The Myths of Ophelia (The Curse of Ophelia #4)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Malakai

“The public will not accept—”

“We have been through this time and time again, Nassik,” Barrett nearly groaned, but he maintained his princely demeanor and scratched his wolf, Rebel, behind the ears where he sat beside the prince at the head of the table.

“And yet you continue to be irrational,” Nassik said, fingers clenching atop the onyx stone. It was cold and uninviting, much like most of the Engrossian Valley Palace, devoid of staff and comforts.

As one of the members of the former queen’s dwindling council, Nassik Langswoll had been pressing Barrett on this matter and that matter every waking moment since the war ended. Even my head was aching from it.

At least the three remaining council members were all against Kakias and not entirely opposed to Barrett’s rule.

“And you continue to be the biggest thorn the Angel has ever imposed in my side,” Barrett drawled.

“The public needs a ruler.” Nassik’s voice was as icy as his blue-eyed stare, sharp cheekbones and jawline creating an angular, unapproachable expression. He folded his hands atop the table, a brutal scar peeking from beneath the cuff of his tunic—one of the Engrossian markings.

“They have one,” Barrett sneered.

“Who chose to fight in the opposing army!”

Barrett’s voice darkened. “And which is standing today?”

In the answering silence, I drummed my fingers on the table.

Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since I arrived at the Valley Palace as one of Ophelia’s representatives. She and Barrett wanted to present an alliance of the two major clans following the war. Mila and Lyria had been here even longer. And Barrett had been dealing with these challenges for nearly six weeks when the Engrossian-Mindshaper army forfeited on that battlefield.

No title, I’d told Ophelia when she asked if I would come in her stead. It was my only stipulation.

No need, she’d answered with a sly smirk.

I hadn’t been sure what she meant, but I didn’t question it. Lyria and Mila retained their titles. I was only here as a figure of the Mystiques and to assist Barrett. My brother.

And because Tolek had accused me of moping after Mila left the outposts. As the courtly bickering continued, my hand slipped beneath the table to squeeze her thigh.

She flicked her eyes my way, reproachful brow raised. When I returned it, one corner of her lips ticked up. Spirits, we’d been in this chamber for hours. It was nearly dinner time; I couldn’t wait to get her out of here.

“Nassik,” Barrett snapped, nothing but an erratic, cocky command. In contrast, his consort and general, Dax, was all calm intimidation where he stood behind the prince’s chair. “Look around you.” Barrett paused, allowing the older man to do so. The other two council members, Pelvira and Elvek, mirrored the action, taking in the six empty seats lining the long, rectangular table. The emerald velvet curtains were heavy with dust, the windows cracked open to allow thick, swampy air within the palace’s stone walls.

Barrett lounged in his chair, one hand still stroking between Rebel’s ears as the animal watched the council members with keen, sleuthing observation gifted by the God of Mythical Beasts.

“Now, tell me what you see,” Barrett said after an intentional, lengthy pause.

“I do not understand,” Nassik retorted, exasperation clear.

“Tell me what you see in this room.” Barrett planted both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Better yet, when you walk the halls of this palace— my home—what do you hear?”

“Hear?” Nassik scoffed.

“What do the staff say?”

“The staff is gone.”

Barrett let that confession hang in the air. “Precisely, Nassik.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” the man continued to argue.

But it was Mila who cut in. “Barrett, you were a guest of Revered Alabath for quite some time, correct?”

“An honored one,” Barrett answered quickly. Tension between the council members thickened, but Barrett didn’t flinch.

“I understand Mystiques have never been your ally,” Mila said, “but I think we can all agree on one thing: Ophelia Alabath nurtured a warm culture in that palace upon her ascent to the Revered’s seat, did she not?”

“She absolutely did,” Barrett said.

Lyria continued her friend’s argument. “The Revered opened the doors. She let the people know her.”

“We cannot open the doors!” Nassik argued.

“I have to agree with him on that,” Pelvira finally spoke, her long ash-blonde hair slipping around her pale shoulders, brown eyes alert in her narrow face. “We cannot expose the palace in that way.”

“Confidential business is conducted here,” Elvek added, nodding his plump head. All three of the council members’ faces were stony.

