Page 26

Laurel

After the Golden King met the prophesied Princess of Thayaria, a deep uneasiness settled over him—Princess Laurel’s magic made him uncomfortable. Since she was so young, he pushed aside his worries, wanting to give her a chance to prove she wasn’t the monster he feared. King Mazus agreed to court her at her father the King of Thayaria’s insistence, both of them hoping he could help shape her into a force for good. Unfortunately, she revealed her vile magic and witch tendencies, and the Golden King was forced to launch a war on Thayaria to stop her.

The Witch Queen and Her Treachery

I tense at Hawthorne’s request, unsure why he’d want to speak with me without Fionn and Silene present. My gaze tracks to the two of them, hoping for a clue, but they look just as surprised as me. When I study Hawthorne, the intensity in his gaze makes me agree.

“Where we trained. We can go back there, though it will be cold, so bundle up,” I respond tersely. When he’s sufficiently bundled in both his and Fionn’s cloaks, I aerstep us back to the Spined Moors. The wind howls, and my magic can only ease it so much.

“How are you not fucking freezing ?” Hawthorne asks the moment we appear, practically growling the last two words.

“I can warm myself up with my magic,” I answer automatically, and that seems to startle him.

“But— how ? I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do that. What conduit could that possibly be connected to?” Another day, another secret I’ve revealed to him without even thinking.

“A witch never reveals her secrets.” My usual quip falls flat, but Hawthorne doesn’t press it as we sit on my favorite boulder. I will it to heat a bit to cut the worst of the biting cold for him, and he studies my face for what feels like an eternity. I’m about to ask him what he’s looking for, giving him one of the signature barbs we trade with one another, when he finally speaks.

“Laurel, I’d like to understand more about the declining thayar. I won’t reveal any of what you tell me, not even to Fionn and Silene.”

Tension rolls through my body, leaving my shoulders tight and my jaw aching with how tightly I clench it. Magic deep inside of me opens its eye, like it’s waiting to see what I’ll do, and the ground around us trembles. This time, I’m not sure if it’s me or something else that causes the quake. I wasn’t expecting this, and there’s no way I’m going to discuss it with him. I open my mouth to tell him to mind his own business, but he cuts me off.

“Before you say no,” he continues, voice serious and commanding, “let me remind you that Velmara is now paying twenty percent more for our thayar imports, besides buying what I can now deduce is your entire supply. Not only that, you’ve abandoned your wheat agreement with Delsar and now source your entire country’s grain from Velmara, a deal that’s contingent on you being able to continue supplying thayar. You’re in a precarious situation with trade here.” Is he threatening me? There are very few plants to call on here, so I gather the mist, ready to choke him to remind him who he’s dealing with.

“How dare you threaten me,” I hiss. His demeanor stays calm as he holds his hands up, placating.

“I want to understand so that I can help you, Laurel. This problem isn’t going away without some pretty impressive political maneuvering, and even then, it’s unlikely you’ll fool my father. Let me be a real ally to you. Please. ”

“Even if you want to be my ally, even if you have the best intentions of keeping my secrets, the moment you go back to Thayaria your father could compel you to reveal everything you’ve learned with the aether-voice.” How can he not see the precarious situation I’m in here?

He only smirks. “First, my father cannot compel me, actually. Not without iron to weaken me. I’m stronger than him, remember?” That shouldn’t send desire shooting down to my core, but I’m past the point of worrying about what my reactions to Hawthorne Vicant should be. “And second, I think we both know Fionn, Silene, and I won’t be leaving Thayaria without a solution to that problem.” His eyes burn with understanding. At least he realizes I can’t allow them to leave without certainty that Mazus won’t be able to get information out of them. I may not be plotting to kill them anymore, but they won’t be leaving Thayaria any time soon. It’s refreshing to not have to hide that anymore.

