Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Forty

Pain was nothing new to Ezra. During much of his early immortality, he’d been molded to withstand the worst forms of torture. Liliana would carve into him for weeks. Whittle him down until all that was left was a creature who barely knew his own name. She was successful in her endeavors to make him unreceptive to it.

Until Surina.

Her agony was beyond any affliction. Beyond any poison-laced blade or flaying he’d suffered at the hands of his aunt. Surina’s torment was nothing short of being boiled alive. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he couldn’t do that to her. He had to endure. For her.

Blue-gray eyes, glossy and tinged with red…she was drowning in misery, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Useless. He was so fucking useless .

What Surina suffered from surpassed his specializations in magic, and he knew there would be no coming back from it. Not for a mortal.

But if she was to cross into the waters of the Eyre and meet the Mother, she would not do so alone.

One moment, he was holding her, fingers curling around the hilt of a blade. Then, he blinked, and all that pain—all that suffering—ceased.

Blood and ash coated his tongue as he turned onto his back, rolling his head sideways to find the small circle of green beside him was vacant.

She was gone.

Glancing up at the night sky and the fields of stars which inhabited it, they burned like the eyes of the fire creature.

“Fireflies or stars,” he rasped, choking on a harsh laugh as he recalled Surina’s warning in the bathing chambers. It was him that she saw through the window, and Ezra had brushed it off. Told her that it was stress making her mind conjure up things that weren’t really there.

A guttural roar burst from his lungs, slicing at his soot-lined esophagus. The acrid mix of copper and smoke filled his mouth again.

He ripped the root twining his wrist from the dirt, pounding a fist into the solid earth until most of the bones were shattered.

Damn her. Damn her for staying after he begged her to leave.

That pull to one another was stronger than anything he’d ever witnessed though. If he couldn’t resist it, did he really expect her to?

Rising from his knees, Ezra splayed his broken fingers until all the joints and bones realigned and healed over. It took longer than usual, but he’d expended a lot of energy, even after the blood he’d taken from Surina.

Their exchange was the only reason he’d survived as long as he had. Traces of her blood lingered still, as it would for days, singing in his veins like an ancient hymn. By branding her with his personal signet—his saliva—he bridged the gap that otherwise would have left them isolated. It was faint and distant, but it was there.

Surina lived.

That in itself was enough to keep him moving. So that’s exactly what he did, muzzling the barbaric thoughts his mind drifted towards when he pictured Kian Castmont right in front of him. The state he was in now, Ezra would wash the walls in the lord’s blood.

I would never forgive you, he could practically hear her saying, betrayal making those irises darken like a storming sky. Not to mention the pain in the ass a civil war with humans would be for killing one of Thesia’s beloved Castmonts.

The door to the stables creaked as he passed by, swinging partially open for a dazed fae to stumble out. He barely caught himself on his hands and knees.

Ezra paused his trek to the keep, turning to face him—the sorry excuse for an immortal that Surina insisted he save.

All that time he wasted. Time he could have spent getting her out.

“M-my king,” he stuttered, using the side of the stable to prop himself up. “The human that was with us, he was a dragon .” The male glanced around, noting the newly charred field. “Princess Surina, did she manage to get out and find you?”

He had the nerve to sag over himself, as if he’d seen even a lick of battle.

Ezra’s knuckles popped as he forced his voice to remain even, though a blinding rage threatened to consume him right then. “How is it you managed to survive such a beast?”

Laying a palm against his abdomen, where blood soaked his gear, he looked back to Ezra. “He missed my heart. I got lucky.”

Luck . Not skill or perseverance, but gods-damn luck . Where was that luck when Surina needed it?

Eliminating the distance between them, Ezra cinched a hand around his arm, jerking him up and onto his feet. “You really think Tyroch would waste an ounce of favor on the likes of you?”

The male just gawked at him, completely dumbfounded.

Resting a foggy hand on his shoulder, Ezra leaned in. “When you’re given an order, you follow through with it, or you don’t bother coming back at all. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

He nodded slowly, trepidation leaving his body in short breaths.

“Good.” Ezra patted the side of his shoulder, a light laugh brushing through his nostrils as a sinister smile unveiled his pointed teeth. “Then I pray the Mother lets you remember that in your next life.”

