Page 3 of Son of the Drowned Empire

Chapter Three

M y vision swirled as I stumbled into the hallway of the Heir’s private wing, the night’s dying torches leaving dark shadows in my wake. My soturion cloak fell off my shoulders, and my hand braced against the wall before I crashed into it completely. My hands seemed to have doubled before my vision righted itself, and my head swam. A noblewoman from the party hung off my arm, giggling hysterically.

I started to laugh, too, watching her eyes light up. Watching Lady…um…Lady… I laughed harder. I definitely knew her name. I was sure of it. Or, at least, I was sure I had known it several hours ago. It started with an A.

Or was it a T?

My head was swimming. Too much mead. Too many hours at the party. Too many thoughts. Too many letters.

To my favorite friend in the north—also my only friend in the north (a fact that does not make you any less my favorite, by the way),

By the time you read this, most likely you’ll be back to your rigorous soturion training. And I’ll be dancing my heart out in the fields beyond Cresthaven, fresh off of having completed my Oath Ceremony, where I am sure I’ll become part of the most amazing kashonim with an apprentice who absolutely adores me.

Slender hands pulled me from the wall.

“Oh, no,” the noblewoman cooed, standing before me. “Your Grace, did you hurt your shoulder?” She stroked up the chest of my armor, flingers gliding across my collarbone. She had been wearing her hair down when I’d met her at the party, but after hours of drinking and dancing, she’d opted to pull her curls up into a ponytail. A fresh sheen of sweat on her face made her skin glow.

“Did I?” I asked. I hadn’t felt anything. Then again, my hands were slightly numbed between the alcohol I’d consumed and the tightening weight of my ropes all evening. Twisting my neck, I caught Bowen following close behind, his face tight with suspicion.

Of course. Now he was worried about me. Now he was concerned.

“Your Grace?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“Yessssss?” I said, waving a hand expectantly.

“Lord Rhyan?” His voice lowered.

“Bowen, if you have a question, please ask it. I’m not a fucking—” I bit my lip, stopping before I said mind reader. Vorakh. I lifted my hand in annoyance. “Well?”

He took a tentative step forward, something vulnerable in his eyes. “Are you all right, Your Grace? If you’d like to lie down, I can escort the lady back to her—”

“You’ll escort the lady nowhere,” I snapped. “I’m her escort tonight.” I waved my hand again, stepping protectively before her and only stumbling a little. “I’m escorting her to… escorting her to…” My mind went blank, but no matter. I was positively sure I had planned an excellent ending to my sentence.

“Your room,” she finished, her voice breathy, mouth close to my ear as she wrapped her arms around me from behind.

“Yes!” I shouted. “To my room.” To lie down…to lie…

“Your Grace,” Bowen said, the look of concern in his eyes seemed to have grown; at least, I thought it had. “Call out my name if you need me.”

The woman laughed, a seductive note in her voice.

“Believe me, Bowen. Your name won’t be the one that’s called out tonight.” I winked.

But I truly hope that you actually took this week between Academy sessions to relax and do that thing you always swear you’re going to do, though I know you’re lying through your teeth—or ink, as it were. Rhyan, for the love of all the Gods, please, tell me you had fun. I know you’re not a people person, and, yes, Glemarian parties are most likely somewhat boorish and cold, and, well, let’s face it, they are missing me as a guest, but I imagine they are still a good time—a better time than classes at the Academy—and most importantly, you should be going to them. Promise me? Swear? At least show your face.

I reached for the doorknob to my bedroom, swallowing roughly as I saw the ropes, black, glittering, and harsh against my pale skin. With a grunt, I turned the knob only to find it locked.

“Bowen! My door!”

He coughed. “Perhaps if his grace cannot find his own bedroom door, then perhaps his grace is far too inebriated to be bringing ladies to it.”

“I have found it! It’s just locked.”

Bowen sighed. “Your Grace may want to try opening his actual bedroom door. Which is not locked. It’s also the next one over. This is the escort’s suite.”

I laughed. “Of course. Because I’m an escort.”

Bowen glared. “I didn’t know you had taken on such an esteemed position for Lady Amalthea .”

