Page 11 of The Never List (Never List #1)

Rylee

“How are you still in bed?” A sharp, feminine voice jolts me awake, accompanied by the jostle of curtains being drawn from the windows. Light spills into the room, and I shield my eyes, my brow pinching. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am.

The Choosing.

The kings and the Legends.

Kal’s kiss.

Fuck . My lips tingle with the memory, but the pleasure is quickly washed away by exhaustion. I slept a couple of hours at most.

“Up, up, up,” the woman barks, clapping her hands as she comes to my bedside. She’s striking in a simple pair of black pants and a gold top, her silver hair short and feathery above her ears. Her skin is smooth, barely a wrinkle in sight, but her eyes are aged like the kings’, which likely means she’s in the late stages of her life despite her slightly-over-fifty looks.

“It’s first light,” I groan but throw the blankets off of me anyway. She definitely doesn’t look like someone I should argue with.

She eyes me as I stand. “Goodness, child, did you sleep in your makeup?” She studies me with irritation. “This will take more time than we have.”

I hold up a finger as she brushes past me to strip the bedding and toss it in a pile across the room. “First off, it’s way too early to be barking at me. Second, who are you, and why are you worried about my makeup?”

She huffs and turns to face me. “It’s not early for a potential mate of the princes of Lumathyst,” she says. I can’t help but notice how she doesn’t refer to them as the Legends of Chaos and how she says princes with an air of endearment. “You’re expected to meet with Kal and travel to the Ruby Aire in less than two hours.”

“That’s more than enough time to get ready.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing dramatically. “I’m charged with—”

“Who are you?” I cut her off, repeating the question she neglected to answer.

“Mirren,” she says, her lips tight as she draws her palms together. “The princes assigned me to you.”

I open my mouth to ask more, but a younger woman wearing a similar outfit walks in carrying a tray of food. She sets it on the table, dips her head to me and then Mirren, and hurries out. Distracted, I cross to the food and inhale deeply.

“Thank goddess,” I say as I scoop up the mug of steaming coffee. I take a piping hot gulp, relishing the burn all the way down.

Mirren gives another little huff, resting her hands on her hips as she watches me. “How do you take it?” she asks, nodding toward the mug in my hand.

“Any way I can get it,” I say automatically, then tense. An Ari from Cedar and Silk would be privileged enough to have cream and sugar and honey. I had coffee mixed with chocolate one time, but that was ages ago and only thanks to Erin’s thieving. “I like it any way it’s prepared,” I try to clarify, and Mirren nods.

“Well,” she says, “at least that part is easy.” She motions to the tray of food—eggs, salted meat, fruit, and bread. It’s enough that if I were at home, I’d ration it throughout the day or offer some to the nearest starving worker. “Eat quickly. I’ll draw your bath and be ready to wash your hair when you’re done.”

I nearly spit out the coffee. “Wash my hair?”

Mirren sighs again. “If you repeat everything I say in the form of a question, this is going to be a very taxing relationship.”

I smile behind my mug. The woman has fire in her blood, and I have to admit, I like it.

“Did you not have a handmaiden in Cedar and Silk?” she asks, eyes curious. I sit at the table and shovel a bite of eggs into my mouth instead of answering. “I know not all ladies from that city do,” she continues, and my shoulders relax a little.

“I never had need of one,” I say truthfully. Even if I had the wealth of the kings, I wouldn’t force someone to work at my beck and call. I’ve been fending for myself way too long for that.

“Hmm,” she murmurs. “You have one now. The princes have trusted me to care for your needs while you journey throughout their cities and when you return here. I intend to do as they say.”

I take a few more bites, then glance up at her where she still stands. “Are you hungry?” I ask, waving toward the chair opposite me at the little table tucked near the balcony doors. “You can sit. There’s plenty to share—”

Mirren laughs, shaking her head. “I ate before the sun rose,” she says, reeling in her laughter. “And we will not share meals.”

“You dislike me that much?” I ask. “You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t like or dislike you,” she says, deadpan. “It wouldn’t be acceptable to dine with a potential.”

