Page 37

I watch Maeva intensely as she holds my fourth commander’s hand, while Riordan finishes removing the last shard from his back.

Throughout the ordeal, Virgil’s stoic countenance doesn’t even flinch from the pain.

A well-trained practice, I suppose. Virgil can become downright lethal when he disassociates if this happens in a battle.

However, at this moment, I believe he’s slipped away so he doesn’t have to experience such agony.

No one really knows where he escapes to in his mind when he’s like this, but it’s a habit he’s had since we were teens anytime the training became too intense.

However, I’ve always been curious as to what brings him such peace in tumultuous circumstances.

He never answers, of course, but I’m sure that says more about his childhood than it does anything else .

His father, a nobleman in my father’s court, made sure his son was a weapon in mind and body—the thought of the imbecile makes my blood boil when I look at the scars he left on his son. What kind of father would do such a thing to their child?

Your father did, Emyr, I remind myself.

I can’t think about this right now, as my sole focus has to be on her.

She doesn’t notice me observing her, as her attention stays trained on him. The hardened look instantly vanishes from his features as he gazes at her with such softness. She whispers to him, to which he responds either in grunts or nods as she reaches for his hand.

What happened in that bloody meeting with Gawain?

I knew she favored him from the beginning, but why’s he drawn to her?

In return, why’s she drawn to him?

There’s an ache in my chest at the possibility that she’s attracted to him. I know there’s a hidden kindness within my fourth’s heart, but a part of my own wishes that she’d gaze at me with the same level of fondness for more than just the moment we shared.

If I’m being honest, I’m greedy to occupy more of her time… but such thoughts are reckless.

“We need to keep moving,” I say, clearing away any thoughts of her.

My father would say she’s a distraction, and that’s something I can never afford to have.

“If the basilisk is any indicator, I believe that King Tiernan will continue to send beasts until we arrive at the palace with his prize. So, there won’t be any more stops until we reach the Palace of Nightmares. ”

“Palace of Nightmares? Is that in Zulgalros?” Maeva inquires.

“No,” Laisren interjects. “The Palace of Light in Malvoria was renamed the Palace of Nightmares after the Drakhul spread from Zulgalros to this kingdom. The mist changed the palace, in a sense.”

“How so?” Gawain asks, standing too close to Maeva for my liking. By the look of Virgil’s grimace, my fourth commander feels the same as I do about the matter .

Is it too late to put him beneath the ground so we can be free of him?

I clear my throat.

“The palace is haunted by wayward spirits and malevolent creatures that the mist cursed. The palace used to be iridescent with an ethereal glow and now is nothing but shadows and atrocities,” I say.

“Will I be in danger there?” Maeva asks.

“Not if we have any say in the matter,” Virgil growls.

“Agreed. We’ll make sure you remain unharmed. Luckily, the spirits and creatures fear us and tend to hide in the dark corridors. As long as you don’t wander too far from one of us, you will be fine,” I say.

She nods, dusting debris from her torn dress. “Let’s not tarry then,” she says. “I’d rather not risk the destruction of any other cities on my behalf.”

“Alright mates, onward to the palace,” Riordan says, clapping his hands together.

Without another word, we summon our horses out of our signets. Danté doesn’t hesitate before going to Maeva. He pushes Gawain out of the way as he nuzzles her hand. She strokes his head, and the bloody creature whinnies as if it were a colt.

“Traitor,” I whisper, nearing my mount.

She giggles as his snout huffs against her cheek.

It might be the first true laugh from her since our journey began.

It’s a melodic, sweet sound, and I instantly wish I could replicate it.

She’s enchanting, and it’s not because she’s bewitched us or glamored us.

Even my bloody horse is charmed by her, which is a phenomenon because Danté is rarely drawn to anyone. It’s just simply her .

Her intelligence.

Her bravery.

Her heart.

Her beauty.

It’s hard not to be drawn to her.

“Are you ready, Rosey?” I ask .

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I swear there’s a hint of playfulness within them.

“If you are, Emyr,” she says with a smile that could put every shining star to shame.

Siorai, give me strength.

“You’re not going to flail around like a pixie, are you?” I jest, holding out a hand for her.

“Only time will tell, High General,” she replies, reaching toward me.

Then Gawain appears, like the annoyance he is, putting space between us.

“I wish you well,” he practically yells, wrapping his arms around her.

I’d very much enjoy severing his arms from his body, were they not currently around such a rare jewel.

He whispers something in her ear, to which she nods, before he places a kiss on her cheek and backs away.

Gawain’s wrinkled expression gives the impression that he’s perhaps ingested one too many lemons in his lifetime from the way he glares at me. “You’ll not harm her,” he warns.

“I don’t plan on it,” I say, leaning in so that only he can hear what I have to say next. “But I’ll harm you if you ever come between us like that again. Don’t pretend to care for her when it’s obvious the only life you care to save is your own.”

Gawain’s eyes are pinched together as his face turns a new shade of red.

“That’s not?—”

“You and I both know it’s true,” I growl. “You had the opportunity to help carry her out of that rubble, but you didn’t. Stay away from her, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Then I retreat from the spineless, pathetic man. As he inches away, there’s such a promise within his glances that tells me he’s contemplating revenge.

That would indeed be foolish .

“Go ahead,” I challenge. “Many have tried to kill me, and all have failed.”

“No one will be killing anyone today,” Maeva declares, rolling her eyes.

“She’s right,” Virgil interjects, coming up beside us. “I think it’s time for you to go, Gawain.”

The Malvorian’s jaw ticks, a deranged laugh escaping from him. “Until next time, High General,” he seethes. “I shall see you again.”

“For your sake, I sincerely hope not,” I reply.

With a huff, Gawain stalks away through the ruined city just as the first signs of the morning mist spread across the horizon.

I’m contemplating sending my shadows out to end his miserable existence when I feel a dainty hand grasp my own.

Maeva stands beside me, gripping my armored hand firmly as she watches him go.

A warmth I haven’t felt in a long time spreads through me as I gaze at her.

The morning mist rises as it attempts to mimic the light that dwells within her, but it doesn’t even come close in comparison.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

I whistle for Danté, who gallops up to my right. “If you are,” I reply.

She nods.

“Is it okay if I help you up?” I ask, searching her eyes for any potential distress or fear.

However, all I see is the calmness of a deep ocean stirring within them.

It appears our near death experience has quailed the tempest for the time being.

Even covered in dust and dirt from the collapse, she’s lovely.

Her cheeks morph into the softest shade of pink, and I have to fight the urge to reach out.

Either I voiced my thoughts aloud or I was staring too intensely because she quickly looks away.

“I suppose that’s better than being thrown over your shoulder,” she smirks.

A chuckle escapes me. “Indeed, Rosey,” I reply.

My hands wrap around her waist, and her breath hitches at the contact.

Her small hands wrap around my bicep, and the heat of her contact makes my skin hot—even underneath all the armor.

I swiftly place her on Danté’s back, needing to escape the glorious warmth that radiates from her.

I settle in behind her, reaching for the reins on either side.

Her cheeks deepen into a richer shade of red.

While I’d enjoy continuing to make her blush, her safety is more important. We need to reach the palace as soon as possible, so I can exchange a few words with our dear king.

“Onward to the palace,” I yell to others.

“Yes, High General,” they bellow in unison.

Then, we’re riding as fast as our horses will carry us toward the light gray horizon.

For a moment, I swear that Maeva’s settling against my chest, but the contact is quickly broken when she leans forward once more.

Perhaps I imagined it.

Or perhaps…

If only for a moment…

She feels safe.