Page 14 of Angel Lost (Fates Academy #3)

Chapter Fourteen: Lorelei

Light creeps past my eyelids and I groan, stretching out under silken sheets. Not my sheets. Not my bed. My body aches. The cream pillow swims into focus, a nasty bloodstain spread across it. Hands fuss behind me, plumping pillows, smoothing sheets, pushing me back down. Then, with a rush, everything floods back. I killed them. All of them. He tricked me. The king tricked me.

My head spins. Or did I? Were they real like the wisps, like the boy, or…

“Miss. Wake up, miss.” I startle awake again to see a slim woman standing over me, her hands firm but careful as she pulls the covers back. Her uniform is crisp—pale gray with silver embroidery at the cuffs and collar, the fabric finer than a simple servant’s garb. It’s too polished, too pristine. Something about it tugs at my sleep-fogged mind, but the thought slips away before I can grasp it.

“You’ve been asleep forty-eight hours,” she says, smoothing down the front of her dress. “You have an audience with the king in thirty minutes.”

Shit. The king. My allegiance…dead.

Choking back a sob, I stumble after the fussing maid, barely reacting as she tugs at my clothes. What’s the point? In anything?

Her dry hands strip away my bloody Fates uniform, tearing scabs, reopening cuts. She hisses at each new bruise before nudging me under the steaming water. I just stand there, staring blankly at the tile, the shower running scalding hot.

“I’ll give you ten minutes. Miss? ”

I jerk my head toward her, ignoring the water streaming into my eyes.

The maid glances over her shoulder, rubbing her hands together, scrunching her apron. “Not everything you saw was real, Miss.”

My breath stops. What ?

This. This was the thought I had been chasing, the thought that slipped away each time I surfaced from the dark. A whisper at the edge of consciousness, too fragile to hold. I latch on to her words, desperate, searching her face for some kind of confirmation. Please. Please let that mean I didn’t—

But she’s already turning away, scuttling from the room, shoulders hunched like she expects damnation to strike her down.

My mouth is so dry. I let the shower water trickle in past my cracked lips, then force myself to swallow. My throat aches, and I make myself swallow again and again, finally gathering enough strength to cup my hands together, pouring the blessed liquid into my mouth. Catch, pour, swallow. Catch, pour, swallow.

Not everything was real.

The next time I scoop water to my mouth I see my wrist and choke back a sob. My allegiance mark. I stand stock-still, watching the rivulets run over it, the color slowly changing from bloody red to clear. My mark is still there. I trace the lines with my finger.

I reach for the soap, the sponge. Slowly, I clean myself from head to toe, then I do it again and again. I rinse my hair one final time, then, watching the last of the suds float down the drain, I reach into my mind.

It’s still there.

The slave bond is still there. And I’m glad. I’m glad to feel the nasty, slimy, oppressive bond. I tug gently on my aether, just a tiny pull, and it surges to me, filling the ache in my chest, replenishing my magic. Just as quickly, it’s pulled away again. Tugged down the bond, back to them.

They’re alive.

Legs shaking, I make it back to the bed without collapsing. An ominous gray robe with silver embroidery sits, neatly folded, waiting for me. The colors of the royal household? Shit.

There’s a tap at the door. I open it to find the harsh young priest from my test, except now, his eyes are downcast, respectful. It unsettles me, like a wrong note in a familiar song.

I follow him through halls of soaring arches, gilt-framed portraits, and heavy woven tapestries. The air reeks of polish—too opulent for the priests. I stumble over the thick carpeting, catching myself under the priest’s watchful gaze.

Two days. I slept for two days in the royal palace.

“The king will receive you in his drawing room,” the priest announces, bowing from the waist.

In his drawing room. That’s very informal. Is that worse? It feels worse. Did we fail? Stepping hesitantly inside, the door is pulled shut behind me by unseen hands.

Everything in here is gold—the paneling on the walls, the intricate cornicing, the shutters on the windows. Even the bookcases are gilded. I drift toward them, trailing a finger down the spines of the books.

A door clicks open behind me.

“Good afternoon, aether,” the king says.

I swallow hard and bob a curtsy, my feet tangling awkwardly beneath me.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a small, twitching hand. “Well, you passed, but we have to work on your etiquette.”

Up close, without the chaos of our last encounter, he’s slighter than I’d realized, his alabaster skin lacking the ethereal glow most angels have. His neatly trimmed beard does little to disguise the weakness of his jaw, and his pink-tinged eyes—too light, almost translucent—fix on me with unsettling interest.

A crown rests on his head, gleaming in the golden light. Not the real one—the weight of it would be too much for his delicate neck. The thought coils unease through me. For all his power, all his presence, his body is fragile. And yet, looking into those eerie eyes, I know better than to think that makes him any less dangerous.

“You are a strong aether, though. A natural one.”

My heart pounds in my throat. I stuff my clenched fists deep into the pockets of my robe and wait. Stupid. So stupid. Of course it wasn’t real. Of course his nephew wasn’t at risk.

“But, alas, you are a second aether.”

I allow myself to breathe out, slowly uncurling my fingers.

The king strides toward me, his presence somehow failing to fill the vast, gilded room. “I was so hoping for a natural first aether.” He sighs—a delicate, practiced thing. “I suppose my gifted first aether will have to do.”

