Page 28 of Nightingale (The Broken Kingdoms #1)
S ix days later, they found themselves at the start of the Blackleg Caverns. They weren’t the sort of tunnels that one had to venture into in order to exit the mountain range, thankfully, but it would be an entire day of trying to remain as quiet as possible. Of walking instead of riding since the fast-paced clop of horse hooves would alert the enormous arachnids of their presence. Cantering past might have given them the swifter advantage, but it also offered them death since the spiders were known for their alertness.
They didn’t see or even hear as well as they might have. But the Blacklegs could feel vibrations like no other, no matter how small or large the tremors were. Which meant that each step would need to be precise, as soft as possible, as they attempted to cross by without waking them.
Rian had been to war several times, visiting the camps and he knew the territory around those lands. But he’d never crossed through the mountains before, nor the Caverns. It was a straightforward and simple road, one that went in one end and led out the next, but there were dangerous perils along them that made it hard to leave in one piece. He couldn’t deny the pull of fear as they began their first stretch into the Blackleg area.
They just had to make it past and then they’d arrive at the frontlines. Over the Niroulian border.
Vrea was quiet beside him, and they’d agreed on exchanging no sentences until they made it out the other side. The horses seemed to sense their riders nervousness, tugging at the harnesses and trying to avoid entering the thin passageway at all.
Rian refused to lose his mount.
If something happened, he’d throw Vrea atop Kohl, swing up behind her and they’d ride like hell. He didn’t share that thought with her, nor would he. The stubborn female would probably decline it until her last breath. Which considering where they were, wasn’t out of the realm of the possibilities.
There was a small wooden sign that held a carved warning staked right before it all began. One that said to turn back.
One they blatantly ignored.
They were crossing the caverns, one way or another.
Vrea didn’t show a single sign of trepidation as she held her spine as tall as it would go and lifted her chin. He admired that part of her. The one that faced fear head on and didn’t let it bother her at all. He wondered if she’d boldly face down Death, if given the choice.
He hadn’t planned on touching her at all, not after his failed first attempt that left her smouldering more than an expired pile of charred ash and wood. But then he’d seen the subtle shifts in her body, the way her chest locked, her mouth parted and how her eyes turned from a grey-green to something heady, darker. Even the bridge of her crooked nose gained a red flush to it that signalled every neanderthal part of being a man.
He’d seen the way her pebbled breasts poked through her black jacket, the way she inhaled as he’d slowly caressed her cheek as a test. He wouldn’t do anything sexually that she didn’t want.
There was a line when it came to the things he wanted, and as of last night, he wanted her. Badly.
Rian wanted her before, when he’d caught her watching the not-so-hidden display of an intimate act on his brother’s night of the celebration. But at that point, it was nothing more than a tendril of curiosity, of seeing what Castil found so fascinating about her.
Everything, apparently.
Even he couldn’t deny that she held a certain appeal. She fought like a demon of death, with no hesitation until it came down to the matter of letting him live or not. He’d been blown back at the level of tenacity she’d shown at a moment’s notice, able to draw her daggers out and succeed.
Rian knew he should have expected it since she was the one who killed Theseus, but it was still something that he found himself thinking over regularly. No wonder their father had insisted on smashing her down before she could take them all out. He’d seen her siblings fight before, fought against them himself.
Teminos preferred daggers, like she did, but was often found with a short-handed spear that he whirled around like no other. The staff was made of metal itself, strong enough to not break under pressure and could stop a sword mid-swing. Eamin was a cold bastard who was fond of throwing knives and axes when he wasn’t nose-deep in his intricate poisons, using distance to his advantage with his perfect aim. He was the one to look out for before he found you.
Alpheus hardly stepped foot into the war camps anymore, but when he did, he was just as lethal as the rest of them. A two-handed sword was his preferred method of combat, one that many of the soldiers spoke of. His blade was a jagged thing, one that could cut through bone if needed.
Rian had never gone up against Alpheus and there was a pooling dread in his gut that told him if it ever happened, that the eldest heir of Niroula would be the one to walk out of that battle. He was legendary on the field, hence why he’d spent his earlier years effortlessly wiping out their numbers.
Rian hadn’t engaged in as much combat as his elder brothers and he was grateful for it, but there was an underwhelming requirement to prove himself in the same way that the rest of his family did. It didn’t matter that he was his father’s Golden Heir, or that he would unquestionably take up the throne once the King of Carylim either handed it down at long last, or was forced off.
The latter seemed more likely.
It was where his head was, even if his father boldly declared that he wanted Rian to rule next. He highly doubted that the male would remove himself for a good while longer. The Golden Heir in comparison to the Argent Prince that was Castil.
Whilst silence settled over them like a thick blanket and the mist in the air was heavy, it allowed him to think over the small details of everything that passed between him and the female at his left. The one who held her horse steady as they made it through the first fourth of the Blackleg Caverns. She didn’t glance at him, keeping her focus honed at the tiny other side that would spit them right out at Niroula’s war camps.
The Carylim ones halted right before the mountain range ended, allowing the other side to gain the entrance from the end. But the Blacklegs territory wasn’t much of a bragging right considering that it wasn’t an area that could be conquered unless someone managed to sneak into the tunnels themselves and wipe out every last one of the large arachnids.
Which was an impossible task.
There were thousands of webs along the walkway, and if Rian looked hard enough into them, he could make out the creamy, age-rotted bones left over from previous meals. The spiders usually devoured their prey whole, with acid that burned through the flesh and made it easier to eat entire bodies without issue. It was clear by the amount of dirt-flecked bones left behind that they spat the remains out, unable to fully consume those to the point where nothing was left.
It sent chills down his shoulders.
He hated spiders.
More than anything else.
He wasn’t particularly fond of snakes or anything that slithered either, but there was something about a creature with more than four long legs that bothered him severely. But they had to get by the Blacklegs in order to make it out without being stopped by his father’s men.
He would know that they were gone by now, which meant they were being followed. By who though, Rian didn’t know. There was no way that the King would allow them to vanish like that without a single word and not send someone after them.
Rian didn’t think it would be Regulus, since the male was easily distracted by a pretty face or anything with the correct parts, if he was being completely honest.
It wouldn’t be Brioc, either.
He knew his father better than to assume that he’d waste a squadron of sentries on something this mediocre as well, since the war effort was the first priority when it came to their resources.
Which meant one thing.
He’d sent Castil.
Fuck.
Rian mentally counted the days since their departure, thinking over the timeline and contemplating what his elder brother would do if he caught up to them. He wouldn’t kill Vrea, that was certain. But what had their father instructed him to do? Castil could kill him, as none of them were marked out of harm’s way. The King didn’t allow any heirs to not participate in the bloodbath, regardless of if he preferred one over the other.
Would Castil kill him?
He might if he ever found out that he had his fingers in Vrea before Castil did.
There was a gnawing bit of regret for his actions with her, mostly for the reason of his brother’s quiet affections for Vrea. He hadn’t intended on seducing her, or sleeping with her for that matter. Not previously. But now it was clear that she desired it and he couldn’t turn it down. Not when there was a sapling seed of interest for her in himself.
Rian wanted to see how she broke atop him, what noises she made when he moved inside of her, how she gripped him at the very end. He wanted to hear his name on her tongue again, even if it was a selfish reason.
She didn’t want Castil, she wanted him.