The tension and magic building within me deflate. My shoulders slump and I heave out a great sigh. I study him carefully, looking for any sign of deceit, but he meets my gaze with an open and vulnerable look. The same energy that has always passed between us ignites, but this time it feels tentative, like even the space between us knows that we’re at a critical juncture in our relationship.

Maybe it’s because Hawthorne has abandoned the flirty winks and grins. Maybe it’s the somber way he speaks, or the astute way he’s surmised precisely what keeps me awake most nights. Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted and still feeling the weight of my failure. Maybe it’s just because I’m no better than all the other females he’s used to earn his reputation. Whatever the reason, I lower my gaze and tell him the truth.

“It’s been declining for some time now. It took us—took me—too long to realize what was happening, and even longer to take it seriously. It was slow at first, but the last five years have been dramatic, and this year’s been the worst yet. What you saw in the tower is all that’s left of our harvest, and at least half of it we owe to Velmara. Normally we’d have a dozen towers like that one filled to the brim. People who used to rely on it, especially those in rural areas, no longer have any supply. Humans who bought objects spelled to work with thayar now have their farming equipment sitting useless. Small businesses who use thayar to add efficiency to their manufacturing are back to manual labor. It’s a complete disaster, and it’s why I’ve taken so long to do anything about the rebels. The people are scared and angry. I don’t blame them for joining the rebellion. They deserve better.” My voice cracks, the shame and anxiety from yesterday returning. I lock it down before I bring my eyes back up to meet Hawthorne’s. When our gazes meet, he sees more than I want him to.

The Prince considers my words carefully as he studies me. “Aethers, I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this, but I did say I wanted a real alliance.” I wait for him to continue, understanding the weight of sharing secrets. “My father’s been importing more and more thayar, as you know. In the capital, he’s spun a story that the Nivan Desert is expanding and getting more difficult to perform magic in, so more of our thayar imports are sent there. But the people in the desert are also receiving less and less of the good. The thayar shortage in Velmara is just as bad as it is in Thayaria.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Mazus has been doubling Velmara’s thayar imports every year for decades. And I know Velmara’s population hasn’t increased significantly, because we monitor that closely for our protection.

“Where’s it all going then?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper.

“The people of the desert whisper rumors that my father is stockpiling it deep in the northern mountains.”

“Do you believe these rumors?” My mind spins with the possibilities.

“I have to. There’s no other explanation for the disappearing shipments. One of my reasons for agreeing to come here, and for wanting an alliance with you, was to find out more about the flower. Understand its properties. I suspect my father’s planning something big with all that thayar, some massive magical act. But I don’t know what it is, and I fear for my people.”

“And why is that, Hawthorne?” I ask, my voice coming out harsher than I intend. But I need answers from him. Real answers. If we’re truly going to be allies, he needs to lay everything on the table. “Why do you fear your father? Why do you chafe at his rule, as you once said?” The male in front of me is an enigma. Everything about him confuses me, and this new version of him as a serious and caring ruler is the most confusing of all. It doesn’t match the rumors that describe a drunk and spoiled heir, doesn’t match the winking and unserious male he usually presents as. This is the male who sobbed while carrying a dead child to the forest to bury, who tenderly healed an injured family. I suspect this is the closest to the real Hawthorne I’ve ever gotten.

His jaw tightens, and I sense that he’s debating whether to share another deep truth with me. I stay quiet, knowing it has to be his decision. Finally, he lets out a sigh.

“You know that my mother died when I was twelve years old.” I only nod, allowing him room to continue in his own time. “Before she died, she discovered something about him. I don’t know what it was, I only know it was massive. It wasn’t until I was over a hundred years old that I found an old journal she kept, hidden inside one of my toy chests. My father packed away all the things he deemed childish after her death, along with anything that might remind me of her. Before she died, I barely interacted with my father, kept under her protection. Afterwards—let’s just say the transition to being under my father’s thumb was not an easy one. He was not a kind parent, to say the least. Because of that, I wasn’t bold enough to seek out my childhood relics until I was much older and my hatred of him was firmly settled in place.” His jaw tightens, and he puts his head in his hands. It cracks something open inside of me. The same thing that fissured when I saw him heal the family and carry the small child, but I was too wrapped up in my own hatred then to allow more than the tiniest fracture. Now, with my commitment to let him show me who he really is, it opens wide.

