Page 21 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Riven

Riven watches the whole scene, his teeth clenched so hard they hurt as Melody cowers on the floor in front of Caryan, scented with fear, her whole body shaking so violently she tries hard not to spill any of the elderberry wine as she pours it into glasses.

Something strangely possessive stirs in him. Along with it, the daemonic power slumbering in his veins opens its eyes.

It takes all his willpower not to get up and shove Kyrith’s face into the wall. Not to release a gust of shadowfire on him. Just because it isn’t his call to make, but Caryan’s. Yet, as that brazen bastard Kyrith has the nerve to bend down to her and touch her hair… it takes all of Riven’s self-control not to incinerate Kyrith with half a thought.

He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on this. He’s never been protective before, not in the way that keeping her safe feels more instinctive and not even remotely like a rational decision.

Last night, when she stood before him, looking at him with those eyes, wrapped only in a towel… when he almost kissed her neck…

He digs his fingernails so deep into the armrest his knuckles turn white, long, black talons threatening to take form.

Relief floods him as Caryan eventually puts Kyrith on the leash, chaining him through the invisible bond between them. A brutal yank in their very bones only they can feel, followed by an unmistakable rumble of power in Caryan’s growl that washes over the whole ballroom. A deadly, night-kissed flood that makes everyone draw in a sharp breath.

Kyrith chooses to ignore both. Stupid bastard.

Riven tries not to chuckle when Caryan shatters his hand and Kyrith bleats like a lamb.

But what follows afterward makes Riven’s throat dry out. Caryan doesn’t let her go. No. He orders her to step closer.

To crawl onto his lap. The words he whispers to her make the hair in Riven’s neck stand up.

Amuse me.

Melody shakes even harder, the smell of fear so clear it is palpable. Riven barely feels the touch of the woman above him, no matter how hard her lips and tongue and skilled hands try to steer his attention away from them and back to her.

He can’t block out what’s happening right in front of his eyes. Can’t block out Melody’s feverish heartbeat, or her smell.

Why is Caryan doing this? Riven knows he’s grandstanding—to show everyone here that Ciellara’s daughter is his slave and that he can—and will—make her serve in his bedroom if he wants to. A part of Riven understands the message it carries to the outside world—to show his people that the daughter of the woman who almost killed him is his property now.

That those days are over, once and for all.

But she is still a child. Traumatized by Lyrian, who did gods know what to her.

But he can’t stop it, can’t speak out against it. All he can do is watch.

It’s a new kind of torture.

He closes his eyes, trying hard to focus on the water nymph’s touches. He forces himself not to watch how Melody kneels over Caryan but to concentrate on the lap of the woman above him, her hips demanding his full attention as she grinds her body against his.

He isn’t in the mood, though. Not with this tension hanging between all of them, the air thick and charged with Caryan’s nightmarish power.

It’s only when he hears Caryan say coolly, “That’s enough. You can go now,” and then, “Get me a real woman,” that Riven allows himself to look across again, only to see Melody, ashen-faced, her eyes silver-lined as she hurries out of the room.

As if on cue, Sarynx saunters over, the blonde elf waiting for Caryan to rise, and the two of them disappear from the room. Eventually Riven lets himself feel again, succumbing to the revelry around him.

***

Later, the orgies are still going on in some dark corners; in others, people are already sleeping, hair ruffled and limbs entangled, when Riven finds himself once again venturing toward Caryan’s private rooms. He knocks and the door opens for him, Caryan’s magic obeying its ruler’s will.

He finds Sarynx sprawled naked on the couch, making no move to cover herself. If anything, triumph glitters in her cerulean eyes. Caryan stands in front of the huge window, wearing only trousers. The air still smells heavily of sex. A lot of sex.

Riven ignores the blonde elf, who loves nothing more than attention and power and undiluted admiration from men and hates Riven for the fact that he doesn’t lust after her the way Kyrith does.

He never has. He never will.

“Leave,” Caryan growls at Sarynx, and Riven likes the way she—who looks at everyone down her nose, except for Caryan himself—scrambles to her feet, collects her clothes, and slips out the door, not even taking the time to get dressed again. She rushes past Riven, not without throwing him a lethal glance. He would almost laugh if it wasn’t for the somber mood he could feel surrounding Caryan like a void, twin to his own since Melody stormed out of the room crying.

“I had the feeling you wanted to talk to me,” he says, helping himself to one more glass of vermilion wine before he approaches Caryan, watching the ever-shifting gold-and-black tattoo sliding like a snake over Caryan’s body. It’s made up of the runes and beautiful symbols that Ciellara tattooed there, which shift and rearrange themselves like a living creature, wandering over his body as they please—or so Riven suspects, although he’s never asked Caryan about it.

Sometimes he even has the feeling that the tattoo reacts to his presence, because, as soon as he nears, it always seems to draw closer to him, gliding to the place nearest to Riven’s body, which is currently on Caryan’s right side, the tattoo now stretching from Caryan’s neck down his right arm and right flank.