His hand plunged into flesh and bone, not taking long to secure the precious organ at the center of it all—the very organ that had led Ezra to such indecent acts.

Ice lanced from his palm, fissuring out into the chest cavity. A crack beneath his fist was like pure ecstasy to his ears, and he shuddered from the heinous sensation.

Ezra kept the male’s glassy stare until he was certain his visage would be inked into the soldier’s soul for an eternity. And then, only then, did he let his body crumple at his feet.

There was only so much restraint he should be expected to muster after everything. To the male’s credit, he’d just saved his commander’s life, because Ezra was feeling much less murderous now.

Not long after, he found himself before the massive iron and wood doors of Castmont Keep, almost launching them from their hinges upon entering.

Ezra paused in the threshold, his stare passing over rushing soldiers, healers, and servants until it landed on General Castmont’s wife, Olette. Noting the steel breastplate she wore atop a long nightgown, he determined she was just as surprised by the attack as himself.

“Where is the lord of the keep?” he demanded of her.

She averted her eyes, but not before taking in his nightmarish appearance. “He is in his study.”

Pivoting on his heels, Ezra aimed for the hall housing the lord’s study.

Her frantic steps rushed at his heels not a moment after. “Your Majesty, we have been looking everywhere for you and the princess. Where is—”

“Return to your dead and your injured, Olette.” He cut her off, the cruel nature of his tone being all the warning she needed, apparently, as her footsteps ceased—smart girl.

A trail of ice spread beneath him, the wintry wind growing harsher the closer he came to the study doors. He wanted to rein in his affinities, for Surina, but the more he thought of the flushing warmth of her bare body in his arms and the absolute devastation she wreaked on his heart by simply running those delicate fingers over him—the vengeful reach of frost felt warranted.

He sent a powerful gust to draw the doors open and strode right into the large circular room made of towering gray stone. Standing around the carved marble table at the center were a dozen or so armed soldiers, their eyes not seeming to believe what stood right in front of them.

Occupying the throne-like chair centered in front of a massive table-top map, as if he were a king plotting his next battle, was Kian Castmont.

The lord hastily shoved up from his seat, but Ezra was already standing behind him before he could get a foot underneath, forcing him back down.

“Don’t get up on account of me,” Ezra chided, the cinch on his shoulder cracking a bit of bone. “I’m anxious to see your next move, Commander .”

The male’s jaw ticked, and his hands balled into fists in his lap. He never cried out though. Didn’t even squirm when his joint groaned in retaliation before making a crude pop . “We were discussing the perimeter sweeps in search for you, my king.”

“How thoughtful.” Ezra canted his head, reading the markers staged along the map of the keep. None were by the stables, so he amended that, selecting a marker that wasn’t in use yet. “Surina I can see, but me ? I would have bet all I own you’d rather I not be found.”

“Wherever you are, Surina is,” the lord countered, not bothering to hide his displeasure in stating so.

Ezra’s nostrils flared.

In the brief silence, revelation shifted Kian’s features, his gaze pulling up from the bannerless marker now at the stables. “She isn’t with you.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Leave us,” Ezra snarled over his shoulder. None of the others in the room hesitated to do so, shuffling through the door like a herd of frantic sheep.

Taking a lap around the table to calm himself, the air dropped to below freezing, and ice spread across the stone walls like wild ivy grown rampant.

Kian seemed to find it difficult to meet his stare, and Ezra couldn’t help but wonder why. He never had any problems challenging him in front of Surina the past two weeks.

Surina called the lord’s obvious flirtations “hospitality,” blaming it on his character and welcoming nature. Ezra, on the other hand, knew exactly what the fucker wanted, and it had nothing to do with being an upstanding host.

When the room mostly settled, Ezra broke the quiet. “I’ll need access to any prisoners you’ve captured tonight.” He would have sent his own soldiers out to hunt one down if he hadn’t found their bodies on the way into the keep. One with his head removed and the other had taken a sword to the back that exited through his chest.

A grave silence thickened the air, until the impatient drum of Ezra’s fingers on the table prompted a reply.

The lord looked away. “None were taken prisoner. Whoever survived the assault fled afterwards.”

