Page 18 of Return of the Darkness (The Lost Kingdom Saga #3)

Larelle

“ S hh!” Alvan hissed, grasping Larelle’s waist to silence their laughter.

“I stubbed my toe! I’d like to see you attempt being quiet through that!” Larelle whispered, sliding her hand into Alvan’s arm. As the dusky sky quickened to the deep blue of oceans, Larelle straightened on the steps of Tabheri Palace.

“You wouldn’t have hurt yourself had you kept your shoes on,” he chuckled.

“I couldn’t walk straight in the sand,” Larelle accepted his hand as Alvan led her up the stairs one step at a time.

“I think that’s the wine.”

“It was dark too!” Larelle exclaimed, tripping on the skirts of her dress.

“Maybe we should take a minute,” Alvan suggested before reaching their chambers.

Larelle hummed in agreement as he turned her back to face the palace walls.

The palace steps were much higher than those in her own castle, mainly because this one was built into the red canyon rock, offering a glimpse of the city rooftops over the boundary walls.

Alvan sat on the top step and tugged gently on Larelle’s waist, guiding her to sit on the step below, between his legs.

Larelle felt the coolness of the mosaic tiles through her thin silk gown, but the warmth of Alvan’s arms soon distracted her when he embraced her from behind.

With a content sigh, Alvan rested his chin on her head and she melted into his grasp.

His embrace felt natural now, and her heart-rate spiked with excitement rather than anxiety.

She no longer had to wonder what it meant.

Reaching up, she stroked the veins and fine hairs on his arms, paying particular attention to his biceps.

How had she never paid attention to how muscular he was before?

“What are you thinking about?” Alvan murmured into her hair. Larelle cleared her throat, fidgeting.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. Alvan pulled back slightly and freed one arm, keeping the other around Larelle, who continued tracing his skin. With his free hand, he reached up to tuck her curls behind her ear.

“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice hushed but close enough to tickle her neck with his breath. “It definitely sounds like your mind is preoccupied, or is it simply the wine again?” Alvan chuckled, threading his hands through her hair, twirling pieces around his finger as he did.

“Definitely the wine,” Larelle mumbled.

“You seem relaxed for the first time since the battle.”

“I spend every day worrying about someone or something. After Caligh left, it felt like I could breathe again, even for a moment. Instead of being a queen, I could just be myself before I must return to thinking of everyone else’s needs again.”

“You know you can always relax around me,” Alvan whispered, leaning to plant a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

“Allow me to remind you to breathe when you are doing too much.” His hand moved her hair aside, freeing her neck and back.

“Let me take away the world’s stresses when you are by my side each night.

” Larelle’s heart fluttered, her skin suddenly sensitive beneath his touch.

He moved his other arm from her grasp and trailed the back of his hand along hers before placing another kiss on her neck.

“Let me be your sanctuary.” Another distracting kiss followed.

Larelle tried to concentrate on the emerging stars in the sky rather than the twisting feeling of need within her—something she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

But she needed this distraction. She needed a moment to not think of all the responsibilities her crown now bore.

Alvan’s hand was gentle but commanding as he grazed her chest and cradled her neck, tilting her chin up, forcing her eyes to his.

“I will always worship you as a queen, but to me, you are just Larelle.” Alvan stroked her cheek, his expression serious.

“My Larelle.” He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Larelle soaked up Alvan’s words, believing every syllable.

She surrendered to the gentle caress of his kiss as he silently waited for permission to deepen it.

Larelle kissed him back with desperation, and finally, she let herself breathe.

His hand moved to the back of her neck, his firm grip making her squirm in anticipation.

“Let me worship you,” Alvan murmured. Twisting from his grip, Larelle faced him and knelt on the step below his, so his knees rested on either side of her hips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Alvan whispered, devouring her body with his eyes as his hands came up to grasp her hips and pull her closer.

“Where should I worship first?” Larelle opened her mouth, but no words escaped.

“Should I start with your curves, which cast a silhouette every night as you walk onto the terrace at sunset?” He tightened his hold on her hips before trailing them up her side.

Searching her eyes for permission, he brushed the side of her breast and gently grazed the thin silk clinging to her peaked nipples, betraying the calm she was trying to portray.

Larelle swallowed loudly. “Or maybe this is where I should worship you first?” Larelle clung to his shoulders as his hands travelled over her body.

She tilted her head back to grant greater access to her neck.

“Everywhere,” she finally whispered. Finally, Larelle surrendered to her wants as she moved to kiss him again, feeling everything she had wanted to since they reunited on the ocean floor.

Larelle had faced loss, war, and too many deaths to count.

Larelle would drown in Alvan every night until her last night on this earth.

Life was too short to not experience such happiness.

Someone cleared their throat at the palace entryway. Larelle immediately withdrew from Alvan, who rose and stood beside his queen, keeping a respectable distance. Larelle smoothed down her dress and straightened, a queen yet again.

“I apologise for the interruption, your Majesty,” said one guard she knew from outside her chambers, not quite meeting her eyes.

“There is no need to apologise. What can I do for you?” she asked in her regal tone.

“The princess is asking for you,” he said before turning to escort the pair. Larelle frowned. Zarya never needed her in the middle of the night.

***

“I apologise, Larelle. I tried to calm her so you could have your evening to pay your respects, but she asked for only you. I didn’t want to wake Olden; he’s been so tired lately,” Lillian stammered, tightening the robe around herself as Larelle entered the chamber.

Her friend’s blonde hair was dishevelled, having clearly been roused from sleep.

