Page 44

Well, she’s angry.

“Are you going to escort me or not?” she shouts from outside the chamber.

Laisren and Riordan race out the door to stand on either side of her.

She’s devastatingly beautiful in that dress. I’m certain that my heart stopped beating at the mere sight of her.

I must say that I was speechless. I should’ve known that even she could surpass her own beauty.

Every time I see her, she continues to blossom and bloom into such a wonder.

The dark crimson against her ivory skin makes her look like a lush rose—prickly until one finds its interior, which is of the gentlest beauty.

If she was glistening before, she shines now.

She could have an entire realm crumble to their knees if she so desired.

She looks like a queen .

My Rosey-

No .

She’ll never be mine, even though everything about her draws me into her orbit. Even though her very essence sings a lullaby so sweet that it moves my soul. She’s a gem, and I’m not worthy of her—no matter how much I wish to be.

“Well,” she snaps at me. “Are you coming, High General?” Her tight features are laced with fury in every crevice, a contrast to how she’d first looked at me moments ago.

I’ll never forget the moment her eyes connected with mine, such light within them…

Until I extinguished it with my cruel words.

I want to reach out, grab her hand and apologize because it’s not how I truly feel.

But what if Domhnall is lurking in the shadows? What if he heard me?

It’s too risky.

So, I remind myself to remain distant from the only ray of sunlight in the ever present abyss of my life.

I clear my throat, walking slowly out of the chambers.

Maeva taps her foot impatiently.

Within my helmet, my mouth quirks up.

So impatient, my Rosey.

I’m the High General. I wouldn’t jump at the demand of any other woman, so I draw this out at an agonizing pace. Maeva huffs in annoyance, which only encourages me to move at a snail’s pace.

Finally, I take my place at the front of the group.

“Onward,” I command.

Then, we’re walking in perfect tandem.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The walk is silent except for the howling spirits, which make Maeva jump and curse under her breath.

Riordan disguises a laugh as a cough, while Laisren whispers reassurances to her.

She gasps as we pass by the demented paintings of evil creatures from the Abyss—they move within their frames as if they were living.

I’m certain she’s never seen anything like it in Aurelius.

I vaguely sense Maeva’s apprehension behind me. However, I can hear it in the way she steps along the long halls.

I can only imagine she’s nervous, especially being in a palace haunted by all manners of creatures and spirits.

“So, what should I expect from the queen?” she asks, breaking the silence.

“If you’re smart, you won’t make any off-handed remarks. She’s temperamental,” I say.

“In other words, she’s crazier than an Eitcham in an eating frenzy,” Riordan whispers.

“What happens when she’s temperamental?” she asks, unease settling in her tone.

“You don’t want to find out,” I reply.

The stairs leading up to the throne room entrance are finally in view, a heaviness filling my heart with dread with every step I take.

Maeva breathes heavily as she ascends the elongated marble stairs.

Laisren offers her his arm to lean on for support, which she enthusiastically takes.

Her face is flushed and paler than I’ve ever seen as she sways into my second commander.

I realize then that I hate seeing her dainty hand wrapped around his bicep.

I release a breath, which she mistakes for impatience rather than the jealousy coursing through me. A low, animalistic growl escapes her lips as she glares daggers at me.

“Any day now,” I call out, just in case Domhnall is nearby.

She rolls her eyes, picking up her pace to reach the top.

When she arrives, her grip on Laisren tightens as she takes in the enormous arches of the throne room doors.

They tower above us with pointed peaks that taper down into a wider base, with large brass handles that meet in the middle.

She observes the two sentries that also watch her .

I should punish them for even glancing in her direction.

“You’ll probably want to take your hand off of my second commander, Rosey,” I warn, my voice full of ire. “The king is quite possessive of his prizes.”

Her eyes are laced with unmistakable hatred as she unweaves her hand from Laisren’s bicep.

“Regardless of what your king believes, I’m not a prize, and I belong to no man,” she seethes.

Ignoring her and the ache in my chest, I announce to the sentries, “Miss Cale has an audience with their Royal Highnesses.”

They nod, opening the massive doors that creak loudly, revealing the dark architecture within.

“Miss Cale, the High General, and the Cadre, Your Majesties,” the left sentry announces.

In the center of the room, sitting on their thrones, is the king and his consort.

Thankfully, Domhnall is nowhere in sight…

yet. They look every ounce the sinister duo: Tiernan with an elaborate black mantle laying across his shoulders in his usual emerald tunic and black slacks, his dark crown adorning his head.

Orla in a regal gown the shade of lavender, matching her eyes, with her tall, spiked onyx crown atop her head as she occupies the seat that belonged to my mother.

I want to rage and drag her by the nape of the neck off the throne that she defiles with her iniquitousness, but I can’t. Her lips slant into a malicious smirk as we approach.

“I’ve brought the one that wears the Dragon’s Flame before you, as you’ve requested, Your Highnesses,” I address them, bowing.

By the rustle behind me, I assume the rest of the group is following my lead.

“You’ve done well, High General,” Tiernan says in his lilting voice. “Now, leave us alone.”

I stiffen. “Pardon?” I ask.

Surely, he doesn’t expect me to leave her alone… with them.

Orla’s derisive laughter echoes throughout the throne room. The very sound makes me want to claw my eyes out. It’s manic and malicious—a complete contrast to the sweet sound of Maeva’s laugh. Orla lowers her lavender eyes onto mine, appearing almost predatory.

“You heard him,” her shrill voice rings out, grating against my nerves. “Be gone! All of you! We have much to discuss with the keeper of the Dragon’s Flame.”

“No disrespect, my queen,” I say as the softness in my tone turns my stomach. “I was given orders not to leave her side.”

“Do you question a direct order, High General?” Tiernan’s harsh voice rings out. “Go stand outside the doors with the sentries. I’ll call for you when it’s time to escort her back to her chambers.”

The slight glow in his eyes and ring leave no room for argument, and I don’t wish for my Cadre or Maeva to see me cower under the loyalty oath’s command.

Still, he told me yesterday I’d at least remain in the room for this conversation.

I assume Domhnall changed his mind—allowing his venom to seep into the king’s deteriorating mental state and poisoning him against his only son.

I dip my head. “As you wish, my king,” I reply.

Turning around, I signal for Laisren and Riordan to exit the room, though their hesitation mirrors my own. Maeva’s eyes are full of panic. I tower over her, forcing her to look up at me.

“We’ll be outside,” I whisper, hoping she’ll hear what I mean between the words I can’t say:

I’ll break down the doors to get to you if you need me.

Maeva gives a slight nod of her head, then I maneuver around her, leaving her in a room full of serpents where she’s easily the prey.

Siorai, protect her because I can’t, I murmur to myself.

As the doors close behind us, I take one final look at the woman standing before the king and queen, hoping that the silent god is listening.