Page 102 of As Above, So Below

Ivy, perhaps?

Whatever it is they’re waiting for, I no longer care.

The fresh air is helping my scent-induced budding headache and I breathe deep. I’m ready for today to be over, to return this dagger and never see Ryc again. It’s the safer option. The one that will keep distractions at bay and me inevitably alive and out of the hells.

Glancing south, down the street, my eyes narrow against the late afternoon sun. A pair of—my eyes narrow further, struggling to see through the blinding light—fae, it seems, travel in my direction on horseback.

No.

Not a pair, I realize.

But a small troupe of four, no six, come into view. Four flanked by two guard, all upon horseback. The silver of the guards’ armor catches the sunlight and my eyes widen.

Royal guard.

Cheering, whistling, shouts, and clapping escalate from that end of the street as panic seats itself around my heart and floods me.

I can’t be here.

As I straighten myself, the pull in my chest makes itself known. It calls me south, toward the group. Ryc must be among them, and if he’s there, Lilith is somewhere in there too.

They canter down the center of the street as the crowd cheers, roughly two blocks away, and I can’t help but stare at the couple.The royal couple, no less. And out here, in the bright sun, there’s nowhere for me to hide.

Dipping into the doorway, I continue to watch, peering around the door frame, doing my best to keep mostly hidden.

Ishouldhide.

I should turn and leave and not look back.

I shouldn’t risk being spotted by the Sovereign King, or his guard, or Lilith, or Ryc, or anyone else who may be in that processional. But I can’t move. The curiosity of seeing the face of the king I’ve been told to avoid eats at me. At least here, I’m not standing in full sun high above the rest of the crowd.

An arm shoots up over a female’s head in a practiced wave, the king’s betrothed—right? I think I remember Cora mentioning something about him being engaged to some fae from Vis. She’s dressed in luxurious riding gear of brown leathers and deep green dyed fabrics. Truly a stunning portrait upon her white horse. She’s everything I would picture when thinking of a fae queen. A small gold circlet rests upon her dark chestnut curls.

I can’t deny it. The future Sovereign Queen of Erus is beautiful.

I shouldn’t have expected any less.

All living creatures appear to be beautiful.

But I don’t care about her. She’s not the supposed threat.

It’s the male beside her.

Swinging my eyes left, he sits atop a black horse, dressed entirely in black, a midnight cloak billows gently behind him. He seems handsome enough—strong jaw, midnight black hair that falls in windswept waves to his shoulders. He’s staring at the crowd to his right, giving them a firm bow of his head.

He’s not wearing a circlet.

Why?

My eyes dart back to the female. She is all sunshine and vibrant, and he is a dark cloud. He shifts, facing forward—

Gold eyes meet mine in less than a heartbeat.

Instantly my mind is flooded with images from three centuries ago.

Unable to breathe, the wooden door frame threatens to splinter under my grip as my mouth goes bone dry.

It’s him.