“How convenient that they all managed to get away.” He looked the lord up and down, thinking it impossible for a commander to not have a drop of blood on him, and yet… “I think Olette saw more action than you tonight. Perhaps she should be commander.”

“I lost a lot of men— good men. If you’re insinuating that I had anything to do with tonight or that I just sat around and let it all unfold, then—”

“Then what !” Ezra growled, peeling his lips back to let his canines drop. “Because all I’ve witnessed since I’ve been here is your incompetence!” Glass panes and goblets rattled with his fury. “Cyril said she would be safe here, and I was right to not believe him. Surina, though… she trusted you, so I eased off.”

Kian’s face soured initially, but that hatred, poisonous and raw as it was, withered against her name. “I can find her. Give me the chance to make this right.”

Ezra snorted. “As much as I’d love to see how you could fuck this up even more, I already know where she is.” Or rather, where she was being taken.

Bewilderment streaked across Kian’s features. “Then why are we still here? We should be out there , getting her back.”

If they were on foot, that would be possible. The bastards who took her, though, they weren’t limited to the earth. Unhindered in the skies, they’d be halfway over the bay by now.

“I will do everything it takes to get her back, and once she’s returned to me, and I’ve stripped you of everything that makes you a Castmont, she will remain at my side, where she belongs. As consort.”

A laugh of disbelief slipped from Kian’s lips. “ Consort ? You think because you’ve marked her, you can just force her to marry you too?”

“Oh, I’ve done a lot more than mark her, but yes, I see the conundrum.” Usually beyond such pettiness, Ezra didn’t know what came over him in the moment. Could be all he’d held back in front of Surina the past couple weeks.

“She was on the fence when I asked her, of course. Any girl would be.” He gestured to himself, and the blood that caked his skin, hair, and clothes. “I mean, look at me. I’m hardly a gentleman.” A wry smile kicked the ends of his mouth up. “Between you and me, though, she likes them a little rough around the edges.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Kian asked with a vicious flare in his eyes.

Coming to a halt beside the chair Kian occupied, Ezra propped himself against the table. “I see the way you look at her. It’s the same way your little prick of a brother looked at her. Like she’s some fucking key to your future. Makes me wonder, when given the opportunity, if you would force our hands. An attack on the princess in her home? Well, she would have no choice but to come here, right?”

Where, under any other circumstances, Ezra would have already been back in the capital, leaving Surina, a princess on the cusp of immortality, to Lord Castmont’s devices. It was a stretch, linking him to Giselle’s crimes. Surina was convinced there was something larger at play, though— someone .

The male gaped. “You know I had nothing to do with that. The Fairlights are like family to me. I would never endanger them.”

“You wouldn’t?” Ezra shook his head, irritation rising as he was only met with muddled brows.

“‘I can take you away from him. Somewhere he’ll never find you,’” Ezra bellowed, his voice a mockery of the lord’s exact words.

There it was—the shock factor he was going for.

With a cutthroat leer, the king tapped a finger on the surface of the table, where frost was starting to collect. “What? Think I don’t have my spies watching her when I can’t? It’s impossible for her to not find trouble.”

He should have looked into the human—dragon—a little more after that run-in. Letting his hatred of the lord cloud his judgment, Ezra had allowed the real threat to go unchecked. He would never forgive himself for it.

“But you .” Ezra couldn’t help the laugh that arose. “You actually thought she would leave me—to go with you ?”

The male’s jaw went taught. “We both know you’re a danger to her. The same way you were to Sienna.”

Before, the mention of Sienna likely would have unraveled him, but with everything in the open with Surina now, that part of his life was a hazy memory. It was clear, though—Ezra could see it in his demeanor—Kian wasn’t responsible for the fae tonight, or even Giselle’s actions. How could he engineer something so complex when he couldn’t even tell when he was being watched? Even still, the lord wasn’t excused just yet.

“Looking out for her well-being, I can forgive that. But calling her a bloodwhore ?” Ezra tsked. “I would cut out your tongue if I didn’t need you to deliver a message for me.” His lips thinned. “Although, I suppose I could just write the message, and you could hand it over.”

Kian’s blue irises grew as cold as the ice climbing the legs of his chair. “She deserves to know that you’ll only ever see her as just another thing to ruin. Go ahead and cut out my tongue. Show her who you really are. Not who you’re pretending to be for her.”