“I think she left the journal for me,” he finally continues. “In it, she said—she said that if anything happened to her, it would be because Mazus had stopped her heart. I think he killed her. I know he killed her. He brushed her death off as an accident as part of magical research they both willingly agreed to, but I don’t believe that for one second. Even at such a young age, I knew how much she hated him and feared his experimentation. And once I realized he killed her, all the lies he’d spun around himself unraveled.” I reach for him, placing my hand on his knee. It startles me, and I quickly pull my hand back. He stares at the spot I touched him for a moment, nostrils flaring.

“I’m sorry, Hawthorne.” The words sound hollow compared to his raw grief and vulnerability. I wish I were better at this, but I’ve had to lock so much of myself away for so long that I fear I’m not capable of true empathy.

“You should call me Thorne,” he says with one of his charming winks, changing the mood instantly. I suspect he too does not like to sit in his past for very long. “You know my biggest secret, all my daddy problems . That elevates you to nickname status.”

I laugh, loudly and involuntarily, and his eyes storm with emotion. I’m drawn into the dark green orbs that once filled my worst nightmares, but now only bring comfort and a lust I don’t understand. He pulls my hand into his and gently strokes my palm with his thumb, and I don’t pull away, greedy for his touch. Suddenly, I’m speaking, the compulsion to share more of myself with him overwhelming me.

“Your father… he killed my parents too. He told everyone it was me, but it wasn’t. I was there when it happened. His magic was stronger than theirs. He used aether-voice to force them to impale themselves with their own plant magic while I watched. As I looked at their too still faces, sobbing and praying they weren’t truly gone, he bowed to me. Bowed. Like he hadn’t just up ended my entire world. He said, ‘I’ll see you again soon, Your Majesty Queen Laurel.’ The way his eyes looked when he rose from that bow, full of so much glee, still haunts me most nights. Then he disappeared and left me an adolescent orphan Queen. The first time anyone called me Your Majesty, something I had foolishly dreamed about growing up, and it was him. After he murdered my parents using the aether-voice.”

“Is that why you don’t use the aether-voice much?” he asks, and I’m not even surprised he’s noticed. I only nod as he continues to soothe my palm with soft circles.

Angry and desperate tears have gathered in my eyes, and I fight like hell to keep them from dropping. My throat burns with the effort. Then Hawthorne—Thorne—squeezes my hand, and I lose the battle. It’s the smallest gesture, but now I’m crying openly, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. I haven’t cried in front of another person in at least a century. He rubs my back, and I laugh at the absurdity of the situation, the noise half sob and half barking madness. He probably thinks I’ve completely lost my mind. I wipe away the tears, ready to explain that I just can’t get over the irony of it all. To tell him I’m not insane. But then he surprises me by breaking out into his own deep laughter. It starts as a low chuckle but quickly turns into gasping belly laughs that only escalate my own outbursts.

“Why are we laughing?” he chokes out.

“I don’t really know, Thorne, ” I say through my giggles, the use of his nickname sending me into another fit. He squeezes my hand again. “I think it’s the only thing we can do. After everything, all the secrets and animosity between our countries, what we’ve both dealt with. The fact that we’re here—in the most isolated and abandoned part of the entire Four Kingdoms—talking about all of this and freezing our asses off. The only thing left to do is laugh.”

That makes him laugh even harder, and we’re both in stitches. He keeps my hand in his the entire time, and I have no desire to stop touching him. I scoot closer, and he leans into me. I feel his magic like a sixth sense, calling to my own, and for once I let the door I usually keep firmly closed on my magical center crack open the smallest bit. That same spark I’ve felt between us so many times, that I’ve consistently ignored, flares. It’s electrifying, and I want to rip open the door and let everything inside of me burst out to meet him. I’m breathless, and not from all the laughter. I revel in the feeling for a few minutes before I slowly close the door up, locking away my magic with the practiced control I’ve honed over centuries. All the while, we continue laughing.

