Page 23

Chapter

Eighteen

M oonlight bleeds onto the unyielding frozen landscape encasing the forest floor, casting an ethereal glow.

Creatures twisted by shadows and mystery scuttle and skitter through the skeletal branches of towering trees looming around me like sentinels.

I shiver as I clutch the fur cloak tighter around my shoulders.

This untamed wintry prison holds its breath as I step forward, my boots breaking the silence with a crisp crunching that echoes like a warning through the perilous realm.

My fingertips brush over jagged icicles, their burn biting into my skin like malicious fangs as they whisper a stark warning: ice, like fire, is a silent predator.

It entices with promise of peace, yet coils around the heart, an intrusive embrace promising the sweet surrender of slumber.

“Rest now,” it tempts. “I am your refuge.” Yet rest eludes me as a storm brews within.

This world stands on the precipice of change, a new dawn yearning for the light, yet shrouded under the neglect of Idols who have long forsaken those who cling to their ancient stories.

My sister stands beside me, a steadfast ally, and with her, four knights sworn by honor, a dragon whose loyalty is as fierce as its flames, a mirror man reflecting the very essence of existence, a genie bound by hidden whims, and two capons that cluck and fuss like frail shadows of absurdity.

They rely on me to weave the strands of our fates together, yet the notion confounds me—am I truly glue?

No, I shatter instead, breaking apart the norms that seek to bind us.

Gwyneth, my blood, remains by me, a tether in a world fracturing at the seams, while the knights embrace the tempest I embody, basking in the disarray I create.

Suddenly, from the depths of a shadowy crevice, a fox bursts forth, its brilliant red fur a fiery beacon in the stark white wilderness.

It freezes, paw raised, and those obsidian eyes pierce through the darkness, locking onto mine with an intensity that quickens my pulse. The air thickens around us.

“Hi,” I breathe as my feet become stuck to the ground. “I’m Daphne.”

No answer. An awful bang splits the air, and a scream of terror follows.

The fox bounces off into the night. I spin in a circle, trying to locate the direction the increasingly loud scream comes from.

There. No, wait. I spin in the other direction.

Are there multiple screams? Another one joins, and another.

I clamp my chilly hands over my ears and sink to my knees.

They warn me of a coming future, one brought about by something I have done.

A shadowy figure appears a few feet in front of me, and Hart’s sneering face greets me.

I reach out my hand, but he shakes his head.

Something moves to my right. Theo? He folds his arms and glowers at me.

My head snaps to the left where Nash leans against a tree, a look of complete indifference gracing his handsome face. I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, Malachi is waiting. But instead of sunshine smiles and an easy laugh, he bears a coat of hatred. A sob catches in my throat.

Hart steps closer and words spill from his mouth.

“Upon a throne not yet her own, a princess walks, her fate unknown. Four hearts encircle, steadfast, true, yet love and loyalty fade from view.”

Theo steps closer and joins in the nonsense spilling from Hart’s lips.

“The laws of stone, she dares to break, but risk their trust, the path will quake. Should bonds unravel, swords may fall, and crownless she’ll stand, lost to all.”

Nash follows, puncturing another wound in my heart.

“To mend the cracks, she must take care, a heart to each, and burdens share. Four trials loom, their truths concealed, in love’s reflection, fate is sealed.”

The sob wrenches free as Malachi strides closer, accompanying his brothers as they circle me.

“For if she fails, the world shall see, her knights turned foes, her destiny. But if she leads with wisdom’s fire, a kingdom reborn, her heart’s desire.”

I shake my head at their proclamations. Why does this sound like they are leaving me? I reach out to touch Nash’s leg and prepare to beg him for forgiveness for whatever I have done to warrant this bitter hatred.

The moment my fingers touch his leg, he explodes into a million pieces of burning ash, the fiery embers swirling around me.

Boom, boom, boom. The knights all explode, leaving me alone in this world, and I only have myself to blame.

I didn’t heed the warning, and now those I love have paid the ultimate price, leaving me behind with betrayal stinging my soul.

I bury my head in my hands, hot salty tears spilling onto my palms as I release my grief.

The ground beneath me quakes, but I don’t care.

I want to be devoured by this world. It is more than I deserve.

“Daphne, wake up.”