One thing he admired about the male, and really all of the Castmont line, is that he had more spine than any lord or lady in the Court of the Moon. Not many in Ezra’s court were brave enough to defy him. Maybe that was just stupidity masquerading as bravery. Either way, the opposition was refreshing.

Ezra sighed, lifting both hands high enough for the hanging light above to shine on them—he couldn’t even be certain where his blood ended and his victims’ began.

“You Castmonts are all the same.” His voice was impassive as more of his magic left him, sealing in Kian’s legs first, then rising up to his torso. “You think because you show your belly for humanity that you’re better than the rest of our kind—that you’re better for her —but you are as you have always been.” Slowly, Ezra lowered his hands, meeting the lord’s stare. “You’re dogs . And the thing about Surina is, she doesn’t need a dog. She needs a wolf.”

The sound of breaking bone exhilarated every immortal nerve in his body, and the blood that poured from Kian’s mouth and nose on impact was the icing on the cake. With a force like that, the chair rocked backwards. He caught it with a foot, shoving the legs back onto marble.

Lifting the male’s chin up towards the glow of the sconces, Ezra took in his work. The bones beneath his nose and upper jaw, while already healing, were most definitely shattered.

Kian spat flecks of blood and saliva that sprinkled Ezra’s face. “Apologies,” he rasped between fractured breaths, a pointed smile coated in a sheen of scarlet.

Ezra smiled right back. “No worries. I know just how to bring you to heel.”

Winds spun in a gentle storm, kind and serene as it slipped over the lord’s bloodied face like a mask.

While Ezra might not have the means to silence sound the way Cyril could, if Liliana had taught him anything during those years of torment, it was how to manipulate the elements to cause the worst kinds of pain. So he put that knowledge to work, trapping the lord within an invisible force that left no room for breath.

It took a moment or two for him to realize it, but once the air supply within dwindled, and Ezra shifted the pressure of the male’s lungs, that combativeness in his features wavered.

“Here’s what no one seems to understand—I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of me. Surina, though, she cares a great deal what others think of her, so I care too. And I would rip this world apart just to see her happy.”

Kian couldn’t respond, not when the alveoli inside his lungs were in a constant circle of rupturing and healing.

Ezra closed his eyes, picturing Surina, and the array of pinks blushing her cheeks when she turned the page in one of her filthy novels. The slow lick of her lips when she didn’t know he was watching. The way the points of her ears flared a raging red when she finally caught him staring—

His eyes flew back open when a choking sound shattered that blessed memory, and his face stoned over into a frozen resentment.

“The divines fucked up, giving her to me. She hasn’t made me a better male. In fact, I think she’s made me realize that I haven’t even scratched the surface of all the horrible things I would do for someone. Things that I never thought myself capable of.”

Shoving his boot into the chair, it toppled over, breaking the frigid bindings imprisoning the lord.

Ezra watched as Kian dragged himself across the floor, blindly searching for breath—he would find none.

He only made it a few feet before he sagged onto the stone. Ezra sighed, propping the chair back up in front of the male. He kicked him onto his back, unimpressed with the streaks of tears that stained his cheeks. And when that light in his eyes was nearly vanquished—void of any hope that he might live to see another day— that’s when he broke the capsule.

What felt like a full minute of Kian’s convulsive dry-heaving, Ezra took a seat, awaiting the end of his theatrics.

“I didn’t… know,” Kian coughed out, the haggard breaths breaking up his sentences, “what she was to you.”

“I’m not telling you this because I think you’re a threat. I’m telling you this because I need you to know how dire the situation is. If anything happens to her, and it was because of your negligence as lord and commander, I can’t promise that you’ll keep any appendage, let alone your tongue.”

Of course, Ezra blamed himself most of all, but he was already suffering the consequences of his failures.

“Now, about that message.” He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “I want you to tell Cyril to ready his men, because dragons have taken Surina, and they will want something in exchange.”

Something we can’t give them , he kept to himself.

“ Dragons ?” Kian’s head shook in disbelief. “How is that even possible? The towers would have spotted them. The bells would have sou—”

“Deliver the message, and I’ll consider letting you live afterwards.” Ezra jerked his chin towards the door.