“Sounds like a ridiculous social standard,” I say. I swallow the last bite I can manage while Mirren continues to gape at me like I’m a creature she’s never seen before. I push the half-eaten meal away and down the rest of the coffee before standing. “I can draw my own bath and wash my own hair,” I say.

“But I’m—”

“A true delight,” I cut her off as I head toward the bathing chamber. “But I have no need for you to wash me.”

“Is there something I can do for you?” she asks, a strain in her voice that says my dismissal is making her wildly uncomfortable. I wonder if the princes will punish her for not forcing my hand.

“Yes,” I say, an idea springing to mind. “When I’m done, I have questions about the past Choosings. Will you answer them?”

She shifts on her feet, clasping her hands together. “I’ll answer what I can.”

I nod, grateful. “Were you handmaiden to the previous potentials?”

She nods.

I smile. “Brilliant. I’ll need your help. I want to know what to expect.”

Mirren laughs. “I could tell you verbatim every detail of every previous potential’s experience, and you’d still not know what to expect. Every day is new and different, depending on the princes’ moods.” Her voice trails off, her lips forming a stiff line. “They aren’t predictable, and there is no formula to win them over,” she continues as she rearranges the dishes on my abandoned tray. “The sooner you learn that, the better.”

The oversize bath is lined with glass bottles in vivid greens and royal blues and golden ambers, all filled with luxurious scents I can’t begin to place. I grab a rose gold one at random, enjoying its crisp smell—like a summer breeze—and get to work. I’m tempted to stay in the hot bath all day, but Mirren fusses at me through the closed door far too soon.

I hurry to dry myself, working the strands of my hair into a half-up, half-down style. I’ve never been more grateful than when I realize that one of the perks of being a potential is access to makeup as I settle myself at the crystal vanity in the bathing chamber. All the shades match my skin tone, and there is a rainbow variety of eye makeup, enough to last me two lifetimes.

I shake my head at the excess but hurry to cover up the mark on the back of my neck. I’ll have to keep a compact of cover-up with me at all times and never wear my hair up if I don’t want the mark discovered. The Legends would instantly recognize it if they saw it.

I swallow down the fear, focusing on my eyes. I’ve never done my own makeup. Whenever I’ve worn it before, Layce or Ivy did it for me, but I have to look like I know what I’m doing or Mirren will question why I didn’t allow her to do it for me. I settle for a neutral tone on my eyes—a simple shimmery white mixed with the slightest hint of cobalt at the corners of my lids that makes my blue eyes pop. After a quick brush of ink on my lashes, I close the gold silk robe around my body and step back into the room.

“Ready,” I declare as if I’ve won a medal.

Mirren stops tidying the room—the leftover breakfast trays and bedding are gone—and purses her lips at me. “Wearing a robe to the Ruby Aire would certainly make a statement,” she says.

“Did you just make a joke?” I ask, grinning.

She waves me off, scoffing for good measure before she points to the sitting area and takes a seat. “You have twenty minutes before you need to be clothed and ready for me to take you downstairs. Ask your questions, child.”

“Thank you,” I say, hurrying into the chair opposite her. “I’ve only seen illustrations of the previous potentials in the royal post,” I start. “Do you think physical appearance plays a role in being…pleasing to the princes?”

Mirren sits up so straight, I wonder if she’s comfortable at all. “The previous potentials have all been high nobles, except for one Ari, but even she maintained her appearance to the level of royalty. Proper clothes, proper manners. Those things matter when the people are scrutinizing their potential future queen. But,” she continues, “not one of them looked like the others. So no, I don’t think your goddess-given looks matter to the princes…they’re more concerned about substance, in my opinion.”

Good to know. I remember reading about the previous potentials, but only when spending time at Ivy’s. Ashlanders get select bits of information from the kings, and a full recount of the Choosing events isn’t one of them.

“The order of events,” I say. “The Choosing happens, and then I travel to each of the Legends’ cities. And it’s there I’ll be tested, right? By the kings? In what way?”

Mirren sighs. “Did you choose not to read about this in the previous royal posts?”

“Sometimes,” I lie.