“Laurel,” he breathes out, and I practically shiver at the way his husky voice says my name. “You—I—” His expression heats.

“Spit it out, princeling,” I tease, thinking he’s going to give me some flirty remark that I’ll have to meet with one of my own. But that’s not what comes out of his mouth.

“Tell me you feel whatever this is between us. Tell me—tell me I’m not crazy.”

Those two sentences dump ice water on whatever this moment was. I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react. And that makes me close up again. Of course I feel it. The moment I saw him in that throne room, standing there like a chiseled god of light, I felt an attraction to him. After seeing how he helped heal my people with such compassion, it turned into more . Every time we’ve traded flirty barbs or longing stares, I’ve felt something. But I could pretend it wasn’t real, pretend that at some point I would get rid of him and never have to confront my feelings. I locked them away, sealed shut with everything else I’ve buried for three hundred years. I just barely acknowledged to myself that I’m willing to give him a real chance to be an ally, and now this? Despite the growing trust between us and my realization that not only do I not want to kill him, but I might actually want the alliance he’s proposed—he’s still Velmaran. Still Mazus’s son . Not only that, but he’s engaged, for aethers-sake. And that makes me angry. I like Silene, and I won’t hurt her in this way, even if her fiancé seems more than happy to. Remembering her coming out of his room, the heat fully ices over. How dare he speak to me of what’s between us while he’s sharing his bed with another female? That isn’t fair to me, and it isn’t fair to Silene.

I pull my hand from his, instantly missing the warmth, but refusing to let myself care.

“You’re engaged.” The words are all I manage to get out, and they come out more like a question than the reprimand I wanted them to be.

“What? Engaged? No—I mean, yes, I am—but it’s not—we’re not—” He sputters out his excuse, clearly believing me to be the kind of female who wouldn’t care about his commitments. I’ve called him out on his bullshit and now he doesn’t know what to say.

“And there he is, the Shining Prince I’ve heard so much about,” I hiss. He shudders like I’ve physically struck him, and despite my best efforts, I cringe at the effect my words have.

“Laurel, listen.” He takes my hand firmly in his, like it’s a lifeline. “Silene and I are engaged, technically, but our parents forced it upon us. Neither of us has any interest in marriage to the other. We both agreed that we’d play pretend for a few years to let the dust settle before we refused the match, but it’s all an act. There’s nothing but a sibling-like love for one another between us.” He squeezes my hand, but I pull it away, unsure what to believe.

It’s too convenient a story. And even if that’s what he feels, how do I know his feelings match Silene’s? She’s so young and could be infatuated with him. She could be pretending to pretend, hoping that one day he’ll realize his true feelings for her. Even if she truly has no interest in him romantically, she’ll be the Queen of Velmara someday. That kind of power and influence is not something to give up lightly. I may have seen a different side of Thorne today, may have enjoyed our laughter and touches and companionship, but there’s a reason he has a reputation for being a flirt, and I would do well to protect my heart and my kingdom from him. Aethers , I’ve seen him flirting with most of my advisors. How can I even trust anything I feel is real and not something every person who meets him feels?

I slip on the mask of Queen again, my constant protection from the world. “We can’t pursue this.” It’s the closest I’ll come to admitting my feelings. “For so many reasons, not least of which is you’re the Crown Prince of Velmara. Even if the history between our kingdoms didn’t exist, you have a throne to inherit and a kingdom to rule, and I have my own. We’re allies. That’s it.” I want the words to come out firm and harsh, but they don’t. They sound kind and yearning, and I curse my stupid feelings and my inability keep Thorne at a distance.

He stares at me for a moment, and I think I see pain flash through his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly. His rakish grin returns. “As you wish, witchling.” A wink tells me he’s back to being the Hawthorne I usually see.