Malachi can’t be here. I destroyed them all. It’s a cruel game enacted by the Idols I angered by foolishly daring to believe I had the power to change the world.

I curl tighter, trying to block out their taunting.

“Fuck. Calamity, wake up.”

A sting erupts down my scalp, familiar and heartbreaking. “Pretty mouse. Break the spell and come back to us.”

I shake my head. “You’ve won. Leave me alone,” I whisper in between sobs. “Let my heart break in peace.”

Pain explodes across my cheek. My eyes snap open and land on Hart’s furious green ones. He tilts his head. “You back with us, Calamity?”

I glance around, finding his brothers surrounding me on the sofa where I had curled up against Hart’s side. I must have fallen asleep.

“Yes,” I whisper as I try to shake off the remnants of the dream. I’ve never even seen or experienced snow. I have no clue why or how my mind conjured up such a drastically unfamiliar landscape from that which I’d grown up in.

Malachi flops down on the sofa and grabs my feet to pull me closer to him. “You want to talk about it?”

I shake my head and glance at my hands twisting in my lap.

“You were sobbing like your heart was breaking, Daphne,” Nash says gently as he sweeps my hair over my shoulder. I hiccup. I can’t speak the words they want to hear—voicing my dream gives it more substance. I’d rather it faded from memory, like most dreams do.

“Is there anything we can do?” Theo asks as he crouches down at the side of the sofa and gathers my hand in his. My vision flickers between the simmering ashes of their bodies and reality.

I shake my head again. “I’m okay. I just need a moment.”

“Good, because breakfast with our father is imminent,” Hart grumbles. “The sooner we get it over with, the better.”

Right, time to shake off the lingering melancholy and grab the diurnal by the horns. I jump to my feet and stretch my arms up. A good stretch always sets me up right for the diurnal.

Theo mutters a curse and Malachi whistles low.

I spin and cock a brow as my hands land on my bare hips. “What?” You would think they’d never seen a maiden stretch before.

“Clothes, pretty mouse,” Theo drawls. “Use them.”

“Please don’t,” Malachi begs as his gaze slides down my exposed skin.

Right, I neglected getting dressed for bed in favor of cuddling with Hart under the fur throw on the sofa.

I swore I was going to close my eyes for a tempo, but the lingering effects of the orgasm must have sent me into a heavy sleep.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen my body before,” I grumble.

Nash snatches the throw from the sofa. My gaze drops to Hart, who somehow put his breaches on. That’s hardly fair.

Nash wraps the fur around my shoulders, and the four of them stand, surrounding me. My spine straightens at the similarity to my dream.

“Game plan?” Malachi asks.

“Get the truth of our parentage out of Arthur,” Nash begins. “Assess what that means for the legend of Arthur and if it could help us navigate the rules to avoid Daphne and Theo dying.”

My gut clenches at the reminder of the threat at our throats.

“There’s a dress for you in my chambers,” Malachi says, pointing at the closed door to his room. “I can come along and help you.” He waggles his eyebrows.

I snort. “I can dress myself. Give me five tempos.” If he follows, we won’t be getting dressed.

I hurry into the chamber and close the door, leaning my back against it. The phantom chill from my dream persists, skittering down my spine, like I am straddling the real world and the imaginary one.

As we stride into the great hall, now absent of wannabe princesses with designs on my knights, I wonder if King Arthur ever leaves here, other than to bed a different female every evening.

If he moved his bed in here, I’m sure he could save himself the bother of the small journey, perhaps rutting into his special lady for the night while continuing to feast and lord over the kingdom.

Now that image is stuck inside my mind, and sadly, it’s better than my dream.

Arthur arches a bushy eyebrow at us as we take our seats across from him at the long table filled with a hundred different plates of food. My stomach gurgles in protest. It seems my gremlin isn’t enjoying the effects of my dream, either.

Malachi sits on one side of me, Hart on the other, and they work together to place items on the silver platter in front of me. I love everything they put on it, and it shows how closely they have been paying attention to my preferences. It warms something in my chest.

I pick up my fork and push a piece of pre-cut sausage around my plate. How ridiculous that they chopped the sausage to save Arthur the effort of doing it himself.