Mila nodded. “Metaphorically speaking, though.”

“General Lovall is correct,” Barrett said. He folded his hands atop the table, seizing control of the meeting in that firm gesture. Dax remained stoic, his arms crossed. “We do not need to fully open the doors in order to make my reign more approachable. This table is empty—the palace is empty. If the people are going to understand that I defected to take my mother down for the good of all Engrossians”—soft flinches from the council—“they need to know me.”

“They still will not trust you,” Nassik said.

Barrett inhaled. That control was cracking, but he asked fairly, “And how do you suggest I negotiate their trust?”

All three council members considered. I had the distinct impression they had already discussed this very topic and were aware what was said next would not be well received, despite Barrett fighting to remain calm.

“There are rumblings of those who supported your mother’s cause planning a coup against you,” Elvek said, the final word dropping like steel against marble.

There had been warriors in Kakias’s army who fought willingly. She had wielded the power of Thorn’s broken crown—the piece of the Mindshaper Angel emblem allowing her to control a portion of the minor clan—over many, but some of the Engrossian legions had truly wanted to wage war on the Mystiques, and she’d given them the chance.

And they were the ones who would fight against the acceptance of Barrett’s reinstatement as prince and any coronation to come.

“If we are going to beat the spread of those tainted beliefs, you will need an official partner to sit on the throne with you,” Nassik proposed. “One to strengthen ties, the public perception of your allegiance, and belief in your capability of ruling this territory.”

“Wonderful, Dax is already a general.” Barrett waved a hand to where his consort stood, stony faced, as if braced for an impact that had yet to launch. “We’ll happily conduct the ceremonies and rituals required by law.”

Dax offered a small nod of agreement, but his expression held firm.

“Dax Goverick is indeed a general, yes,” Nassik said. “But he defected as you did.”

“We did that to support?—”

“We understand, Prince Barrett,” Pelvira interrupted, compassion softening her voice. “And I do agree that many of your people will see it that way. Many did not want this war, and we can ensure the truth spreads of who was responsible.”

“The people will believe what they want to believe?—”

Pelvira spoke over Nassik. “We can’t open the doors, but we can bring back the staff. The late Queen Kakias dismissed them all, but we can return life to the palace. We get them to understand Prince Barrett’s involvement and motivations. They will return to their homes each night, and the gossip will spread.”

“It’s true,” I added. “After I was released from imprisonment, the news spread to every stretch of Mystique Territory in a matter of weeks. The vast majority turned against Lucidius quickly. The same will happen with Kakias.”

Now, Mila placed a hand on my knee beneath the table, but no nerves bustled beneath my skin at the mention of my time in captivity.

Nassik stewed on what I said. “My point still stands.”

“I seem to have missed your entire point in the first place,” Barrett drawled, dragging a ringed hand through his dark curls.

“You need a proper partner to symbolize your commitment to the Engrossians.” Dax’s hand fisted at Nassik’s words, and the blow echoed through the chamber with the cruel, curling smile of the councilman. “If you truly want to earn back your throne and lead this clan, you will bond with someone from a noble house, or you will lose your title.”

“ I will lose my title? He will lose his head!” Barrett’s storming echoed through the door of his suite hours later. It was the first time I’d seen the normally unflappable prince this angry.

When it came to Dax, there were no limits.

Taking a deep breath, I rapped my knuckles against the door. Dax opened it a moment later, giving me a terse nod. I followed him through the foyer, into the prince’s office.

The King’s Suite—the one Barrett and Dax had taken up residence in upon their return to the Engrossian capital—was bedecked in the deepest onyx and silvers, hints of emerald green splashed across the curtains and marble sculptures accenting the wealth.

Barrett prowled before the window muttering beneath his breath. His head snapped up as we entered. “Brother,” he greeted, his voice dark as a storm cloud. Rebel tracked his every step, the wolf up to his hip.

I nodded, tucking my hands into my pockets. I’d come alone, leaving Lyria and Mila to handle some correspondence.

“Barrett,” Dax soothed, resuming their conversation with an unbelievably calm demeanor. “We knew this was a possibility when we left. We knew there was a chance of much worse than this.”