“Some tests are simple—little trials set up by the kings to test you. I believe it’s their way of inserting themselves into the rules set forth by the goddesses.” She shrugs. “Sometimes they don’t test you at all. Sometimes they delight in creating situations curated to find out if you’re delicate or intelligent or deviant, and so on.”

“Mind games,” I whisper, nodding.

“Yes,” Mirren says. “Other tests…”

I swallow hard, a pit opening up in my stomach. “Other tests?”

She shrugs again. “The princes are known for protecting the citizens of their cities. They can do so in chaotic ways. Some tests are crafted to test your reactions to such…brutality.”

Dread slides over my skin. I’d read about one potential being badly wounded during such a test, but I assumed the story had been embellished for shock value. Another way for the kings to keep us living in fear. But if the discomfort on Mirren’s face is any indication, the story wasn’t an embellishment. Shit .

Will I be forced into a test that will make me fight for my life? Or will I be forced to dole out punishment right alongside the Legends?

I clear my throat. “How…how would the kings know if I passed any of these tests? Do the Legends relay the information or—”

“You truly haven’t been paying attention at all for the last six Choosings, have you?”

“I’ve had work to do,” I say, doing my best not to bite out the words.

“Clearly it wasn’t preparing to be a mate potential,” she says, shaking her head. “The Occuli,” she continues. “Surely you’ve heard of them?”

Every hair on my body stands on end as I recall the illustrations I’ve seen of Lumathyst’s ancient conjurers. They’re an elite group of magically inclined people who do all manner of things for the royals, using their magic to power a variety of materials that Ashlanders like me can barely fathom. Each Occuli varies in appearance save for one unnerving characteristic—their eyes are pitch-black, void of emotion. Beyond that defining quality, you could spot them in a crowd due to the dark-purple robes they wear, a symbol of their magical status and connection to the royals.

History says they’re from a forgotten kingdom but were welcomed by the goddesses when they traveled here. The most powerful among them now serve the kings as an unbiased band of scribes, entrusted to provide truthful accounts of the most important concerns to the people of Lumathyst in their daily royal posts.

They aren’t only terrifying because of their power, but because they have no stake in anything beyond relaying the facts.

“I’ve heard of them,” I say.

“Thank goddess,” she says. “The history of the Occuli is one I’d rather not rush through, and we’re running out of time. They will observe and report everything to the kings.”

“They’ll be following us,” I say, dread twisting my stomach.

“Only in public,” she assures me. “The princes long ago forbade the Occuli from entering any of their private residences. But they’re stealthy beings. Some can shift into shadows. Be on guard. Always.”

I silently thank her for the private warning.

“After the tests and the months spent with each Legend…if they deem me worthy, I’ll earn their tokens? Then at the final Choosing ceremony, I decide whether to choose them forever and go through the Athanry, where I submit myself to the goddesses to become immortal?”

She nods.

“I read that none have ever made it as far as the Athanry and that most left as soon as they could declare their rejection. The royal post never explained why.”

“Why does anyone reject another?” she asks. “Because they weren’t the right fit.”

The walls seem to press in around me. I doubt a lying Ashlander is the right fit for them, either.

“You don’t think it was the Legends forcing their hand?” I ask. “Telling the potentials not to choose them because they didn’t want a mate?”

Offense ripples over her features. “Absolutely not. The princes want a mate. Need one. But they need the right one. It is no small feat to love them all, especially when they’re so starkly different. And constantly being around that much power can be overwhelming. Only someone strong will be able to adapt and rise to their level. Someone fated. The goddesses ensured it when they forged the Choosing when the princes were young.”

Chills erupt over my skin. Goddess, she speaks of them in such a protective, almost motherly tone. She’s hopeful for them. For me to be the right one.

But I’m not. I’m a liar. A fake. Definitely not fated.

Guilt eats at my insides, but I shove it down. It’s lie or die. I won’t nobly sacrifice myself for their cause.

“None of the potentials have ever earned the princes’ tokens, right?” I ask.

“Correct.”

Worry makes my skin feel too tight. How will I ever win their trust if no one else has before?