I blinked. Lady Amalthea, right, that was her name. Lady Amalthea Oryyan, niece to the Glemarian Senator. Also, cousin to Thorin Oryyan. My pompous apprentice.

“You do not have to do this,” Bowen said quietly.

“And what would you know?” I hissed. “You never do this!”

Bowen’s nostrils flared, but he took a respectful step back.

“Come, Lord Rhyan.” Amalthea took my hand in hers, squeezing my palm, and led me down the hall to my actual bedroom door. “Is it this one, Your Grace?” she crooned.

At the contact, my throat went dry. I needed water. “This one.”

And have a glass of mead, come on, you know you want to.

As soon as you finish reading this letter—and take a moment to bask in the amazingness of knowing you have a friend like me who truly wants you to enjoy your life and be happy—write back and tell me some fun things you did. Regaling me with a funny party story would certainly fulfill my demands. Mainly because it would prove to me that you actually went to a party.

A loud cough pulled me back to the hallway outside my room. Bowen’s eyes were boring into me.

I swore, pulled open the door, and stepped inside. Amalthea followed close behind, her skirts brushing against my boots, her flowery perfume sweeping through my nostrils and changing the scent of my bedroom.

And yes, I do actually enjoy your stories of Artem and caring for the gryphons. How dare you accuse me of not! I happen to be interested in a great many things. Speaking of which, I hope Dario, Aiden, and Garrett are all well.

Hours earlier, Dario’s face had lit up brighter than the fireworks exploding in the night sky when I’d stepped onto the field. His dark curls had been braided back and threaded with tiny silver beads that glinted in the firelight. His arm had been around my shoulder instantly, his other hand shoving into mine a mug of mead, ice cold and spiced to perfection. Aiden and Garrett had cheered me on as I downed my cup. They cheered louder as I finished my second, screamed when I moved onto the third.

“Yes! Yes! Lord-Rhyan-fucking-Hart is back, my friends!” Dario had announced. “This man! This man is my best friend in the whole Godsdamned world!”

“And what are we?” yelled Aiden in mock anger.

“You’re fuck off!” Dario had shouted. “Because Rhyan’s out tonight! You know what that means! Party!” He held up his glass, urging more of the guests to join our circle. “Drink up! And keep your eyes on our Heir Apparent. No man is safe from his fists. No woman can resist this handsome face.” He’d squeezed my chin and planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek before shoving me off and running at Aiden and Garrett, locking his arms around their necks. “Jealous? Want me to kiss you, too?”

Aiden and Garrett had shared one look before turning on Dario and wrestling him to the ground as everyone cheered.

“Relax!” I called to them, unable to help my own grin from spreading as the mead had warmed me from the inside.

Lady Kenna, a friend of ours for years, had raised her glass to me and smiled. Her aura was warm and glowing, as bright as the yellow dress adorning her . Kenna was beautiful and kind—even if she was the daughter of our arkturion. But before we’d been able to speak, another noble had wrapped her arm around her shoulder, giggling and pulling her away. She waved to me before vanishing into the shadows.

Someone had handed me another drink. And another.

At some point, Lady Amalthea stepped into our circle. Her dark eyes found mine as she curled her finger around her hair. It had been red in the firelight. Fiery red.

Red…

Batavia red…

Flames crackled now from the torches in each corner of my room. Amalthea closed my door and slid the bolt into place. The lock dropped with a thud that echoed through the chambers. She leaned back against the frame, her chin tilted up, her back arched. The movement thrust her breasts forward until they were straining against her dress. The bodice was a traditional Glemarian green color, the neckline rising up to her collarbone, but the material was thin and… very tight.

I’ll write you more soon. It’s Auriel’s Feast Day today, and I’m busy preparing for my Revelation Ceremony. Now, I know dresses aren’t really your specialty, but trust me, the one I am wearing—it’s gorgeous! The most amazing shade of purple, exactly what I wanted. I’ll spare you the details of the many hours of shopping it took to find it. But I am so excited to show it off tonight. I mean, after the white robes come off and I have my stave in hand.

Feel free to include an extended paragraph on proper gryphon care in retribution for my tangent on dresses.

“Lord Rhyan,” Amalthea said, crooking her finger, beckoning me forward.

