Page 12 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Riven

Melody fell asleep as soon as they entered the fae realms. Riven feels the familiar rush of magic in his veins at his return, his own magic singing at the reunion.

He has been away for too long.

The human world is a funny thing. Those weak little creatures that populate it, so tender and fragile without magic.

He looks down at the woman he carries in his arms. Her dark, long hair falls over her shoulders, covering most of her face, brushing his forearms. Her beautiful half-fae face glistens in the moonlight as they emerge from the waves and wade toward the shore to the stretch of neutral territory between the three kingdoms—Avandal in the north, the Emerald Forest bordering it, the range of those absurdly high trees and the mist that surrounds them visible in the distance.

The Kingdom of the Two Moons—Caryan’s kingdom—spans over the whole southern continent to Riven’s left.

Melody stirs slightly in his arms but doesn’t wake up. Riven finds it hard not to look at her. He’s never seen a human half-blood before, and he doubts any of them ever have, not even Caryan. But that is not the reason for his staring.

The girl, bound to Caryan’s fate through Kalleandara’s prophecy.

The girl they have been searching for since the day she was born .

The girl he’s been dreaming about for years.

When they finally found her last night and Caryan sent him after her, he had been so sure it was to kill her.

That Caryan ordered him to bring her to him instead…

Riven doesn’t allow himself to ponder the consequences of this. Not now. Not when the others are around, too easily picking up even the smallest shift in him. Their acute sense of hearing and smell are more often a nuisance than useful.

Not to mention Caryan himself. He will feel every emotion in him through the bond that connects them, all the more if he is close.

None of them can shield themselves from Caryan since they accepted the curse —the bond to Caryan. But if Caryan is distracted enough, he does not pay them too close attention.

So Riven shuts down his instincts for now and retreats to a dark and quiet place within himself. He can think about this later.

He looks back down at the girl in his arms, her weight not more than a tiny bird’s to his fae strength.

So strange to finally hold her. She looks exactly the way she looked in his dreams. When he found her in the woods, he couldn’t resist touching her.

A mistake. Because the effect of that touch shook him. An echo of it still sears the underside of his skin like a burn, as if it has been branded there. Maybe it is the rare kind of light she seems to emanate—a hint of the silvery blood flowing through her veins. The light of the moon and the stars, they whisper.

Melody, half-human, half-moon elf.

When Riven glances up, he finds Caryan looking at her too, his eyes still tinged red from Lyrian’s cowardly blood. It must have tasted rancid, like the rotten bastard’s soul, but Riven hasn’t had the nerve to ask. He hasn’t had the nerve to ask about Caryan’s rush of anger that rippled through the room when he had swallowed the first drop of Lyrian’s blood either.

What did he taste that made their leader release that feral growl?

It’s so rare to see Caryan angry. Rare to see him with any emotions at all. Through their bond to him, they sometimes feel what he feels, or at least a fragment of it. But back at Lyrian’s house, Riven felt a bolt of hate jolting through the bond right into him, as hot and searing as lightning. It was painful. Riven knew Kyrith and Ronin felt it too. No one would bring it up though.

Caryan looks away again as they walk on.

All of them are strangely quiet, save for Kyrith, who gave Riven a hard time when he took Melody’s hand for the jump off the cliff and who held her as soon as they hit the water, bracing her fall with his own body to spare her bruises. He’s been carrying her ever since.

What are you now? Her knight in shining armor? Carrying a mortal girl? Since when have we sunk so low?

Riven ignored Kyrith as he does most of the time. It is enough to feel Kyrith’s temper and moods through the bond. To answer them is more than he is willing to do. Kyrith is one of the most feared fae warriors of Palisandre. His power is impressive, and Riven has heard stories about the white-haired warrior and his cadre. Yet he wonders how his former comrades dealt with Kyrith without the constant wish to throw their commander off a cliff. And that was before Caryan brought him back to life on a battlefield and offered him a fresh start.

Kyrith had been an animal before, and it has only gotten worse.

He is a ruthless bastard.

Kyrith passes him now, glowering down at the girl. Riven finds his lip curling in a silent warning.

“You look like you’re going to fuck her as soon as we’re out of sight.”

Riven exposes even more of his fae canines which have now turned into vicious fangs since Caryan offered him the curse. Only the woman in his arms prevents him from trying to rip Kyrith’s throat out straight away.

Kyrith sees his chance and uses it. “Didn’t know you had a soft spot for mortal girls. That’s why you love to wander the human realms so much. A penchant for scum.”

“She is no mortal; she’s half-fae,” Riven replies coolly.

“Makes it all the more fun. They don’t break so easily.”

A growl comes out of Riven’s throat, one that no longer holds much civility. A face he so rarely shows these days, but one that reveals his deadly nature. A face he tries to avoid when looking in the mirror. Tries to forget. A face of black flames, burnt corpses, ashes, and ruins.

Riven is glad Melody is still sleeping, or she would be even more afraid of him than she already is.

“Try to touch her one more time, and I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine, Kyrith.”

“Now that sounds like fun.”

As if on cue, dark flames start to singe the tips of Kyrith’s white hair—demonic flames no water or ice could douse. Stench fills the air, followed by a sharp hiss from Kyrith’s throat.

“I’ll fucking kill you—”

“You needed a trim anyway, Kyrith. It really brings out your cheekbones, you know,” Riven purrs, but his voice is laced with silky menace. He meant every word he said—he would reduce Kyrith to dust without so much as batting an eye if Kyrith so much as looked at her the wrong way again.

“You—”

“Enough now.” Caryan’s voice ripples through them, a command humming in their blood they can’t ignore even if they want to, smothering the black flames in Riven’s veins and leashing Kyrith’s attempt at retribution.