Arthur’s shrewd gaze doesn’t leave my face as I abandon the sausage in favor of the freshly squeezed orange juice. The tart taste feels good against my tongue, like it’s trying to wash away the heartbreak.

“I knew I recognised you,” Arthur finally drawls.

I glance at the few doors, noting the guards positioned at each one. Is that the norm? “We met last diurnal,” I answer without looking at him, my leg bouncing underneath the table.

“No, Daphne. You stole something that is rightfully mine,” he says, leaning forward in his chair.

“Oh, and what is that?” I answer, finally meeting his eyes. I know something he doesn’t. That sword was never his.

The knights have gone stiff around me. Malachi’s hand lands on my shaking thigh, gently squeezing it in a silent show of support. But if they jump in to my rescue, then it will only add weight to what Arthur is saying.

“My dagger, girl. Return it, and I’ll let you keep your pretty head.”

“Don’t threaten her,” Nash snaps.

Arthur points his butter knife at him. How sad that’s the only blade he’s worthy of. “Don’t think I am stupid enough to believe she did this on her own and for herself. You boys aren’t worthy, so you had to get a pathetic girl to steal it for you.”

My hand tightens around my goblet of juice. “Did you think me pathetic when you lay bleeding on your bed from a wound I inflicted?”

He laughs, the empty sound bouncing off the stone walls. “You have more balls than my sons. I will give you that. But the sword is not yours. You are interfering in a sacred storyline. Don’t anger the Idols, Daphne, you won’t like the consequences.”

I tilt my chin up and stare at the wannabe king, more and more sure of what I need to do. “No.”

He roars, and the knights jump to their feet, ready to defend me, but they came unarmed. Apparently, Arthur doesn’t allow weapons at the breakfast table. The king lurches over the table, sending plates of food spinning to the floor. That is the biggest tragedy at this moment—the wasted sausage.

The guards move fast, coming at the knights and distracting them from their father as he lifts his hand, preparing to stab me in the eye, if I’m predicting correctly from his trajectory.

I don’t move. But I watch the scene unfold in slow motion.

The color drains from Hart’s face as he realizes they have left me alone.

Silly knight. Alone doesn’t mean defenseless.

My chest thrums with power, and Excalibur materializes in front of me, glowing like the sun. Arthur’s butter knife hits the blade and turns to smoke before our eyes. His mouth drops, and he flinches back.

“You,” he whispers, his face paling.

“Me,” I confirm. The sword vibrates with joy at my claiming. I know, I did good. No need for theatrics.

He snaps his gaze to his sons, landing on Hart. “What are you waiting for? Your destiny is right in front of you. Take the sword, and claim your birthright.”

The guards freeze as the knights stop struggling and everyone holds their breath as Arthur goads Hart into taking the sword and dooming me.

Hart shrugs the two guards off him and folds his arms, leveling a look of complete hatred at the man who raised him.

“You take it from her,” Hart taunts. “You are worthy. I am not ready for the throne. It should be you who claims the sword from the Lady of the Lake. You’ve done it before, of course, so now shouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’ve done my time. I have ruled fair and true. Take the damn sword and claim what is rightfully yours,” Arthur stammers. His face gets redder by the second. Will it continue until he’s purple, then perhaps blue, encompassing all the pretty colors of a rainbow?

“Not happening,” Hart sneers.

Arthur looks around at the rest of the knights. “If Hart will not do it, one of you must.”

The knights shake their heads, and the confused guards release them, sensing the danger, at least physical, has passed, leaving them to ponder the actions of their king.

Whatever happens here will be whispered about throughout the kingdom.

This is the beginning of the end for Arthur.

He cannot command the sword in my hands, and the rumor mill will spread like wildfire that he is a pretender to the throne.

My lips kick up at the side. “Claim your sword, king.”

Nash moves closer and tilts his head at the pathetic king. “Let’s start again, shall we? With who you are and where our real father is.”

Arthur slides back into his chair and casts a look around the room. “Leave us,” he snaps to the guards. They take off running, hopefully to spread the word of what transpired this morning.

“I am your uncle.” Arthur sighs, defeat written in every line of his slumped body.

“And our father?” Malachi demands.

Arthur’s gaze lifts to him, sadness warring with anger, and I know everything is about to change. “Dead.