“And regarding the nature of the Athanry, I’ve only heard the histories of when the kings were turned immortal,” I say. “Do you know what it will be like?”

Mirren’s eyes narrow, and something like respect flickers there for just a moment. “Already planning that far ahead? Are you so confident?”

“Not at all,” I answer honestly. “But I like to know what I’m walking into. Especially from someone as close to the events as you’ve been. Did the other potentials not ask these things?”

“This conversation is the longest I’ve had with a potential.”

I frown. “But you said you were their handmaiden—”

“Yes,” she cuts me off. “And normally, nobility doesn’t converse with servants.” Her eyes shimmer with something curious, and I swallow hard.

Already I’m not behaving like the others. Shit shit shit.

I take a breath, forcing myself to calm. The others failed. Perhaps being a little different will help me in the end. Being different…maybe that’s the key. Everything I know about the other potentials from Mirren and the stories I read paints them the same way—noblewomen, or women acting like royalty. Behaving like princesses born for the throne.

That’s not me, so it won’t be hard to stand out. I wasn’t born and raised to be a royal offering. I was bred to work and scrape and dig my way out of the Ashlands, so pretending to be a princess isn’t an option. And, if I’m being honest, I don’t think that’s what the princes need anyway.

They’re dubbed the Legends of Chaos for a reason. It’s already clear to me that they’re fiercely protective and loyal—nothing and no one can threaten the things they hold dear without swift punishment. Men like that don’t need a silent princess; they need a sharp warrior, someone who will fight by their side and not cower in fear when their darkness comes out to play.

I can be that. I can be different. I can be whatever they need me to be, in order to keep myself alive.

“The Athanry is dangerous,” Mirren says, finally answering my earlier question. “I wasn’t alive when the kings were turned, but I’ve…heard about it enough.” She shifts nervously. “The goddesses laid forth in their rules that the princes’ mate won’t gain any power beyond the responsibility of keeping them grounded to maintain the balance between the four. I believe they wanted one, singular mate for their sons because of the stories of the goddesses being pitted against each other too often when they shared power with their own mates…but that could be nothing but speculation and rumor. Either way, becoming immortal goes against nature. It breaks all the rules of our bodies and minds. The kings survived, but it wasn’t easy.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes I think that’s why the previous potentials have rejected the princes early. The minute they decide the princes or their shot at the throne isn’t worth their life, they leave. They take their rise in nobility status and leave .”

I swallow hard. “Do you think them cowards?”

“Not at all,” she says. “Survival is the most primal instinct. They were smart. Realizing they’d never survive the Athanry is a show of intelligence. But the princes need someone who is not only intelligent but strong, brave, and passionate. Someone who isn’t afraid to check them if they get out of line. That takes more than love. It takes courage and a level of understanding between mates that I’ve never seen in my long life.” She shrugs as if she doesn’t believe she’ll ever witness that kind of connection.

And I can’t blame her. The way she’s describing it… Goddess, what have I gotten myself into?

But I also can’t deny the intensity inside me, screaming just as strongly to play this game. To get to know these princes who I haven’t stopped thinking about since last night. A foolish intrigue, for certain—one of those dangerous cravings Ivy likes to playfully chide me about—but I’ve always been at the mercy of my own sense of adventure.

“Any other questions?” Mirren asks. “We only have ten minutes.”

Filled with a confidence in my plan that is likely foolish, I shake my head.

“Good,” she says, reaching in her pocket and pulling out a small glass vial. “Drink this.”

I take the offered vial and examine the clear liquid inside. “What is it?”

Her brow furrows. “Have you never taken the anti-fertility tonic before?”

“Not in this form,” I admit, hoping it doesn’t give me away. Ivy always gave me the tonic in tea form, using the spiny leaves from amber thistles that stop one from becoming pregnant, but that’s the way the poorer classes prepare it.

“It’s a concentrated dose,” Mirren explains. “It’ll last a month. I’ll give you another one at the end of your stay at the Ruby Aire. The princes want a mate, not an heir.”