“Then your feeling betrayed you,” Caryan responds coolly after a heavy silence. “But since you’re already here, tell me whose idea it was to have her serving at the celebrations. Yours?”

Riven stills. “I’d never have put her in harm’s way. You know that.” Definitely not in such a tasteless manner. Definitely not after I swore that oath to her.

The oath—he meant every word. The moment he said it, it felt like the most natural thing to do. It was the only way to truly protect Melody from himself.

He would die for her. Would rather die than harm her—that’s what it meant.

That realization hits him somewhere deep in his bones. He pushes it away.

He has other problems.

They spent the whole last week combing through Caryan’s kingdom, tracking down the spies from Palisandre that had started to infiltrate the lands, coming in over the border to the Emerald Forest, where the wall of wards around Caryan’s kingdom is the weakest. Tracking down his own people and cruelly killing them—that’s what Riven has been doing the last few days.

Even more had come since the rumors spread that Caryan had found the girl from Kalleandara’s prophecy and brought her here.

They’d taken rotations, one high lord staying at the castle while the other three hunted down the spies, which was also unusual. Normally, Caryan sent them and didn’t go himself, but this time he did.

“Who then?” Caryan asks.

“It must have been Kyrith. I should have known. He’s hell-bent on giving Lara’s daughter a hard time, Caryan. I would have intervened, yet I thought it was your wish.”

“My wish?” Caryan’s head snaps to him too quickly, his eyes black as ebony, his voice suddenly full of barely restrained rage. Rage Riven so rarely sees in him. “Why would that be my wish?” Caryan snarls and a wave of dark, biting power pours over Riven like a deluge.

Riven grits his teeth. “I thought you might have decided to… make a statement.”

His words and tone are collected, not showing any of the rage he felt at that party when he saw Melody appear, even though he thought her long in bed, safely tucked away from all of this as he promised. He failed her, didn’t register that Kyrith had ordered her there, made her wear a dress like that, and paraded her in front of everyone to show that Ciellara’s daughter was here now. A slave. Caryan’s slave.

“A statement?”Caryan’s tone is like ice, his expression incredulous.

“To the right hand of the king of Palisandre.” Ciellara’s father . A snub to the whole of Palisandre. A provocation. A demonstration of power.

Caryan looks at him then, really looks at him for the very first time today, no doubt feeling Riven’s emotions. “You think I need to resort to such blatant methods? That I am so desperate for their attention?”

“I thought you did it to draw them out. To intimidate them. But how can I know what you are thinking, Caryan, when you don’t share any of your thoughts with me when it comes to the girl? Why not leave with her immediately and look for the relics?”

Caryan’s eyes flare in a warning . “My motivations are none of your concern. ”

“None of my concern? I’m your right hand. Palisandre is readying its army. Every week we catch more rogues at the border. You know that someone managed to slip through the wall of your wards, but we haven’t yet found him. Someone invaded your kingdom, Caryan! And we don’t know what the witches are going to do once they learn you’ve found the girl. And now everyone has seen her. So if they don’t know already, they will. It’s going to catalyze recent developments. Everyone will try to get her. And they won’t stop. We’re running out of time. So I’m asking you—what are you waiting for? Why not set out with her now and search for the relics?”

“You seem to have forgotten your place recently,” Caryan snaps, flashing his fangs.

Riven lifts his chin, although Caryan’s voice makes an intrinsic part of him want to lower his head in submission. “I’m asking you as your right hand, Caryan. Household chores as a slave can’t really be the position you had in mind for her. And you can’t just proceed as if there’s no threat.”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do—proceed as normal. And now this conversation is over.” Caryan turns on his heel, striding away.

Riven says, “Caryan—please. If you won’t talk to me as your right hand, then at least talk to me as your friend. Please don’t lock me out.”

Caryan pauses at the plea in his voice, turning back to him.

“Please,” Riven pushes, “tell me what you’re really waiting for. Why stall?”

“You said it yourself—someone infiltrated my kingdom. I felt them slipping through holes in the wards. I want to find them first and eliminate the threat.”

“But the longer we wait, the more time we’re giving everyone else to prepare an attack—” Riven counters.

Power rumbles through the room, crawling up the high walls. “Enough of this! I won’t expose her to danger after I searched for her for so long. I won’t have her leave the seclusion of the Fortress. I won’t allow anything to happen to her, do you hear me? ”

Riven stills at the unusual rage in Caryan’s voice. He’s never seen Caryan like this before. He nods once and the dark power slowly retreats, pulling back into Caryan.

Caryan is different; it’s not just his imagination. He’s more withdrawn than ever. More on edge than ever.

And it’s not just the rare, light blue in Caryan’s eyes, nor the blazing gold in them when Melody knelt over him, something Riven’s never seen before.

Or what just happened between them in that ballroom—Caryan and that girl, both so absorbed, forgetting the world. Something was going on between them that Riven felt in his blood. Only for Caryan to send her away moments later, using harsh words, as if he wanted to chase her off.

And that Caryan decided to wait, for her protection, instead of setting out for the relics…

“You got your answers, Riven. Now leave me,” Caryan orders, and all Riven can do is obey.