Riven is glad for that. The Dark Lord is the only one who can put a lid on Kyrith, handle him. Riven knows that Caryan’s command to stop Kyrith from hitting the girl needles Kyrith, makes him hate her even more deeply than he already does.

Kyrith loves Caryan, more than the warrior has ever loved anyone else. Not in a romantic sense, but not the way all of them love each other like brothers either, even though the bond to Caryan is stronger than anything Riven himself has ever felt before. But Kyrith has never once in his life respected anyone. Not in his old life, when he served the king of Palisandre. But he looks up to Caryan with undiluted awe and respect. That he did something Caryan didn’t tolerate hurt him, Riven knows .

That is probably why, after a moment of silence, Riven says, calm again, “She is not her mother, Kyrith. You have to see that.”

“Her blood runs in the girl’s veins,” Kyrith blurts.

“She hardly knew her. She is not like her. She doesn’t deserve your hatred. She is a girl who grew up with that monster.”

“Like calls to like.”

“ She is not like us, you blanched, dimwitted brute,” Riven spits back. Why did he even try?

Kyrith hisses at that but says nothing more. Caryan doesn’t turn back to them, but Riven knows he has followed every word.

Riven glances toward Ronin, the red-haired former witcher, who’s as quiet as Caryan. Ronin’s eyes meet Riven’s, a silent communication confirming that he, too, felt Caryan’s strange surge of emotion in Lyrian’s house and doesn’t know what to make of it.

All talking stops when they eventually reach the border of Caryan’s kingdom. The two Trochetian horses, powerful and rare demons from another world that can take on any shape their owner desires—currently in the form of two black, sleek sports cars—are waiting where they left them days ago.

One door opens on a silent command, and Caryan gets in, as Ronin and Kyrith walk over to the other demon. Riven’s glad to ride with Caryan. He carefully puts Melody down on the backseat—the demon shifting slightly to create the space that hadn’t been there before to accommodate her too—before Riven gets in on the passenger seat.

He leans back and closes his eyes for a moment as the door seals shut.

He’s tired and he wonders whether Caryan is tired too. But when he glances at his king, Caryan looks as alert as ever. Riven exhales and closes his eyes again. It is a long ride back after a long night already.

When Riven opens his eyes the next time , the Fortress—as the citizens call the huge modern complex of concrete, glass, and magic, enthroned on top of a hill overlooking the town Niavara below—gleams in the darkness, as if alive from within. A beacon in the night for so many.

Home.

The word settles deep in Riven’s bones as he sits up in his seat. Every time he returns, he can’t help but think that this is the first real home he’s ever had. Khalix, the desert lands on a continent far west of Palisandre, never felt that way to him, although he grew up there. Not to even mention Palisandre. He certainly never felt as if he belonged there. But Niavara—the town, the Fortress, the whole continent, being at Caryan’s side—has become a part of him. And vice versa.

Sometimes it is hard to believe that only twenty years ago, before Caryan took over the whole deserted continent and declared it his kingdom, making Niavara the capital of the lands of the two moons, there’d been nothing but wasteland and elven ruins.

Niavara itself had been merely a few crumbling stones. Just another town that had been abandoned, its name long forgotten after the veils between the other worlds had started to tear, allowing all forms of dangerous creatures to seep in through the rips. The rumors claimed that all the city’s inhabitants fell victim to a raid of specters hundreds of years ago. Demons had feasted on their souls before they moved up to the fallen city Avander with its once-famous harbor, before the angels finally swept in to kill them.

Old stories of old times. Long before the angels became extinct themselves.

Riven clenches his teeth. They —his kind— had hunted the angels down, not thinking they might need their special talents once again because those rips became more and more as the balance of magic tipped further.

More monsters came in every year. Monsters that could easily kill high elves.

They arrive at the Fortress. Both demons shift into the shape that earned them their names—black horses with slick, leathery skin; sharp teeth; eerie red eyes; and taloned claws instead of hooves; long, dark tails swishing behind them—as soon as they climbed out.

Leaving the demons behind without another glance, Caryan starts to walk up the stairs, Kyrith and Ronin trailing behind. Riven follows last, Melody still in his arms .

Once in the throne room, Caryan pauses. “Leave her in the dungeon. And put on some iron handcuffs on her.”

Riven looks down at her. She looks so pale and thin, more like a ghost. “Is that necessary?”

Caryan turns to him at that, his eyes dark and depthless. Ronin and Kyrith both pause too, watching. Ronin’s amber eyes flash in a warning. Kyrith crosses his arms, waiting.

Barely anyone ever questions anything Caryan tells them. But Riven and Caryan’s bond is different, due to their time together at Gatilla’s court.

He pushes, “She is no fae, Caryan. Neither her heart nor her body is yet fae. She has never been in touch with magic.”

“You heard me.”

“She is still soaking wet,” Riven presses.

Caryan bares his teeth at him. A warning.

Kyrith grins before both he and Ronin walk away, probably to find some company for the night.

Riven nods once. He turns on his heels and walks out in the other direction, towards the dungeons. At the end of the hall, he pauses and says very quietly, “She is no threat yet. Give her some time to adapt.”

The words are barely audible, but he knows Caryan heard them by the sound of footsteps halting on the other side of the room.

They are still facing away from each other, at a distance of at least thirty yards. The conversation no more than a murmur.

Eventually, Caryan turns. “I do not care what she is other than my slave. Do it.” At that, iron handcuffs appear around her wrists, so tight they cut into her skin.

Riven sucks in a breath. Caryan stares him down, daring him to object, but Riven carries on toward the dungeon. Dumping her wet and cold like that in that icy cell, leaving her to Caryan’s mercy—it doesn’t feel good. But he has no choice.

A command is a command. Trying to fight it would mean his death.