Kian matched his glare, though it wasn’t half as defiant as at the start of their little chat. “And where will you go?”

First, he would send a raven to Liliana. Having already thrown out the likelihood of the duchess being responsible for tonight’s attack—a gaudy show of force, she would certainly say—it was time he mended things with his aunt. A necessary evil, because her legion would be invaluable in the days to come.

“Lythia,” he muttered.

To Surina.

He would bring her home, or the Mother was going to have her hands full.

Once Lord Castmont took his leave, and he was alone, Ezra vowed the moment he had Surina in his arms again, he would tell her. Why every time those remarkable misty blue eyes studied him, she felt every bit of what he did.

A pull stronger than even the lure of their magic or the excruciating seduction of blood. It was a bond that had been solidified in the moments they shared leading up to her capture, sealing what had been gifted by the divines themselves.

My mate.

◆◆◆

Wood popped and crackled in the fireplace of his newly purchased townhouse, right in the center of New Sanctuary. The lord it belonged to previously had clearly had exquisite tastes— before his untimely demise, that is. And how fitting that greed would be his undoing.

From the silver adornments that glimmered in every grand room, to the luxurious silks, velvets, and satins of the deep-blue furnishings, Lord Redbane had been an excellent charlatan. Half of what the male owned was thanks to the humans he swindled out of vast fortunes. A short-sighted dolt is what the lord was.

Fae who relied on the success of others, much less humans , would be of no use to him. He didn’t trust those who could be swayed by a few sums of silver. He needed loyalty from the fae—followers who believed in the future he was forging.

Turning the page in the leather-bound journal he’d taken from the Windspire girl’s room, he quietly read to himself. All the accounts were of fae and humans who barely survived a supernatural ailment. Most wished they hadn’t.

The accounts in the journal blamed some ancient evil, as if they could possibly fathom the kind of devastation such a being as the Draug would actually cause.

Scarlet seeped across the ivory and navy-blue checkered pattern of the marble beneath his boots, its trail bringing his eyes up to his esteemed guest.

“You’re making a mess of my new home, Ophellius.”

Claws of shadow pinned the male down, not only piercing his flesh, but his soul along with it. Battered and bloodied, the Duke of Cillica slouched as far as his magic would allow. After all the blood he’d drained from the male, his healing was slowing to near mortal speed. Though the duke could barely hold his head up, he was still conscious.

He sighed, plopping the journal onto the study’s ornate desk before reclining back in his chair. “A bit too dramatic to be considered for evidence, I think, but she was getting close. Maybe if you gave your daughter the time of day, you would have known she had her nose in places it didn’t belong.”

His mouth curved into a smile when he felt the fury rising in the duke’s essence, tasting of pure loathing.

The usual baritone of his voice had dwindled to a weary slur of words. “You hurt her, and I’ll—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He waved him off with a flick of his wrist, clamping down on his calf with another piercing claw. “You’ll maim me. Flay me alive. Stop my heart—I’ve heard it all.”

Shadows materialized in the shape of long, jagged lances, originating at his back like lethal spider legs. It was a natural response to the male’s threats. A natural desire for his magic to protect its host—it almost was like a parasite, like the journal stated. Only a durable mind and body could tame power like this.

He quieted the shadow’s tempting offers, rising from his repose to stand over the male. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting her. She’s far too rare a creature. And more useful than your abilities in blood manipulation, I’m afraid. Albeit I’m a little partial.”

Wiggling his fingers, the shaded talons, which he used to keep said blood manipulation at bay, writhed. He fished around the duke’s soul, distorting his temperament to be meek and amiable—putty in his hands, so to say.

Ophellius’s head fell against the back of the chair, lips parting as countless emotions crossed his features.

“You think me a monster, but the way your daughter begged for your approval of the boy…” He scowled, recalling how the flecks of gold shimmered in her irises when she smiled at the prince. “No creature with a heart could say no to such a face.”

His eyes narrowed on the duke, and his body went rigid under the shadows. “You did though. And then you thought you could steal her away from her mate without me knowing?”

The duke’s soul fought back. It was weak, but any attempt was impressive when it came to resisting his magic. “It’s only a matter of time before she sees through that lie,” he rasped with a shaky breath.

