask slip.

The lords are all at attention, watching this interaction closely. One at the end, a dark headed, long-haired man clears his throat. “Demaris, perhaps you should think rationally about what you would like to accomplish in this meeting.”

“I did not speak to you, Rantof,” Demaris grumbles, his scowl not leaving my face. “Tell me what evil you possess.”

“You first,” I croon.

For a moment, Demaris is leering at me across the table, then suddenly he is not. With a flick of his finger, Ridge sends the man into the large bookcase behind him.

“You can apologize when you can breathe again,” Ridge snaps, not even having left his chair.

I slide my eyes to Ridge in silent plea, and his features immediately soften.

“For what it’s worth, I can nullify.” My voice snaps everyone’s attention back to me, away from the man disentangling himself from the bookcase. “I can also create darkness and summon fire. I am still learning of my powers, but the ones I have discovered have been useful.”

The man at the end, Rantof, smiles wildly at me. “I should say, especially in getting old creeps like Demaris to ease up on their probing power.” He flashes that grin at Ridge. “I told you when you came to Tridon, we would fully support you, and I whole-heartedly meant it. Tridon forces are yours.” His lady is smiling softly at us, her eyes kind and her expression genuine.

Demaris is finally standing again, brushing off invisible dirt.

“I apologize for my outburst, Ridge.” He looks at Ridge, then slides his beady eyes to me. “Your Majesty. If I may, what does it mean to create darkness?” He says the last word carefully, eyeing Ridge.

I loathe him. Ridge’s attention never leaves Demaris. Not even his own son likes him.

“I can summon darkness at my will.” I refrain from shrugging, from playing it off as a simple party trick. “I am still learning what that power is capable of.”

“If we may…” Demaris looks to the room around him. “I think we would all be interested in seeing this particular power. ”

Lamond slams a fist on the table, startling everyone in the room. “She is not a show pony for you to command tricks from.”

Laz is white knuckling his water glass, his face taut. “I would be inclined to agree.”

I can feel Ridge tensing, so I wave my hand, adjusting my seat. “I would be happy to demonstrate this particular skill, although I wouldn’t get used to giving me orders, Demaris.”

His face goes slacken. I wink in response before my power takes over. Pushing my darkness to every corner, holding it taut like a cast net over everyone in the room.

Shrieks emerge, and a few curses come from the other side of the room. I can hear Laz snicker next to me, hear him casually setting down his water glass as if he’s seen this a hundred times. Ridge lightly strokes down our tether, as if kindling my power.

I allow the power to stop coursing through my veins, my point having been made. The net retreats, the room filling with light again from the large windows, and none of the lords or ladies are where they were mere seconds ago.

Demaris, in particular, has huddled under the table. I clamp down on my joy at seeing his fear.

Aledrya, it’s urgent. Artemis’s voice is full of alarm, my stomach fluttering with nerves.

What is it? I am vaguely aware of the room still staring at me. I ignore them.

I can feel Artemis holding her breath, and my pulse quickens. The King of Torrent…he’s invaded Zindell and the Pass. Our land is under attack.