I drink the tonic. I absolutely do not want to be linked to them that quickly in the form of a child. It tastes earthy, much like the tea Ivy makes, only much more potent.

“Good,” Mirren says, taking back the empty bottle.

The next step is to get dressed, but when I open the wardrobe doors, I’m overwhelmed by the amount of clothing inside. Dresses and pants and suits and blouses, leggings and tunics and shoes, all organized by color. I run my fingers over the luscious material, starting with the reds before trailing over the blues, greens, and finally blacks.

The colors of the Legends, hand tailored to make me as attractive to them as possible.

“Did the previous potentials wear the Legends’ colors when living with them?” I ask.

“Of course,” Mirren answers, eyeing me.

I grin a wicked smile, biting my lip, and pluck a sapphire outfit from the wardrobe.

“Oh, for goddesses’ sake,” Mirren says.

The lapis-colored pants pool around my feet and climb to just over my belly button. The top consists of a piece of tight fabric over my breasts and a sharply cut jacket covering my shoulders, leaving just a strip of my stomach bare. I grab a small, beaded bag that matches the outfit, placing a compact of cover-up and some red lip tint into it. After slipping on a pair of blue heels, I survey myself in the mirror, smiling at the overall effect.

Axl would love this. But I’m not going to Axl’s city today. I’m going to Kal’s, and he’ll be expecting me to wear red.

“What do you think?” I ask, smoothing my hands over the jacket.

Mirren releases what I’m quickly learning is her signature sigh, the weight of all of Lumathyst behind it. “You look like trouble,” she says.

I grin triumphantly.

“Why not the red?”

“I’d rather they know now,” I answer.

“Know what?”

“That I’ll never be what they expect.” I motion for Mirren to lead the way, clutching the small bag beneath my other arm.

Mirren laughs, high-pitched and sharp. “You’re something. I don’t know what yet, but definitely… something .”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say as she leads the way out of the room.

“I don’t know if you should,” she mutters under her breath, but I let it drop. “Your things will be delivered to your rooms at Kal’s estate while he takes you to the city,” she explains as we walk through the palace. She has to grip my arm and tug me along several times because I keep stopping to admire the art.

Regardless of how much I dislike the kings—especially Baydel, after his cruel little test —their taste in art is exquisite. Or perhaps they had nothing to do with selecting it and the credit lies in someone else’s hands. Either way, I’ve never seen anything like it.

Unless you count Erin’s art, which I do. She’s skilled with any kind of paint and canvas, whether it be a rock wall or a flat piece of wood. She made everything more beautiful in the small hut we called home, and she sometimes delighted in decorating the walls of crumbling buildings in the Ashlands, only for the enforcers to demand it be cleaned whenever they found it.

Her art could be on these walls. Could compete with the beautiful canvases in gilded frames. My heart aches. I need to play this game well. If I gain enough of their trust, maybe they can help me find her.

We turn a corner, and Mirren stops so fast, I nearly topple over her. Immediately, she gives a small bow, and I follow suit. “Your majesty,” she says, her words flustered as if she can’t catch her breath.

Jullian Erhart shifts a book in his hands, smiling down at her fondly. “Mirren,” he says with familiarity. “How many times do I have to ask you to call me Jullian?”

I rise from my bow, clamping my lips shut as I glance between them.

Mirren stands as well but keeps her head dipped. “How many times must I tell you that it’s improper?”

The king steps closer to her, lowering his voice. “Nothing is improper when it comes to you.”

Oh my goddess. Is Jullian Erhart flirting with Mirren? Is that a flushed smirk I see on her lips?

“Rylee,” he says, shifting his attention to me. “Did you sleep well?”

“Until she woke me up,” I say, and Mirren glares at me over her shoulder. I shrug, grinning at her.

He laughs, and the sound isn’t as deplorable as I would’ve imagined. Just like last night, he seems the most approachable king of the bunch. He eyes my blue outfit. “I thought you were accompanying Kal to the Ruby Aire today.”

“I am,” I say, folding my hands behind my back.

He looks at Mirren, who shakes her head in a don’t ask me kind of way. It’s cute, the little silent communication they have. I wonder how long Mirren has worked for the kings and their sons and make a mental note to ask her later.