“We should discuss what to do next,” I say, trying to change the topic.

“Yes, what should we do next now that we both know each other’s deepest, darkest secrets and you’ve finally admitted we’re allies?” The flirty prince has returned.

I roll my eyes, relieved we’ve both slipped back into the roles we’re comfortable in, though I have to bury my hurt that he let the feelings and heat between us go so quickly. I’m nothing more than an attempted conquest, and with the rejection, he’s moved on as if nothing were different between us. I shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t expect anything different, especially since I’m the one who said no. But the female inside of me, the person who isn’t a Queen and isn’t the most powerful fae alive and doesn’t have the weight of the world and a prophecy on her shoulders… That person wishes it could be more. Despite my hurt, this is for the best. His reaction—and my own—only prove that exploring anything between us would be dangerous for Thayaria and for me. I move the conversation forward quickly, hoping to put all of this behind us.

“I mean about the rebels. I want you to convince them to attack the palace, attack me, instead of the people of Thayaria. Tell them there are stores of thayar in the palace if you have to. I will not—cannot—have them attacking innocent citizens again. I’ll set myself as bait.” If the leader of the rebellion has once again clawed his way out of my grasp, the only acceptable outcome is for me to bear the consequences. I will allow no one else to pay for my mistakes.

Thorne stiffens. “Laurel,” he protests, but I cut him off.

“You have only seen a fraction of my power, Hawthorne.” Again, I think I see hurt flash through his features at my return to his given name, but I ignore it. “I’m more than capable of defending myself. They won’t harm me, but I need them to think they can. We can make up vulnerabilities I have that you’ve discovered. We’ll do whatever we need to do to keep their attention on me.”

He only nods, though his expression stays wary as he looks down at me. “I’ll do what I can. Their leader—Krantz is his name—something is off about him. He gives me a bad feeling. But I’ll come up with a way to persuade him. We’re allies, after all.” Another wink, another sign he’s put the conversation about feelings behind us, where it belongs.

“Thank you. The identity and name of their leader is more than Nemesia’s and Carex’s networks of spies have uncovered. And we have a stronghold. This is information we can work with.”

“What I don’t understand is why don’t you just aerstep to Oakton now and wipe them out? You could stop this rebellion before more attacks happen.”

It pains me to admit that I’ve thought about that very plan. “I considered it. But while the leaders of the rebellion may be corrupt, many of the people who have joined them are just scared citizens. The rebellion has offered them hope. If I kill the dozens or hundreds who are in Oakton, more will rise with even more hatred in their hearts. My actions would only make them more dangerous.” He nods, and I continue, words—deeply buried truths—leaving my mouth unbidden. “But even more deadly than an ignited and hateful rebellion is a version of me who has crossed that line. I’m in a constant state of fear of who I could become if I truly let myself enact retribution.” I wring my hands, unsure why I’m telling him this. “This much power… it weighs on you. I don’t want to become the villain your father has painted me to be, no matter how much I might lean into that persona at times.” What I don’t admit, not yet, is that I also don’t know how much magic is too much for me to yield without impacting Thayaria. If I slip and overdo it, the consequences could be catastrophic.

I lower my eyes, but Thorne puts his finger under my chin and pulls my gaze to his. I get lost in the verdant pools that stare back at me.

“Laurel, you are the most conscientious and caring monarch I’ve ever met. Granted, I’ve only met you and my father, but still.” He grins, and my stomach flips low in my gut. I chastise myself. Thorne releases me and steps back, a seriousness coming over him again. “If you insist on this plan to make yourself bait, at least let me keep training you. Light is a powerful magic the rebels won’t have. It can help you defend yourself without resorting to just… poofing the weapons and people around you.”

I snort. “Poofing?”