“Execution, exile, et cetera.” Barrett continued pacing, the sky outside dark. “I knew it was all possible, and still I took the risk.”

“Then this should not be a surprise,” Dax said. I hung back, allowing him to handle his prince.

Barrett wouldn’t look at either of us; he just stared blankly out his south-facing window toward the city that wasn’t visible thanks to the dense canopy of swamp trees and thick fog. He kept his gaze fixed on that direction each time he pivoted, though, as if he could see the warriors lining the streets. Beg them to accept him, to trust him.

“I’m not surprised there are challenges,” Barrett huffed.

“Then explain, please,” Dax asked, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed.

“I knew there was a possibility we would either die before returning here or I would not be accepted back.” Barrett stopped, turning to face us with a hand dragging halfway through his hair. A torn expression flickered through the ire on his face. “I did not even consider the possibility that they would try to take you from me, to name you unfit or anything of the sort.” His eyes dropped to Dax’s gut, where Kakias had speared the general with a whip of dark magic that nearly killed him. “After all you’ve given for this, you deserve to be the one beside me.”

“I am your consort,” Dax said, his hand bracing his stomach. “That will never change, even if another takes a formal title.”

Based on his stiff shoulders, he was saying this to push Barrett toward the future he’d always wanted, the one their people needed. I was certain the last thing Dax wanted was for Barrett to be with someone else even if only in name.

“Explain it to me,” I cut in at the tick of Dax’s jaw. The general cast me a slight nod of appreciation. “What is it they want exactly?”

“They want me to complete the official Engrossian partner rituals with a warrior of a noble household,” Barrett explained, falling into a high-back leather chair and flinging his legs over one arm. “It involves two sets of vows. One is simply spoken before a priestess, followed by the scarring.”

“Scarring? Like your…” I nodded at Barrett’s chest. When their warriors came of age, Engrossians marked the accomplishment with scars and used a special ointment that did not allow the wounds to heal naturally. Barrett’s were a brutal X stretching from collarbones to waist. Dax’s, I had never seen.

“Similar,” Barrett explained. “The same anointing tonic is used, but each partner takes a blade to the other, normally a small slice to the hand, and the blood is mixed. A vow said. The ointment applied. And by the blessing of the Angels”—his hands twirled through the air, voice thick with sarcasm—“your souls and spirits are bonded forever.”

“And you two haven’t completed either of the vows?” I asked.

“Trust me, if we had, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.” Barrett’s expression darkened.

“We almost did once,” Dax explained. “Kakias locked me up.” And when Barrett freed him, they’d fled for Mystique Territory.

Perhaps it was obvious, but I asked, “Could you?”

Barrett looked ready to storm out of here and find a priestess, but Dax shifted off the desk, leaning against Barrett’s chair with a wince, and said, “It takes days to recover. They’d know, and it could ruin any support Barrett has earned.”

The prince huffed, sinking back into his chair. Absently, my hand went to my chest, where the Bind tattoo was now and forever inked.

“The last ritual is the consummation.” Dax’s throat worked over a swallow, his words hanging in the air.

“Is all of this about an heir?” I asked.

“No.” Barrett sighed. “But they will claim that’s part of it. I suppose the upside of that is they cannot select Nassik’s heinous son for me.”

Dax’s fingers drifted gently through the prince’s hair as he said, “We always assumed we had plenty of time to figure that part out, hoping Barrett would have centuries to rule.”

“But now it’s another fact they will use against us.” Barrett let his feet fall to the floor with two loud thuds that had Rebel perking up.

“What was your original plan for an heir?”

Barrett lifted his sharp eyes to me, defined cheekbones casting shadows across his face in the dim mystlight. But there was a soft excitement in his words. “We always wanted to adopt, but if none of those children seemed fit for or wanted the role, we would watch the royal houses.”

My brows shot up. “You would name another house successor to your throne?” It was unheard of in Engrossian history, as far as I’d studied.

But Barrett nodded. “Whoever had the best interest of our clan, the kindest but strongest heart, and the wisest mind. That was who I would train as my heir and nominate to transition power to when the time came, should the Spirits support them.”

