Page 43 of What Whispers in the Dark (Promises of the Marked)
J udging by the expressions worn by each member of the court, crowded in the confines of the throne room, this gathering was far from routine.
Rather a midday interruption to whatever pleasantries the privileged were enjoying.
And if she hadn’t scanned the grandeur the eve before at dinner, perhaps Alora would have marveled at the architecture.
But like any courtier or noble, she schooled her face into a look of boredom amongst the towering pillars and ceilings made of whitewashed wood and gold.
Didn’t so much as flicker her eyes to the chandeliers dripping with diamonds and twinkling under the faelights.
But that didn’t stop her from trailing her gaze along the crimson rugs, up the endless expanse of stairs, to the tribute waiting for her High Prince.
A black onyx dragon throne. Awaiting its master. One even more deadly than the sharpened teeth of its muzzle, open to spit out its flames on anyone who so much as looked at it wrong.
She almost wished it did. Almost wished Garrik was there at that moment to command it to do so as if the thing could come to life at his simple whim.
After all, this kingdom— no. This castle and all the nobles within it deserved it after what she’d learned in the library.
After knowing of the king’s vile Hunt … and what he did to faeries for the sake of depraved entertainment.
From below that perch, a wicked frown etched lines into the weathered face of Kadamar’s king.
Atop that bald head, a golden circlet draped in rubies looked as if it would fall over his face and collar his neck at any moment.
If only that gold would melt and burn into his skin, collaring him like the very souls he had caged behind his mountain.
But for now, Garrik’s throne would do. A leash of sorts. One Ladomyr couldn’t break so long as Garrik was his master.
Alora was tempted to sneer at the king as those damning thoughts for bloodshed made her skin burn hotter. The only thing that contained her hatred lay within that look of pure disgust and disdain at his throne, reformed for another to reign over his own kingdom before he exited the room.
Like they were threatened under life and limb, servants scurried amongst the crowd.
Their eyes downcast, the circles under them as dark and bruising as Ladomyr’s shackle wounds on their wrists.
Glasses of amber, and scarlet, and buttery liquid filled the palms of females whilst their males’ possessive arms pulled them close.
And as if the display of finery wasn’t enough to cause nausea to burn her throat, their boasted words of their riches were.
Not only coin … but … but those were boasts of owning lives too.
The Lord’s Markets.
She’d heard of them last night—and in the forest with Rune and his scoundrels not but a few weeks ago.
A phantom ache pulsed through her shoulder. Long since healed after Arzen had stabbed her with his blade. After they had planned to sell her to Silas. After Arzen vowed to hand her over to Magnelis. Instead, Alora had offered him to the gentle hand of her Savage Prince.
Along the wall of untouched banquet tables littered with silver platters full of warm, crusty bread, roasted foul drizzling with honey glaze, and layers upon layers of berried pastries, a crimson-haired High Fae male struck conversation with four others.
All dressed in garb fine enough to enter the Stars Eternal.
One waft of the male’s pompous voice and Alora had stopped listening.
From Jade’s expression near the dais, she had, too.
Tempted to ask her why exactly court had been called, Alora thought better of it. Jade appeared as if the next flash of teeth from between a male’s lips would have the entire room covered in a tribute to her dagger skills and smelling of liquid iron for centuries to come.
And without Garrik here to stop it …
I was pulled out of training … for this ?
Alora blinked and furrowed her brows. Her eyes shifted, recognizing that gravelly female voice inside her mind .
Garrik must have linked them again. Hearing each other’s thoughts as if they were directly beside one another.
Jade suffered a long sigh and crossed her arms, somehow making her seem more unapproachable as if the line of daggers draped along her thigh, peeking through her long-sleeved black gown slit, had been no more of a threat than a parchment cut on the finger.
Your facial expressions need to use their inside voice.
Aiden now, draped on six steps of the dais, and cleaning his nail with a small blade.
