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Chapter 52

ASPEN

“You smell like her.”

Metal clanged against metal as Theon brought his sword down in a wide arc against the curved blade I held. I flipped the blade in my hand, ducking under his outstretched arm to swipe sideways. He moved fast—too fast for a man of his size—stepping out of range and circling my side, forcing me to turn and immediately block his next strike.

Theon was a bulk of a man, but by the Divine, was he quick.

“So do you, brother,” he panted, pressing forward into my space and forcing me backward as we parried. “But I assure you, it is not for the same reason.”

The knowing grin he wore only fueled the fire already raging inside me. I reached for my magic, trying to drop my temperature just enough to numb the burn.

“Ah.” Theon interrupted my concentration, swinging low and forcing me to pivot sharply. “None of that, Gav.”

“I just need to focus,” I grumbled, executing a multi-step maneuver to push him toward the edge of the empty training ring.

“Channel it here, then.” He jumped sideways, forcing me to stumble forward and redirect.

The scimitar Theon had gifted me years ago matched the one he wielded when he wasn’t favoring the massive axe he preferred. It felt right in my grasp, in a way no other blade ever had.

“No ice in the training ring.” Theon surged forward, keeping me moving in a tight circle. Swing after swing came down, each one designed to prevent me from focusing on my magic. Not a second to think—only to block. “No fighting pits. That’s the deal. And I’ve already overlooked one recently.”

Theon had tried everything over the years to pull me out of the dark. He’d sat in my worst moments, forcing food and water down my throat just to keep me breathing. But after too many close calls—when I’d nearly stopped my heart by dipping too far into the cold, or when he’d dragged my unrecognizable body out of a fight in Marikaim—he laid down conditions.

I fought him every step of the way.

Until he threatened to leave my guard.

Theon Winthrall didn’t give up—not on anyone. Not even on his brother, until he’d forced him to. If he was willing to take it that far, it meant he saw no other way.

The pain in his eyes had been what finally broke me enough to agree.

Quitting the fighting pits had been the first condition. “Channel that into training instead.” But getting my anger out wasn’t why I went to the fights. They were the only place I felt anything anymore. A twisted sense of normalcy.

The second condition: no using my ice to numb everything else out.

It had taken compromise on both sides, but we struck a deal—I wouldn’t use it in training, and if I needed to escape my own mind, I’d come to him instead of sinking into the abyss. He knew he couldn’t keep me from using it all the time, and I’d admit I still relied on it more than he liked.

Before, I’d used it to deal with all the fucked-up things that happened within the palace walls.

Then she arrived.

And she fucking called me out on it.

I’d used the ice to temper my anger over what they had done all those years ago, yes. But more often, I used it to keep myself in line.

From the incessant ache to be near her.

To touch her.

To know her.

To let her know me.

Entanglements cause distractions.

I didn’t have the luxury of wanting things.

Especially not in the way I wanted her.

Except, somewhere between it all, I stopped fucking caring.

She’d invaded me, that never-ending spark of warmth melting away every dark, tormented splinter, and melding it anew. Sealing together bits and cracks with a beaming smile, forging me into someone who saw the world differently—because she did. Her unshakable ability to notice the wildflowers, even in the presence of despair, awakened me. And now, I could see it too. That beauty. That perseverance. She shined a light on it all.

My favorites were the wildflowers that bloomed inside her.

Grown from the ashes—side by side with both light and dark.

Free and untamed and resplendent.

A lifetime of slaving away under the duty thrust upon me by the Gavalon name, of bending to every whim and order—none of it compared to her.

Whether or not I was allowed to have her no longer mattered.

All that mattered was giving her everything she wanted.

Whatever she needed. Whatever that may be.

I’d tear the frozen walls of this palace down if it meant she ended up safe and happy in the end. If she got to live the life she craved.

This fucking place had destroyed so many. The crown crushed every soul beneath it, dragging them under until they drowned. Devoured them until there was nothing left but a shell and a throne.

Not her. Never her.

Iris Virlana got to be happy

Iris Virlana got to see the world.

Iris Virlana got to live.

“It was one time,” I argued, sweeping to the side.

A Divine twist of fate put the male who’s laid his hands on Iris in the pits that night in Marikaim, practically begging for an opponent. I laughed to myself at the memory—I hadn’t enjoyed a fight that much in a long, long time.

“It’s not funny, Gav.”

“Oh.” I swung again, half-lost in the memory of the look on the bastard’s face when he recognized me. “If you knew the circumstances, you’d think it was.”

Theon raised an eyebrow, sidestepping my barrage of attacks. “It was that lowlife who grabbed her.”

He chuckled, but I savored the memory for a second too long.

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, the air knocked from my lungs.

Theon extended a hand, yanking me upright while simultaneously sending a blast of water directly into my face.

“In that case,” he grinned, “I should have joined you.”

I shoved him back with a burst of wind, shaking the dripping water in his direction. My sparring had improved drastically since Theon joined my guard—I could outmatch anyone in their ranks now.

Except him.

The cocky bastard reveled in it.

I retrieved my sword from where he’d knocked it free, sheathing it at my side.

“I’m helping her with something, that’s all,” he said, and just like that, the fire he’d distracted me from reignited.

“With what?”

“I think you’ll approve when she decides to tell you.” Theon pulled his shirt back on. I did the same, forgoing an overcoat despite the chill.

We’d cleared fresh snow from the ring that afternoon, and the air carried the promise of more.

I needed to find Iris before it fell. She liked to be outside when the snow started.

“She’s my friend, Gav. Same as you. Same as Deya.”

I nodded tightly.

“Trust me.” He pulled the tie from his hair, shaking it loose. “She doesn’t look at anyone the way she looks at you.”