“What?” I asked, realizing I somehow ended up on my bed. For just a second, I’d blacked out.

My heart pounded. I couldn’t think straight at all. My room was spinning. I just wanted to lie down, to close my eyes.

Amalthea crossed the distance between us and stood before me, her dark eyes hooded with desire. She pushed my legs apart and stepped in between them, her hands on my shoulders. I caught another whiff of her perfume. Flowery. Pretty, but…

She leaned in, her mouth moving toward mine. Her lips were so close. So beautiful. So soft.

But wrong. Not the right shape. Not the shade of pink that haunted my dreams.

And her scent. That was wrong, too. Not sweet and musky. She wasn’t vanilla or lemony. She wasn’t…she wasn’t her.

I turned my head, narrowly avoiding the kiss. Before she could feel rejected, I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her down into my lap.

“Hi,” she said with a giggle, settling her weight on me.

“Hi,” I said.

The backs of my eyes were burning. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want her.

No one will wed their daughter to you if they don’t believe you’re capable of fucking her.

Amalthea wiggled against me.

“Your Grace,” she said sweetly, her fingers stroking up the back of my neck, causing tiny shivers to race down my spine.

My body responded, seemingly understanding what it was supposed to do even if my mind and heart were still grappling with it. I felt myself lengthen, strain against my tunic. The knowing smile on her face said she felt it, too.

“You,” I sucked in my breath, “you can call me Rhyan in here.”

“Rhyan,” she whispered. “I’ve been wanting to taste your lips all night.”

I fought the urge to be sick and the voices shouting in my mind that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t her . I didn’t care if this didn’t happen for me again. Being alone was so much better than this painful squeezing around my heart and stomach. This feeling of wrongness. This feeling of anything and anyone that wasn’t her, that wasn’t Lyriana Batavia.

“Then, taste them,” I said, my palm against her cheek, drawing her to me.

She is excited for tonight, too, of course. You haven’t asked about her in a while, not directly, at least. But, well, I figured that I owe you an update. The plan we discussed last summer in Bamaria, it’s in action. Your not-so-favorite lord, of the mixed colors of black and white, has finally made his romantic intentions known. She hasn’t come to tell me yet, but I expect she will soon—they’re together now. Officially.

I think this will be a good thing for her.

Could a heart shatter twice? Lyriana was with Lord-Tristan-fucking-Grey. His pompous ass was free to be with her, to talk to her, to hold her, to touch her, to kiss her, to… Fuck .

Jules had maintained Lyr’s privacy in every letter she’d written me. She’d guarded her secrets fiercely. I never received details. They weren’t mine to have nor mine to ask for. Not after the role I played. But she said enough. I could read between the lines. I knew after a small period of crying and hating me, she kissed someone else. And another someone else.

It stung every time. But I wanted the pain. I welcomed it. I wanted her to move on. Still, every time she moved farther away from me, I expected my heart to free itself from her hold. I expected my hope to die a little more. It never did.

Until tonight.

Amalthea’s tongue licked the seam of my lips, and with a soft moan, my mouth opened to hers. One second, we were kissing, feverish with a hunger I hadn’t known I possessed, a hunger that threatened to kill me if left unfed, a hunger I’d been dying from, that I’d been starving with for ages.

I still maintain what I said last summer—who I’d like to see her with. Who I’m rooting for. But for now, I want you to know that this is happening. Take care of yourself. Please?

I pulled Amalthea’s hair free from its ties, my fingers tangling in her curls before sliding down her neck and shoulders. The color was no longer lit by firelight, no longer red.

Not Batavia red.

It never had been.

Amalthea pushed me back onto the bed, straddling my hips and grinding down against me. Her hips circled, and I shuddered beneath her, my mind wandering back to solstice, to Lyr dancing, her perfectly executed hip circles, the sinuously intoxicating way her body had moved, her hips snaking side to side, her curves giving shape to her white dress. Her skin had shone, warm, soft, and golden, and I’d touched her, my hands roaming up her stomach to—

I also gave her a hug from you. It’s her birthday today—I’m not sure if you knew that. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her it was from you. I give her so many hugs, she can’t keep track. But I did. Be mad at me if you want.