“Yes, poofing. ” He draws out the word and flings his hand around in the air. “What you did yesterday and during the last attack. You make things disappear, which I still want to know about, by the way. And don’t pretend like you didn’t consider just poofing the rebels in that room when you first got there. You have brute force, but I can teach you finesse. ” His eyes sparkle with innuendo. I have so many retorts to his words, but I bury them, resolved to stop flirting and finally, truly, bury the connection between us.

“Fine,” I say instead. “We can keep training. But you have to keep practicing using your two conduits in tandem.” He salutes me to show his agreement, and I laugh again. He stands and holds his hand out to me.

“Shall we return to Fionn and Silene, who almost certainly believe we’ve killed each other by now?”

I nod, taking his hand before remembering the resolution I made seconds ago. Once I’m standing, I pull away quickly. Then I aerstep us back to their apartments, where Silene and Fionn still sit in their chairs, worry clearly written across their features.

“I’ll fill them in,” Thorne says to me. “You’ve had a long day. I can take it from here.”

I feel dismissed, like I’m not part of their inner circle. Of course you aren’t. But it still stings. As I turn to go, Thorne grabs my hand again. I still. “Training tomorrow, after breakfast?” he asks. I nod.

“Then you might as well join us for the meal itself.” My heart skips a beat, and I aerstep back to my rooms before they can see my reaction to the simple invitation. For the first time in a very long time, my rooms feel empty.

As I lie awake in bed hours later, my thoughts drift to Hawthorne. When I returned to my rooms, I took a long bath, then curled up by the fire with Lunaria’s head in my lap while I read a book, hoping to distract myself from thinking of the Prince. Once I got in bed, Lunaria stalked off to the open patio doors, preferring to prowl the palace at night, leaving me alone with nothing but the darkness and the memory of Hawthorne’s eyes boring into me.

I can’t stop thinking about him. His nickname. Thorne. His eyes—identical to Mazus’s eyes and yet so different. The feel of his hand stroking my palm. The dimple that appears when he smiles just right. The piece of black hair that can never stay put in place. The way he winks and jokes when he wants to lighten the mood. His jawline. The serious leader I met tonight.

Fuck. You have to stop thinking about him.

I run through my to-do list for tomorrow, hoping that will distract me. It only makes me remember his request to train. The way his biceps flex when he spars with his light flashes across my mind. I play our first training session over in my mind, remembering the ropes of light that had pulled my hands above my head. My mouth goes dry when the same image that flashed through my mind that day reappears. Hands tied above my head with Thorne’s light, pinning me in place. Him prowling toward me with the lust I see so often in his eyes. Letting go of my control and seeing what happens when that spark fully ignites…

My hand glides slowly down my stomach. I pull my chemise up to expose my upper thighs and the place between them. My other hand squeezes my breast as I picture Thorne’s light wrapping around my body, restraining me while he touches me, licks me, kisses me. I imagine the firm and tentative pressure I apply to my clit are his fingers, his tongue.

I’m instantly slick, and I increase the pressure, rubbing circles around that sensitive spot, switching direction every few rotations. I pinch my nipple, and a soft moan escapes me as I see him biting down on that rosy peak. His eyes haunt my vision, and they ignite with desire in my imagination.

I slip one finger inside, pumping in and out several times before running my fingers up and over the bud of nerves. My body clenches in anticipation. Thorne slowly slips my chemise strap down, kissing the nape of my neck and down my arm. I run my hands through his hair, and he moans. I moan in return.

His words and the deep way he says my name replay in my mind. Let me be a real ally to you. Tell me you feel whatever this is between us. Witchling. Laurel.

The pressure builds. I’m tracing circles hard and fast now, picturing Thorne pumping his own cock next to me. In my head, he enters me, and I reach the edge. My body is warm everywhere, pleasure creeping slowly through my limbs. I don’t stop, circling harder. I pinch my nipple again, bringing a biting sting to the sensitive peak. My hips lift, and I cry out as the wave of pleasure crests and washes over me.

I’m panting, thoughts still on Thorne. I roll over in my bed, curling up, and fall asleep instantly.