I laughed.

Iris looked at me with fury and contempt most of the time.

I thrived on it.

I lived for any attention she turned my way.

Theon tilted his head. “What do you think these assignments have been about?”

“Control.”

Dante’s way of reminding me who held the power. A pointed punishment, growing more frequent every time something didn’t go his way. My father wouldn’t intervene. My presence at the meetings was just another reminder that I was nothing more than a figurehead.

“Any more news from the Nightshade?”

Two attacks weren’t a pattern—yet. But we’d be fools to assume they were isolated incidents. If anyone could uncover more, it was the Nightshade. I’d set aside some historical records as well to skim through as well for sitting in the apothecary while Iris worked. I planned on switching back and forth between the materials and any records that could help her with her research.

“None yet,” Theon said. “But don’t be surprised if random body parts start showing up on your doorstep.”

“What in the five realms?—”

“Ask your girl, Gavalon.” He laughed.

Your girl.

Fuck.

“Eyeball tea and all,” he added.

Terrifying, brilliant woman, Iris Virlana.

* * *

My father’s chambers were not somewhere I enjoyed finding myself.

“Your presence is needed in the west wing atrium.”

Divine, I couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken more than one word to me. Or to my mother, at least in my presence, for that matter.

Why the hells did she still tolerate him?

“You will do what is requested of you.”

“That is awfully vague,” I bit out.

“Your duties to this realm, to your house, are not to be questioned.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I ground out.

He only permitted formal titles—the prick. I’d learned that lesson quickly.

My brother had inherited many of my father’s attributes, but the violence he wielded hadn’t come from the man in front of me.

No, The King of Kacidon enjoyed games of the mind. He doled out approval as if it were a sacred jewel—or a weapon he could wield to keep us in line. Silence was his favorite punishment, dismissal a close second. Every demand he made, every moment that earned us his scarce approval, was tied to what he deemed necessary to better our house and the Gavalon name . As if his outspoken, abhorrent ideals during the last war hadn’t already tarnished it beyond repair.

“You are dismissed.”

Lovely chat, Father. Glad we were able to have that quality time.

The apothecary still smelled like cinnamon, even before I opened the door. Judging by the half-empty mug of tea on the workbench, Iris hadn’t been gone long. I’d planned to catch her on my way to whatever this meeting entailed, but the fates had cursed me to never be so lucky.

The room was small and cramped, despite my several protests. She could have any room—or any combination of rooms—in this entire palace, yet this glorified closet was the one she wanted. The large, arched window she could throw open was absolutely a factor, but even when I’d offered her an entire room of windows, she had declined.

I refilled the kettle and set it back onto the flame, adding more of the loose tea she drank in droves to the container on the second shelf. She ran through it almost quicker than I could import it. I was going to need to purchase stock of it.

Perusing the shelves, I made note of what I needed to order to ensure she didn’t run out of ingredients. I’d already replaced her quills and ink pots with the finest materials, which had been another point of protest. After that, I’d realized sneaking the items in one by one would be less suspicious, but she rarely missed anything. Half of her supplies were precariously held together, one wrong turn away from shattering. She relented in accepting replacements for broken items—so long as they still met her specifications.

I straightened her supplies and ensured the fire would remain at acceptable levels until she returned, cleaning out her mug and preparing it with everything except the water. She’d decided to name the apothecary—her own extension of the shop in Vaelithe—but the name itself remained a secret. I had yet to find the parchment she was keeping it on.

For now, she referred to it as the Kacidon Apothecary.

Every time I entered the space, it resembled her room in Vaelithe more. Bundles of lavender hung in clusters, just as they did there, and books filled every available surface. There were always at least three large mugs for tea, along with a smattering of jewelry she’d taken off while brewing. Half-burned candles stuck to the surface of the dark wood, dangerously close to scattered pieces of parchment filled with her notes.

I made a mental note to replace the flowers in here as well before shutting the door and heading toward the atrium.

* * *

There was no way in the five fucking realms I was seeing correctly.

Calum Winthrall sat sprawled out in an armchair, his dirty boots propped on a marble statue of the Goddess of the Wild.

Dismissed from the Kacidon Royal Guard, Calum Winthrall.

Theon’s brother, Calum Winthrall.

“Hello, handsome,” he winked.

“What are you doing here, Calum?”

Calum clucked his tongue, pulling each leg down with a loud thud.

“Now, now,” he drawled, leaning forward. “Is that any way to greet someone you’re so intimately acquainted with?”

I let out a short laugh. “Of course. It’s how I greet half of Marikaim.”

Calum ran his tongue along his teeth, eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing here?” I repeated.

“Always needing to be in control,” he tsked, leaning back to throw an arm around the back of the chair.

“A necessary precaution when dealing with leeches. Vile pests. Bloodsuckers.”

“I have an opportunity for you, Prince.”

I dipped into the chill of my essence, just a fraction, cooling the unease his words stirred.

Calum was exceedingly ambitious—and a hells of a lot more calculating than he let on. Despite the immaculate way he held himself, more than anything, he was reckless. There was little he wouldn’t risk if it meant getting ahead.

If he was coming to my father?

Absolutely nothing good could come of it. With all the shit going on already, we couldn’t afford to be left in the dark.

“Is that so?” I crooned, allowing just a hint of intrigue to shine through.

“This realm is in shambles. The unrest for your family’s seat on the throne grows.”

“What surprising news, your genius astonishes me,” I deadpanned.

“I come with an offering,” he sneered. “One that will earn you the favor you so desperately crave.”

I bared my teeth, allowing snide arrogance to drip from every word. “Have you finally learned to play, Calum?”

If he wanted a game, he’d sure as fuck get one.