Amalthea leaned forward, her breasts flattened against my armor, which she was now feverishly attempting to unbuckle as I rucked up the skirts of her dress, my fingers gliding across the bare skin of her legs.

As to your question from your last letter. I haven’t seen any Afeya in Bamaria. Just one ambassador at Court, but he was only here for a day—met with Arkturion Aemon and left. He came from the Night Lands near you. I continue to keep my eye on her. I always do.

It’s time now. I have to meet the rest of the Ka on the promenade.

Write back soon!

With love, from your wonderfully talented and amazing friend from the south, who is about to become a mage and wow everyone with her purple dress,

Jules

P.S. Yes! Anything is possible.

Maybe once upon a time, things had been possible, but I knew better. Possibility was just a poor man’s version of hope, and nothing was more dangerous than that. Hope was a frail thing, and frail things didn’t stand a chance under the weight of what this world had to offer. Under a world ruled by Imperators.

Amalthea moaned into my mouth, her hand pressing into the bed beside me. “What’s this?” She’d picked up a small folded parchment with a broken wax seal, the imprint of a gryphon cracked in half.

I slid the letter from her fingers and thew it on the floor. “It’s nothing.”

With a smile, Amalthea brought her lips back to mine.

Your grace,

I’m sorry. Your father’s men raided the stables after you left. It’s gone. I had to get rid of it—couldn’t keep it here. His Highness doesn’t want you helping anymore. For your sake, and for mine, please, don’t come back.

-Artem

The baby gryphon was dead. Of course, it was. Glemaria was the place where things went to die. The place where hope died. Everything I’d done today had been for nothing. Everything I’d done for the past year, for my whole fucking life, had been for nothing because everything I touched turned to shit.

They’re together now. Officially.

Amalthea sat back, tugging off my boots.

It’s gone. Please don’t come back.

She finished unhooking my armor, pulled it off my shoulders.

It was the niece of the Arkasva…Imperator Kormac had her arrested on the spot.

The metallic sound of my belt unbuckling rang in my ears.

No one will wed their daughter to you if they don’t believe you’re capable of fucking her.

She loosened the leather of my belt, sliding it from beneath my waist, and tossed it and my dagger on the ground.

Anything is possible.

My tunic was tugged off, my torso exposed.

They’re together now. Officially.

They’re together now. They’re together now…

All I could see was Lyriana last summer, offering Tristan her genuine beautiful smiles at dinner. All I could hear was Jules telling me how they’d been friends a long time, how he’d be a good match, and myself agreeing, asking Jules to encourage their courtship, to keep Lyr safe.

Amalthea dropped my tunic off the side of my bed. Sitting back up, she undulated over me as I grew harder beneath her. She slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders, tugging the material down until her pale breasts were revealed, her nipples pink and hard.

I stared, my heart beating fast, my head swimming.

“You can touch them,” Amalthea said. “If you want.”

They’re together now. Officially.

I sat up with a growl, pulling her closer, one hand squeezing her ass, the other on her breast, something unleashing inside of me. I’d been so deprived. So, alone. So, fucking starved of any touch that wasn’t cruel or harsh or hurtful. And Lyr had moved on. So, I had to move on.

Gods, she was warm, so soft. I’d forgotten, forgotten touches like this. Forgotten softness.

Her hand slipped beneath my short-pants, gripping me.

I tensed, panic suddenly tight in my belly, the sense of wrongness, a wave crashing over me. “Wait,” I said.

She frowned.

“I don’t… I don’t have any protection,” I said.

Amalthea’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Someone as handsome as you?”

What are you thinking?

That handsome wasn’t the right word for you. That you’re so fucking beautiful, I can’t walk away.

I don’t want you to walk away.

I won’t.

Stay.

I will.

The scent of Lyr felt fresh in my nose as if I’d traveled back in time, back to Bamaria, back to her arms. Vanilla. Musk. Lemon. The pistachio cookies I had that night, the spiced mead on my tongue, the warm Bamarian air hot on my arms and legs. The sense of home, of being safe. It was something I’d felt from being merely in her presence. Being near her.

