Page 141 of Blackheart

“Hm, and you two? Who are you to the dead man?” Xavian asked, lazily pointing to each with the dagger.

“Sons! And we don’t bow to Dark Natured loving bas—” Xavian’s dagger plunged into the man’s heart before he could finish.

His body fell to the floor as Xavian unsheathed his third dagger.

The last son held his hands up innocently. “I do not wish to die, nor do I care for Queen Delaina. You, you—you have my loyalty, Your Grace,” he stammered.

Lord Regby snorted, pouring his glass of water over the blood on the table, rinsing it away from him. “What a puss,” he chuckled.

Xavian sized up the two remaining men, and he waved them off. “You’re stripped of your titles. Get out, and drag your kin with you.”

The Flora Court men departed without another word, a crimson trail of misplaced loyalty following behind them.

With their chairs freed up, Lord Regby used one to prop his feet on for the rest of the meeting.

The remaining houses all pledged their loyalty, with Lord Ansel’s father being among them.

I kept my eyes on the Witchlord while Xavian discussed plans for reassigning the two fallen holds, and what resources each of the houses present could provide to the Crown. He stressed that we needed every man possible for the war to come. Natured or not.

After hours of discussion, drinks, and formalities, the meeting came to an end. As Xavian dismissed the lords, Ansel spoke into his father’s ear. The Lord of Whimcastor Hold stood, his company all following behind, except for Lord Ansel.

My jaw tightened. The only people left were our council, Lord Ansel, and Lord Regby, who had moved in closer, plopping down in the seat next to the Witchlord.

I swallowed. “Xavian, I have something to say.”

I’d held my tongue for hours. I didn’t know why Lord Ansel was here or what he was planning, but I wouldn’t let him get away with it while I sat silent.

“Go on.”

With the small group of us left, Xavian’s ‘around company’ face faded, and the exhaustion showed in his true expression.

I pointed Singer across the table. “This man is not the heir to Whimcastor Hold; he is a Witchlord from the Northern Waywards,” I said, deathly serious.

Lord Regby burst into laughter, while Avan looked ready to crawl under the table.

“Father, I beg of you,” Avan said. The similar red hair was telling enough that they were related, with the same strong nose, too.

Lord Ansel rubbed his hand over his mouth, avoiding eye contact with me.

“He’s not a Witchlord, Elora,” Xavian said.

My fists curled. “Yes, he is. He was in the Waywards with me, and he gave me this orb!” I snapped, unclipping it from my waist and holding it up as proof.

I was sick of being a diluted version of myself in the hopes of gaining an ounce of respect. I was tired of being disregarded. IknewLord Ansel. A thousand years could go by and I’d still recognize him.

“I was supposed to be retrieving you,” Lord Ansel cut in.

“Which you did not,” Xavian pointed out.

“What do you mean ‘retrieve me’?” I demanded.

“I saw you a year ago, when Xavian requested some counseling on his horrid Waywards dreams. Once I laid eyes on you, I sought to retrieve you.” Ansel shrugged, taking a healthy sip from his glass. “There was no need for you to be there. We've known this war would come, just like many of you were catching on in the Waywards. I willed you to look in the mirror, thanks to your bizarre dream bond, and I was able to find you after. It’s all simple, really.”

“Sounds confusing, actually,” Avan mumbled.

Arthur Pos clicked his tongue. “While I don’t know why the twin heirs have sporadic intertwined memories, we know the Dreamsouls are able to see those memories if they go intoyour dreams. So if I were you, Princess, I’d stop bickering and questioning unimportant matters, and start learning how to shield my mind for Fate’s sake.”

“Who the fuck was talking to you?” I yelled.