“I am a male of many talents, Ophellius. Crafting fraudulent bonds is not one of them. They are mates, through no design of mine.”

“What are you waiting for then?” The duke gritted his teeth together, a glassy sheen coating the rich sepia of his skin. “Kill me already.”

A bemused laugh tickled his throat. “ Kill you? What would be the point in that?”

“I know your plans,” the male stated plainly, as if that was a threat. “They’ll come looking for me. They probably already are.”

Seating himself on the outer edge of his desk, he leaned back onto his palms. “I should hope so. You’re a wanted murderer, after all.”

The bleak surprise altering his features was comical. The duke actually thought he knew a fraction of his plans? There were so many pieces in play, it was hard for even himself to keep up with it all.

“You haven’t heard?” Cracking a smile, he reached for the parchment on his left. “‘Ophellius Windspire, the Bloody Brute, renowned for his ferocity in the war against Calaechia, used his abilities in blood manipulation to kill all of those poor, innocent halflings, without even leaving a scratch on them.’”

The male studied the paper in his hand, his eyes straining to see what he was holding up. “I have always been loyal to the crown. Cyril will never believe that.”

A permeating disgust arose at even hearing the Fairlight name. He shoved that bitter cloud from his mind, though, not wanting it to detract from the moment.

“It doesn’t matter what he believes, only that his court demands a fae be tried and convicted. Right about now, they should be done scouring every inch of your suite, where they would have found all of your letters.”

Ophellius’s face blanched. “What letters?”

He rustled a forged paper between his fingers, a fiendish grin stretching his lips into a grander smile. “The ones to your late wife, of course. Speaking of how you’ve been so tragically lost without her. You could have saved her and your unborn child with your magic, had you been at her side. But your young king initiated a lockdown after the dragon infiltrated the palace. You were in the capital, when you should have been with her, because of Princess Surina. That’s why you sent someone to assassinate her, isn’t it? You blamed her for the death of your wife and child. All the others just got in the way.”

Deep lines etched the male’s brows, smoothing over the moment he came to terms with the inescapable—Lady Windspire would have to face the repercussions of her father’s absence alone. She would be shunned from the Court of the Sun. All the comfort and protection she had as the daughter of a duke would wash away to whomever bore the male’s title next.

A sigh blew from his nostrils as he placed the parchment back on the desk. “It didn’t have to be like this, Ophellius. I offered you a better world—a better life —for you and your daughter, and instead of gratitude, I’ve been met with resistance on all fronts.” He clicked his tongue. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll take good care of your little butterfly.”

The gloom crept over his shoulders, swirling around the duke’s jaw and throat like a midnight fog. A glistening streak trailed down his cheek, though his face firmed into a poisonous promise of retribution.

With a twirl of his finger, the shadows solidified, snapping his neck in a blink.

Shifting his stare to the female occupying the darkest reaches of the study, he prodded her emotions with a rake of invisible nails. “Not an ounce of remorse in that soul of yours. When did you get so cold, Nadia?”

Gradually, she looked up from the floor, briefly pausing on the male she’d willingly handed over. “He was putting everything at risk.”

He snorted. “Don’t pretend like you did this out of loyalty to me.”

“I’m not. I don’t share your ambitions. I’m only doing this because I care about the ones you would use as fodder. To you, they’re a means to an end.”

“A necessary end,” he corrected her, his magic visible to only himself as it snaked around her. It was only the fact that he felt a kindling of agreement in her essence that he let her poor manners slide.

She shoved up from the wall, her crossed arms dropping to her sides in flippant disregard for the presence before which she stood. “If you have no further use of me, then I should get going. It won’t be long before he wakes, and I don’t exactly have a way to resist blood control.”

“Duty calls,” he hummed, the tilt to his lips making her eyes divert to Ophellius. There, her mask of steel wavered, and so did her soul.

“And our deal?” she asked while adjusting the body so she could lift him with ease.

He didn’t need to put his magic to work to read between the lines of that question. “The Blackwell girl will be looked after in your absence.”

Nadia slung the duke over her shoulder like he was a sack of grain.

“What is it you see in her, if you don’t mind my asking?”

By the way her face contorted before she turned towards the exit, she absolutely did mind his asking. She lingered in the doorway, her silence ticking away with the grandfather clock. “She’s what I wish I was at her age,” Nadia murmured, seeming to be in another world in her mind—another time.