They’re together now…

I squeezed Amalthea’s nipple between my fingers, my cock twitching as she arched against me.

“It’s… It’s been a while for me,” I admitted.

I want to kiss you. Can I?

Yes.

Amalthea nodded, her lips lifting to a seductive grin. “I know. Don’t worry. I’m prepared.” She reached down, gripping my waistband. A log shifted in my fireplace, the flames hissing as wind blew at my window. A gryphon screeched in the distance.

My head was spinning. My heart thundering. I was lying back again on my bed as Amalthea freed my cock.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t….

“Relax, Lord Rhyan.” She worked the head, and my hips rose involuntarily. As I gripped my sheets with my fists, my eyes screwed shut. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

The sun streamed in through my windows. I groaned, opening my eyes. My head felt like it was going to split in two. I needed water. I needed… to puke. I sat up, only then realizing I was naked.

And I wasn’t alone. Lady Amalthea’s back was to me, the curve of her spine was bare against my sheets, my blanket falling off her hip. Flashes of the night returned to me as I raced for my bathing room.

Her mouth wrapping around me, sucking me in. Her sinking down on my length, rocking onto me. My fight to stay present, to remember who I was with, to forget whom I could never have, to banish the feeling that I’d never been enough for Lyriana and the doubt that I had ever meant anything to her in the first place. She hadn’t fought for me. She’d let me go. She’d moved on.

She had to. I’d encouraged her to.

My stomach felt like it was being torn apart as I heaved, again and again. By the time I’d finished, my stomach was completely empty, my bed was as well.

I sat down at my reading desk and pulled out a parchment.

Dear Lady Lyriana, I wrote, my hand shaking.

I stared at her name, at my writing, my thoughts racing. I needed to write to her. To tell her I was sorry. To tell her about my friendship with Jules. To tell her everything. How I felt. What I’d done. Then, I crumpled the paper. What could I possibly say one year later? What right did I have to say anything to her at all? It wasn’t my place. It was his now. And it was for the best. She was safer never hearing from me again.

I tore the parchment apart, threw the pieces into the fireplace, threw Jules’s final message in there as well, and then the dozen that had come before it, watching them all catch flame, my stomach writhing and twisting in pain until nothing remained but burnt embers.

I would survive this. I would forget. I would be strong. My will would prevail. My will would be stronger than my heart.

I made a fist, pressing it to my heart chest before flattening my palm. Then, I reached under my mattress for the one final reminder of all I had lost. All I had once felt: the golden sun leaf.

It went into the flames, the gold swallowed by the red fire licking and spitting as it burned.

“Your Grace?” Bowen knocked on the door. “Is everything all right?”

I didn’t respond. I tore off the sheets of my bed. They smelled like flowers. They smelled wrong . I threw them into the fire as well.

As the day was new and Lumerian gryphons filled the sky, their wings bronzed in the sunlight, I showered and pulled my tunic over my head, laced up my boots, strapped on my armor, and tightened the holsters for my dagger and sword at my waist.

I walked in silence to the Seating Room for Court. I stood tall on the dais. Lady Amalthea offered a lascivious smile as she took her seat in the back. Sweat beaded on the nape of my neck, my stomach twisting.

My father offered me one single nod of approval as my mother stared at the floor.

I’d done it. I kept her safe—just as I’d sworn I would. But I already knew, it wasn’t over. It would never be over. None of this would.

I’d thought I was growing stronger. I thought I’d had leverage. Power. But I was wrong. Every step I took forward, he took something else away.

He’d threaten her again. He’d force new promises from me, tear out more pieces of my soul—take whatever I had left.

And I was resigned to my fate. Because I had no choice. Not if I wanted to keep my oath. Not if I wanted to protect my mother.

My heart pounded, and Lady Amalthea whispered to a friend. Another noblewoman smiled at me, her eyes snaking down my body, and I watched my father take notice.

And then another noblewoman did the same.

And somewhere between the daily proceedings, the monotony of nobles stepping forward to announce news, the hours passing by as I listened to commoners coming to make legal cases, it happened.

My will had prevailed.

My heart stopped thundering.

It simply stopped.

And I wasn’t sure, if it would ever beat again.