The king studies me again, then releases a soft chuckle. “Clever,” he says, pointing the book at my outfit. “Very clever.” He smiles at Mirren, then me. “I hope you have a wonderful time with my son,” he says before striding past us.

Mirren releases a tight breath, and I nudge her with my elbow as we continue our journey. “What was that about?” I whisper.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” she says, chin tipped high, her stride determined until we reach a golden elevator.

“Oh, come on,” I say, keeping my voice low. “There was some serious chemistry happening there. Are you and the king—”

“Of course not.” Her tone is hushed. “He’s a king, mated to the goddess Neph. It would be—”

“Improper?” I tease, and she shoots me another glare as we wait for the elevator.

“That’s enough of that,” she says with finality, and I bite back my grin.

Jullian Erhart mated the goddess Neph, and she’s Kal’s mother. The same goddess whose gift runs through my blood. I wonder if that’s why I felt so safe with Kal, felt drawn to him? If that’s why his father is less abhorrent to me? He certainly was kind last night, even defying his own friend, and he clearly has affection for Mirren. If that is possible, then maybe all the kings aren’t as emotionless and entitled as I originally thought. Maybe there’s hope for change—

The elevator doors slide open, breaking my train of thought.

“I told you to handle it.” Baydel’s voice is harsh from inside the elevator. “And yet somehow it evades you.” He’s yelling at another man dressed in an elite enforcer uniform—black leather, golden vest, and a diamond-encrusted helmet covering his face. There is a number one emblazoned on the upper right shoulder of the uniform, identifying him as Baydel’s personal guard. “If you weren’t hand selected, I would have you thrown in the dungeons with all my best torturers to teach you a thing or two about failing me.”

My previous hopeful feelings turn to ash in my mouth. Baydel takes his eyes off his elite enforcer and steps out of the elevator. He ignores Mirren completely and stops before me. The enforcer follows him, silent and stoic with his duty.

“I thought that when I ran into you this morning, I told you to dress her for Kal,” Baydel says, visibly scrutinizing my outfit.

“Yes, your majesty,” Mirren answers, the fire leached from her voice.

“And yet you found this task unattainable?”

Acid sizzles in my blood.

“I—”

“I chose for myself,” I cut in over Mirren. “She is not responsible for what I wear or say. Ever.” I speak with as much power as I can. I don’t want my actions to reflect badly on her now or in the future. And knowing me? I’ll definitely get her in trouble if I don’t establish my independence now.

Baydel looks me up and down again, shaking his head with an air of disgust. “You won’t last a week,” he says. “Shame. But there are always more girls dying to take your place.”

“Thanks for the reminder, your majesty,” I say, bowing without taking my eyes off of him.

Unfiltered rage churns in his eyes as I step into the elevator, not waiting for a dismissal. It’s a bold move, one that will most certainly come back to haunt me later, but I don’t care. Baydel is on my shit list, and if I survive this and have the support of four powerful mates, too? He’ll be the first one to discover what it feels like to be humiliated.

Mirren hurries in behind me, and I let her push the button, not breaking Baydel’s gaze until the doors slide closed.

“Do you like dancing on the edge of death?” Mirren snaps at me in a low tone, a hand over her chest.

For some reason, the minute she asks the question, an image of Jax and me on the dance floor pops into my head. A slow smile spreads over my lips at the memory, at the way I’d felt in his arms. Jax was the personification of danger, and I did indeed like dancing on the edge with him.

But all his flirty interest vanished the second after he’d called my number. The second he’d sensed my secrets.

The doors slide open on the ground level of the palace, and Mirren leads me through an ornate entryway with golden marble floors and white pillars stretching high to an intricately painted ceiling. She shows me to the doors, stopping at the top of a long set of stairs descending to the palace grounds.

“Goddesses save us,” Mirren says after I’ve ignored her question.

I can see Kal at the bottom, waiting for us. I turn to look at Mirren.

“The goddesses haven’t saved anyone in a very long time,” I say before taking the first step.