I crossed my arms, leaning back against the wall as I considered everything they’d said. The prince and his consort continued down their spiraled conversation.

“They want you to select a partner,” I interrupted. “Do you have say in who?”

“I’m sure Nassik is already positioning his house as the wisest choice.”

He seemed the type, the bastard. “Who will he offer?”

“He has three children that could be considered of appropriate age,” Barrett said. Dax drifted to the side table, pouring each of us a measure of whiskey.

“You already presented an argument for why his son won’t be chosen,” I said, accepting a glass from the general. “Tell me of the other two.”

“One daughter is nearly thirty years older than I am.” Barrett grimaced. At our age, that was significant, but in a century, when Angels-willing they were enjoying a prosperous rule, it would be nothing. “Vixin. She is vile, though.”

“And the other?” I brought the glass to my lips. The liquor warmed my body on the way down, as if forging a plan.

“Celissia is wonderful, Barrett,” Dax said before his prince could speak. “You’ve been close since you were children. You can’t deny that.”

Barrett rolled his eyes, but a small smile fought on his lips as he studied his whiskey. “She was one of my only friends as a child, actually.” He looked at me. “She’s two years older, stunningly beautiful, and has worked in the Banix citadel for the past decade. She’s much smarter than I am and wickedly cunning with that mind, but kinder than most.”

“Sounds like the obvious choice, then,” I said.

Barrett frowned at me. “I don’t want a choice.”

Sighing, I set my glass on the shelf and sat in the chair across from his, a low, round table between us. “I know you don’t want one, and I think it’s awful you have to have one, but make the choice yours. Announce Celissia as your partner before another can be chosen for you, then prolong the vows as long as possible. Buy yourselves as much time as you can by going along with their plan.”

Barrett glowered at me as if hating that my suggestion made sense. Dax nodded slowly, if reluctantly.

“Why are you being so rational?” Barrett asked. “It’s unsettling.”

Dax flicked the back of his head, but he added, “He finally cleared his mind now that he and Mila are f?—”

“Not that it matters,” I cut him off as Barrett burst out laughing, “but we haven’t been.” Really fucking wished we had, though.

Barrett cocked his head in an eerily similar way to Rebel. “Why not?”

I sighed. “Does it matter?”

“Very much so,” Barrett declared, and Dax chuckled.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut. “If you must know, Mila went through…a lot in the first war.” She’d been a prisoner. Had been tortured—just the thought had me seeing red. I pushed the fury down. “And the recent battles dragged up memories. So, while she works through that, we’re getting to know each other.” Away from a battlefield. Trying to do normal fucking things like normal fucking people.

When I opened my eyes, Barrett and Dax were exchanging a look.

“What?” I asked.

“She’s too good for you,” Barrett blurted.

Dax tugged the prince’s hair. “ He means , she’s a good one.”

“No, I mean he shouldn’t fuck it up!” Barrett corrected. “We worked closely with her during the war. And Mila…well, she’s special.”

“Trust me,” I said, unable to fight my smile, “I know that better than anyone.” Standing, I clapped my brother on the shoulder and turned to refill all of our glasses. “You won’t say those vows with anyone besides Dax, Barrett. We’ll ensure it.”

After I placed full drinks back in their hands, I dug through the drawers for a deck of cards, giving the prince and his true consort a moment to debrief on what I’d suggested.

I understood Barrett’s reluctance to let his role control his life. Spirits, I admired him for it. I wished I had a bit more of that in me when I’d been younger. Perhaps things wouldn’t have ended up as they had with Lucidius.

But sometimes you had to navigate within the world you were placed in rather than bending it to your rules. Make tough decisions—hate making them even—in order to benefit those relying on you and hope your plans worked in the long run. My knuckles whitened around the drawer handle.

Those decisions were worth it. At least, that’s what I told myself while imprisoned.

The Engrossians needed a leader like Barrett. If it meant he had to play the game of politics for a while, he’d be victorious.

As I was slamming drawer after drawer, the prince’s muttered words to his consort drifted over to me, the mournful but determined tones solidifying my own righteous intention.

“My love for you is deeper than the valleys, Dax,” Barrett whispered, voice searing with promise. “No one will raise the valleys.”