He’s talking in riddles. I force myself to nod. At least he doesn’t seem to be expecting me to speak.

“Shame,” he says, taking my chin in his hand. “You are so pretty, too. We’d make beautiful babies.”

Goose bumps break out across my arms, and the asshole looks pleased. It’s from disgust, not pleasure, idiot king. He drops my chin, offering me a hand. “Come, we can discuss your living quarters.”

I take a step after him before his words sink in. “Wait, what?”

He stills. “You don’t wish to stay with me?”

I force my leaden feet after him, make my fingers clutch his sleeve. “Forgive me, King. I’m just a silly, disappointed girl. And…if I’m not your bride then I would like to nurse my wounds with my allegiance.”

An eerie calm settles on his face. That was a mistake.

“Ah yes, your allegiance. The ones you are so faithful to. Who take precedent over even your king.”

Dropping his sleeve, I shuffle back.

“Your response made me do a little digging, aether.” He taps his thin nose with a stubby finger. “You do have a rather powerful allegiance. I was interested to find Farrell Cuelebre among them.”

Keep your face neutral, Lorelei.

“He’s quite strong,” I simper. “They all are.”

“Hm. And yet Cuelebre’s father, an ex-governor of mine, was languishing in prison.” He spins, pacing away. “You reminded me, I never did understand the Virrey’s motivation.”

“I don’t think any of us did,” I say, honestly.

Something about my tone must catch his attention. His head snaps up and he peers with those hideous pink eyes at me, before nodding. “No. Well. I intend to find out. He’s been upgraded to my own personal prison here in Elystria. I worry he realized how strong you were, aether. That perhaps he had other plans, for other aethers. He had embezzled a lot of money by the time he was caught. And no trace of where it went, what it was used for. No matter, I will find out.”

Farrell’s father. In his prison. I press my nails into the palms of my hands. If the king breaks the Virrey, he’ll discover the rebellion. They’ll be annihilated.

The king lowers himself into a chair that has all the trappings of a throne. Gems sparkle from the headrest while gold inlay catches the light. He pats a small footstool beside him. Grimacing, I crouch to sit at his feet.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe from him now. And I’ll find a use for a strong aether like you,” the king says, his small hands tapping idly against the armrest. “And should anything happen to my chosen wife, you would make a reasonable fallback.”

I force my shoulders to relax, tilting my chin down just enough to feign humility. “Of course, Your Majesty. But…what about my schooling? Surely you would prefer me ascended? ”

His gaze lingers, too assessing. “Perhaps it would be best. I am prepared to be generous. You may either begin training at the aether academy immediately…” He pauses, watching me from beneath pale lashes. “Or marry one of my colonels. A suitable match, of course.”

I keep my breathing steady, though every muscle in my body screams against the trap closing in. “I…I would be honored to train.” My fingers curl against the stool’s embroidered fabric. “If I’m to serve you well, should I not stay with my allegiance? I would be strongest with them—first finishing at Fates, then refining my aether skills.”

The room feels too quiet.

Then, the king chuckles—a soft, indulgent sound, like he’s entertained by a child’s clever trick.

“You bargain well.” He leans forward slightly, amusement flickering in his eerie gaze. “Very well. You may have your time with your allegiance. You will split your studies between the aether institution, Gifted Academy, and Fates. But you will do it at the same time. No delaying marriage. And four days studying aether, minimum. After all, Kai manages it.”

I forget the little etiquette I know. “He what?”

The king’s lips twitch. “My sister likes to keep an eye on him.” He must read the confusion on my face. “Didn’t he mention that? Sensible young man, keeping his affairs private.”

Kai and his lack of frankness…

His smile lingers as he lifts a hand in a careless wave, but his voice drops, silk over steel. “But know this—should you fail, should you flunk school, I’ll still have suitors waiting.”

A cold weight settles in my stomach. I lower my head. “I won’t fail.”

His smirk deepens, and I know I’ve won nothing but borrowed time.

The king’s fingers cease their idle tapping against the armrest. Slowly, he rises from his throne-like chair, the golden light glinting off his crown as he steps forward. I remain perched on the footstool, suddenly small, trapped beneath his shadow .

“You’d best make the most of your time with your Aeternum,” he says, voice almost gentle. “A new husband may not be so…accommodating.” He tilts his head, watching me like an insect pinned beneath glass. “Not many would tolerate such a bond. Many would demand it broken.”

The breath stills in my lungs. Never .

He clasps his hands behind his back as he paces a slow circle around me, his presence crawling over my skin like oil. “And should your Aeternum or any of your allegiance attempt to interfere—with your training, your future?” His voice drops to a near whisper. “I will break all their bonds myself. One by one.”

I don’t move.

“They will forfeit their lives.”

The words slither into my bones, cold and absolute.

He stops just behind me, close enough that I feel the unnatural chill of him, as if he carries the void itself within his skin. “I trust there will be no misunderstandings?”

My throat tightens. I force my head into a stiff nod.

“Good.”

He steps away as if he’s already forgotten the conversation, lowering himself gracefully back into his chair, adjusting his cuffs with delicate precision. But I remain frozen, the weight of his threat pressing down like a hand to my throat.