Jade made a sound equal to a damning threat, but Aiden continued, I had much better things to do than this.
She didn’t miss as his smile widened toward a group of olive-skinned females raising their brows and giggling in his direction.
Alora cut in, Does anyone know what’s going on? And then, to herself, Where’s Garrik ? —
“So, we meet again.”
A long, slow breath escaped from her lips at the warm voice that drawled from beside her. She willed herself not to ball her fist and ignite it with starflames.
“I must say, it’s not that often I leave a female entirely wordless. I’m flattered, my lady.”
She gritted her teeth as she turned to the eldest male heir of Kadamar. “You shouldn’t be,” she warned. Then added, “And I’m not your lady.” Had he forgotten so soon since their encounter at the training grounds?
The princeling’s eyes twinkled at the challenge. He opened his mouth to speak through the charming smile that had climbed his face, one she didn’t doubt courted females to his arm, and she steeled herself for whatever flattery was about to leak. “Come now, my l?—”
“Apparently, Kadamarians are as deaf as they are dumb.” That voice that reminded her of the sea flooded the air. They both turned to find Aiden still draped along the crimson rugs waving up the stairs to Garrik’s throne.
Alora grinned as Ezander’s smile faded and his face rippled with annoyance.
“This is none of your concern.” The russet in Ezander’s eyes ignited like flames, sparkling in the afternoon light bursting through the towering windows and as bright as the distaste tightening his mouth.
She wondered how often the male was disrespected like this.
If he ever had anyone of lesser rank dare to be so insolent to his face.
Out of the shadow of the crowd, another figure prowled forward.
Hand gripped on the pommel of his golden sword while that unusual shadow seemed to expand on the floor behind him.
Thalon warned, “I believe our lady made clear she’s not interested.
” In a purposeful sweep, Thalon banded his arm around Alora’s shoulders, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes at the prince as if daring Ezander to retort.
“Didn’t you earn enough of a beating on the cliff side? ”
“Perhaps our lady could teach you a thing or two. Certainly looked like you bloody-well needed it.” Aiden’s smirk was more sinister than the stormy waves at sea.
Something bloomed in Alora’s chest the moment Aiden, too, stood and fell in beside her.
Though she never had the example of one, she imagined them mirroring how older brothers defended their younger sibling.
And in that moment, she was unashamed, delighted even, to admit that this kind of attention and protection, which the two unexpected predators she’d come to know and love were now cocooning her in—no matter how unnecessary—she enjoyed.
Most of Ezander’s body had tensed as if to restrain himself, but he didn’t retreat.
Not even as the floor trembled. As every faelight flickered and dimmed.
Aiden and Thalon exchanged baiting glances.
“Make like your father’s hairline, back the hells up,” Aiden said coolly and threw his gaze to the left of his shoulder. At the throne room door, where darkness unsettlingly danced. “Before your death is due to your mouth and not your sword. What an embarrassing way for a prince to die.”
There, breaking the barrier of darkness, a body covered in unholy night emerged.
Ezander paled.
It was an effort to keep her breathing steady. To keep her heart from hammering against its cage.
Those eyes, simmering with endless abyss, regarded her. Step by haunting step, Garrik parted the crowd gathered, slowly sinking to their knees as if his presence weighed on them like the very mountain the castle was hewn from.
“Make your move, princeling,” Aiden singsonged, followed by the rhythmic sound of his tongue clicking like the hands of the watch in his pocket.
“Perhaps another time then.” Ezander sharply gestured a bow with his chin, and slipped between the shadows of the crowd, out of sight.
From the way Garrik’s abyss for eyes tracked the movement, he wasn’t pleased about Ezander’s presence. And Alora knew by the way he carried his sword beside him, crushing the hilt with his fist. How he prowled like a beast in the night, hungry for blood, that if Ezander hadn’t moved …
And stars . Did she find it difficult to admit. She loved this side of him.