“It is perfectly fine, Lillian. Please, go back to sleep.” Larelle reassured her, approaching Zarya’s bed.

Her daughter hid beneath the silk sheets, prompting a shiver from Larelle as she moved closer.

The open balcony doors welcomed in the cool night breeze.

Alvan strode to the adjoining doors to their chamber while Larelle perched on Zarya’s bed.

A moment later, he wrapped a shawl around Larelle’s shoulders.

“I’ll be in our rooms,” he whispered, kissing Larelle’s forehead.

“No!” Zarya shouted from under the covers, having pulled the sheets all the way over her head. “Mr Alvan can stay.” Alvan said nothing else, but he pulled up a stool beside Larelle.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Larelle asked, reaching to pull the sheet from her daughter’s face.

“No!” Zarya shouted again before Larelle’s’ fingers grazed it. Zarya pulled it tighter around herself, and Larelle frowned. She removed her hand, abiding by her daughter’s request .

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“They don’t feel like nightmares,” Zarya mumbled. “They feel real.”

Larelle and Alvan exchanged a glance, frowning. “That’s why nightmares are so scary, because we cannot tell if they are real or not,” Larelle said gently.

“He said it was real,” Zarya mumbled. Larelle was still, and Alvan straightened, glancing around the room. The thought of a man speaking with her daughter at night made her heart sink and her hands clam up.

Larelle spoke seriously now as she asked, “Who said it was real, Zarya?”

“The man in my dream.” Larelle’s mind instantly went to Caligh, remembering the ease in which he controlled the minds of Caellum’s father and grandfather—an entire army. Larelle swallowed the bile in her throat.

“Was he a scary man?” Alvan asked. Zarya shook her head under the sheets, though it did little to ease her mother’s worry, especially as Caligh could appear in a different body, like that of a kind, frail old man.

“He knew my name. He said mumma knew him and that I could trust him,” Zarya said. Larelle narrowed her eyes, recalling Osiris’s assurances Zarya would find him.

“Did he have a name?” Alvan asked; his voice strained.

“I don’t know how to say it,” Zarya mumbled. “He was only there at the end. He told me not to be frightened.”

“If he wasn’t the scary part of the dream, what was?” asked Larelle, who no longer attempted to pry away the sheets. Instead, she gently rested her hand on Zarya’s trembling knee.

“Everything felt dead.” Larelle and Alvan frowned, waiting for Zarya to reveal more. “I was in our old house, and I stepped outside to find you and Mr Alvan, but everything had lost its colour.” Zarya sniffed, and Larelle squeezed her knee. “It was like there was no more happiness. ”

“Can you try to describe what it looked like, like we do when we’re telling bedtime stories?” Alvan asked. Zarya’s small head nodded beneath the sheets.

“There were no pink and blue buildings at The Bay. Everything was pale, like the colour of the sand when it’s dry.”

“Like the colour of the buildings when we stopped for bread in the Neutral City?” probed Alvan.

“Yes!” Zarya exclaimed. “The stone was really pale. I couldn’t tell which flowers were pink and which were purple. They were all an ugly brown.”

“What did the sky look like? Was it night-time?” Alvan’s question made Zarya pause.

“I don’t know if it was morning or night. The sky was brown.”

“Can you remember anything else?” asked Larelle.

“Everything was back to front. I kept getting lost trying to find you.” Zarya sniffed again.

“Were you scared because you couldn’t find us?” Alvan asked. “Was that the only reason?”

Zarya shook her head. “I was sitting on the wall where we used to get bread. I hoped you might find me there, but then two big black shadows shaped like people came from the sea and tried to walk to me. It looked like they were going to steal me.” Larelle frowned.

She hoped this was simply a nightmare, but the shadows sounded all too similar to Elisara’s, and potentially Osiris’s, though she was uncertain.

“That’s when that man Ossie came and got rid of the shadow people.

” Larelle stifled her laughter, envisioning Osiris’s face at Zarya’s nickname.

Alvan did not share her smile. His jaw clenched.

“It was nice of Ossie to save you.” Alvan tilted his head at Larelle, confused.

“He said mumma would need to get a message to him soon, and I had to find him there when she was ready.” Larelle was furious at Osiris for entering Zarya’s mind without her mother’s consent, especially after the effect Caligh had on Caellum’s father.

Surely, he must know any parent would worry about someone entering their child’s mind.

But she was also curious about how he had done so and grateful they could reach him if needed.

What was so significant about the location and how it appeared?

Had Zarya created it in her mind? Had Osiris?

She liked to hope Osiris would have made the setting more comfortable for a six-year-old, but why would Zarya picture The Bay so changed?

“Did he say anything else?” Larelle probed. When Zarya lifted her hands under the sheet, Larelle knew she was wiping her eyes.

“He said I should trust my intu…inshuish…”

“Intuition?” Larelle asked, and her daughter nodded. Alvan leaned forward.

“Do you remember what she said before the battle?” he whispered. “She asked who was going to die, and then Kazaar…” Alvan trailed off as they realised Zarya had been right. Larelle shifted closer to her daughter.

“Zarya, sweetheart. Can you show mumma your eyes?” Larelle asked gently.

Zarya was slow as she reached up to push the sheet over her curls.

She kept her head down and eyes closed. “Zarya, please.” Larelle leaned forward, stroking Zarya’s hair.

Finally, her daughter looked up and her eyes were all too familiar, the midnight blue now glowing brightly with power.

“He said you’re running out of time.”