“Maniacal?” He chuckled, dragging his fingers through the tousles of his hair.

The hand at her side curled into a fist. “Unbreakable.”

Just as she swept through the doorway, the male he’d been waiting for swung to the side of the hall to leave space, his eyes going wide when they fell on Nadia. His incredulous stare drifted over to the noble she had chucked over her shoulder.

They both shared a look of understanding, neither of them uttering a word.

“Sire,” the blond fae whispered once behind the closed door, unnervingly stepping into a bow. “I thought we were keeping a low profile.”

“That was before you failed to do the one thing I asked of you.” A shaded hand materialized, dragging a chair across the floor so it was sat next to the bloody one the duke once occupied. “Have a seat, Kian. We have a lot to talk about.”

Fear, it had a taste that didn’t compare to the rest. It was the base of all beings, to fear that which could be your undoing. Once mastered, though, it had the potential to blossom into something spectacular. Survival, courage, love— power .

“Drink?” he offered the lord, pouring a preemptive glass for himself, knowing the male would decline. He always did.

“No, Sire. It seems I am to leave soon to sail to Lythia by request of King Cyril.” Silence reigned over the room momentarily. “I had no prior warning of your plans to infiltrate Castmont Keep. If I had known, then—”

“Does he suspect you had anything to do with it?” he cut the lord off, taking a swig of the clear liquid.

Kian angled his head so the fire’s light no longer caught the bright blue of his irises—irises that stood the test of time through every Castmont generation, it seemed. “No, it didn’t appear that way. He asked me to retrieve Surina, so I imagine he still trusts me.”

Retrieve her . As if she were a fucking pet that strayed too far from home.

Glass shattered in his hand from the pressure, sprinkling the marble in faint taps. It sliced into his flesh, the sting of liquor mixing with his blood. “And Ezra Nightwood?”

A quiet ensued as the male worked up the nerve to answer his question. “He suspected it, at first, but I think he could tell my reactions were genuine.”

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t know, or else you would be a head short.” Honestly, he was surprised the male didn’t kill him for simply being associated with her capture. Perhaps he’d misread the king, though, thinking he was like every other Nightwood before him—unfathomably ruthless.

Kian shook off the dry humor. “You said I would have a month. That was barely two weeks.”

Two weeks of actual hell, not being able to see her or hear her voice. Without a consistent influx of power, he didn’t have the means to shadow-step to her whenever her temper flared or her power over-reached. Which was a frequent occurrence for her.

He bit down the smile that nearly formed when imagining all the trouble she’d be getting into without so many mortals and guards breathing down her neck.

“Plans change.” Dusting off the sparkling chunks, he shuddered at the sensation of his magic clawing at his insides, wanting to be freed so it could devour the soul before him. “The dragon traveling alongside her wouldn’t make a move, so I sent my men in to force his hand.”

“ Dragon ?” Lord Castmont’s face slackened with astonishment. “You mean… you knew about the dragon following her?”

“I know everything when it comes to her. Without my moonflower, nothing we’re hoping to achieve will be possible. She is the key to opening the door.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the dragon? Why didn’t you warn me? Do you not trust that I share in your vision of returning to our home?”

Our home —it was surreal to hear such pride come from a Castmont. But if the other Castmonts, or any patriot of Thesia for that matter, truly loved humanity, they, too, would join him in reclaiming the realm that once belonged to the fae. A realm that had been lost for a thousand years.

He considered lying. Concealing his weaknesses behind a sly shift in conversation. With the dragons coming into play now, though, there would be no sense in hiding something that was destined to come to light. “I cannot manipulate dragons the same way I can a fae or a human. Their souls are like grasping at sand. It all slips through my fingers. There is nothing to hold onto.”

Clever, they were, when creating the seraphim. Like a trinket he couldn’t quite figure out—one he would never figure out.

“I didn’t tell you about the dragon because her capture depended on your hesitation. With an unknown faction attacking Castmont Keep and dragons stealing away the only heir to the Sun Throne, it went exactly as I planned. You see, chaos, when timed right, can be stronger than any armor. Sharper than any blade. They’re scrambling. Or rather, they would be, had you done what I asked.”

The male was baffled. Completely taken aback by the admission. “You wanted the dragons to take her?”

“I needed them to take her.” He glared at the lord, the muscles in his jaw feathering as his magic continued to scrape at his mind. “All you had to do was win her over. Put thoughts in her head that would make her think twice about the company she kept.”

“I tried. Nothing I said could sway her from him.” Kian scowled, the top of his lip almost twitching into a snarl at the mention of the Nightwood king. “They’re mates. I’m guessing you already knew that though.”

“A mating bond doesn’t mean shit unless its sealed. You could have prevented that.” That build-up inside grew too spiteful, and more glass erupted when he let his shadows free. They burst out, colliding with and destroying anything within a few feet of him. Furniture, antiquities—nothing was spared.

When their tempers eased and his chest rose with a soothing inhale, he swept the ruffled strands of his hair back in place. His slow turn from the destruction had the Castmont ushering a cautious step back. “Not only did they seal their bond, but now I’m hearing they’re engaged to be married . Do you know what that means?” he asked the lord, his voice a nightly calm.

The lord shook his head.

“It means that the kings of Thesia won’t need to cut a deal with the Lythians. Not when they have two Nightwood legions poised at their doorstep.”

“He would need the duchess to agree to that. Liliana would never send her men to die for a Fairlight.”

A sigh slithered out on its own accord, and he fished around for the only decanter that had been spared in his magic’s rage. “She’s not just a Fairlight, though, is she? She’s a promise. A promise that, through her, the Nightwood name would continue with their children. The Nightwood legacy means more to Liliana than any petty grievance.”

“Why wouldn’t you want her safe return? What do we have to gain through any of this?”

By the fucking Mother, he still wasn’t getting it.

Pouring himself another glass, he closed his eyes to picture all of the reasons he needed the lord alive. “I needed the kings to have no other option but to obey Lythia’s demands.” He downed the caramel-hued liquor in one tip, gritting his teeth through the bitter taste. “Why do you think Lythia would risk another war with Thesia by stealing their princess away?”

“They want revenge for Emryn.” Kian’s words were so sure, the loss of his father likely making it impossible for him to see beyond the massacre that was the accords.

“She’s not revenge .” He set the glass down. “She’s leverage.”

“Leverage for what?”

A crooked smile bent the ends of his mouth up, the warm wash of alcohol curving the vicious nature of his thoughts. “Not what ,” he corrected the lord. “ Who .”

The very being he’d been hunting since returning to this gods-forsaken realm, apart from his moonflower. The dragon’s sudden appearance was a delightful twist in what felt like a never-ending game. With her capture, the kings would have no choice but to yield to the dragons, bringing his wild manhunt to a close.

Now, with the Nightwood and Fairlight armies conjoined, he could almost be certain they wouldn’t need to, which meant he had to keep searching for the bastard.

An impossible task, he was starting to think, considering only four beings would know. Two kings, a knight, and a water dragon—all of which would take the secret to the grave—and while he could bend a soul to his whim, that didn’t mean he could outright compel speech. It was more so an altering of the mind and soul which could prompt action through their emotions.

Kian swallowed audibly, not dumb enough to dig any further than he already had, apparently. “Tell me how I can be of assistance then.”

He studied the tapestry filling up the majority of the marble wall. A beautiful rendition of the last battle between Isla and Draegar. A battle between good and evil—light and dark.

On one side, the sun rose from behind the mountains of Thesia, and dotting the pinks and purples of dawn were winged beings, shimmering in their elemental auras.

The seraphim.

The other side was a gloom. A darkness so bleak, the armored fae within the murky clouds barely stood out. But in the center of it all were three otherworldly beings, their forms locked in an ethereal showdown.

Isla, Draegar, and Silas.

A lie is all the tapestry depicted. Over the course of a thousand years, that lie had spread through all of the human realm. Stretched so thin, it would only take a single pebble for it to shatter. One drop in the water to send a ripple…

He tapped a finger along the crystal cup in thought-filled drums, a malevolent grin starting to take form. If he couldn’t get the kings to upturn this stone for their princess, then maybe they would do it at the behest of their subjects.

“I think it’s about time Thesia’s people learn the truth behind the accords, don’t you?”