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

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Malakai

I rolled Mila onto her back and hovered atop her, the crisp, dark-gray sheets falling around us. “Good morning,” I said, ducking to kiss her neck.

“It’s nearly afternoon,” she joked, blinking at the angle of the sun slanting through the fog outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. The dark, clouded glass sliced narrow gaps between the gray stone walls of the Engrossian palace. So much of this structure was turrets and angular towers like the one we were in now stretching to the heavens.

“Then we have time to make up for,” I mumbled against her shoulder.

Her hands dragged down my back as she hummed, right over the scars warping my skin, but she didn’t stop. Mila never flinched at my scars.

“I’m not sure how long we can get away with hiding in here,” she said, voice breathy.

I kissed along the white lace-trimmed edge of her nightgown. Her back arched, peaked nipples pressing toward me in silent invitation.

One I wasn’t accepting yet, no matter how much my cock throbbed at the thought of sinking into her.

“Where did we leave off last night?” I asked, skimming my hand up her side, the satin begging to be removed.

“What?” she gasped.

“You were telling me of your home when you fell asleep on the couch.” I worked my way back up her neck. “Of the tradition your family had on Ascension Day.”

Pausing over her with my hands on either side of her head, I kissed her once, briefly, then rolled off her and propped myself up against the pillows. Mila pushed up on her elbows and blinked at me with her mouth slightly open.

“What was it again?” I asked innocently. “The game with your brothers?”

Mila shook her head. “I’d rather not think about my brothers right now,” she mumbled but rolled onto her side, tugging the sheet around her. “It was an obstacle course. Or a gift hunt. A mix of both, I suppose. My brothers would set it up overnight, and when I woke in the morning, it was a race to find my presents.”

I smiled at the way her eyes drifted wistfully, like the memory was stealing her attention. “Four older brothers must have been a lot of fun. And mess.”

I thought back to my own holidays, normally spent with my friends’ families. Fancy long dinners that none of us cared for, especially as children.

Mila laughed. “My brothers are my protectors—sometimes annoyingly so—but they certainly guaranteed I had an eventful childhood.”

“Do you ever think about going back home?”

She and Lyria may have met during the war, but Mila wasn’t from Palerman. She was from a small town near Turren, bordered by the plains.

The door of her fortress pulled tight at the suggestion. Her gaze dropped, and I followed it—straight to the scars on her wrists. The horrible ones from her time imprisoned during the first war. The ones she normally covered with gold ivy-carved wrist braces, but that she’d been leaving bare more often when we were alone.

Silently, I sat up and took one of her hands between mine.

“I think,” Mila finally said, eyes still on her scars, “when all of this business is said and done, I’d like to be able to return home semi-frequently. I’d like to help my parents as they grow old—watch my brothers fall in love and have families and lives not burdened by war.” She swallowed. Was she thinking of the one brother, the youngest of the four, who didn’t make it out of the first war? “I don’t think I could ever stay there. I’ve seen too much. Changed too much. But I also don’t know if I could fight in another war.”

Mila looked up at me from beneath her lashes, waiting for my opinion, especially on that last part. Like I might think it made her less of a warrior.

It was always a marvel when she cracked her walls like this. The general who did not need the opinions of others because she was strong enough to carry us all on her own, pausing to wonder if maybe she could let someone within those barriers.

The problem was, I didn’t have much of an opinion on it. “I’d understand either way,” I said, shrugging. “If you wanted to go back home to that sleepy small town surrounded by family, I wouldn’t blame you. I don’t know how you’ve kept fighting all these years.” I took a deep breath. “But I also would understand wanting the opposite of a quiet life. To go out and seek adventure, even if not leading an army.”

“Have you considered what you want?” Mila rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on a hand as she looked up at me. That look was pure temptation, ice-blue eyes blinking up at me, cheeks slightly pink, and platinum hair wild.

What had she asked again? Have I considered what I want?

For starters, her.

But that wasn’t what she meant. “No,” I answered honestly. “I’ve been dealing with the past too much to map out a future beyond the assignment to assist Barrett. But I know I don’t want anything chosen for me. Not anymore.”

She smiled. “And how does being here make you feel about your father?”

I gritted my teeth at the question. Not because I was still uncomfortable talking about Lucidius, but because when speaking with me or even Barrett, Mila always referred to him as that: your father . Like she couldn’t let us forget.

But I shoved aside the grating sensation it dragged through my chest—dug through all the work I’d done to reconcile the truth of Lucidius and the devastation he’d caused with Kakias.

“I think I let a lot of that go on the battlefield.” Her fingers drew aimless circles across my stomach as I spoke, and the gentle touch soothed the agitation of a moment ago. “Or maybe it was after the Engrossians surrendered and the queen was gone.” My muscles tightened as Mila’s nails scratched along my skin at the mention of the queen. “I don’t know when it happened, but fighting in the army actually helped me work through all the pain Lucidius left me with.”

Charging into battle alongside the warriors he tried to ruin, proving to myself that though he wrecked us all, we could still stand.

“I don’t feel as beholden to his mistakes as I once did, because now I’m fighting for myself.” It was an unshackling of the heavy cage around my heart. One that I’d held in for far too long.

But I still didn’t know where that left me moving forward.

Mila seemed to understand, not repeating that initial question but letting the truth of what I’d admitted hang between us. And I swore a bit of pride shone in her eyes.

Her gaze traveled up my bare chest. Though the worst were on my back, she cataloged each scar. She’d done this before. Studied them. Not in judgment or fear or any of the soiled feelings I felt toward them. Just observed.

But then her stare froze on something. My North Star Bind, dark against my tan skin. With her eyes on it, it was a beacon. Slowly, she traced each point.

Mila tilted her head, hair pooling over her shoulder. “How does it feel?”

Mila had the first two Mystique tattoos—the Bond on the back on her neck, and the Band, a recently-inked ring of flowers around her upper arm that declared her rank as general—so she wasn’t asking how it felt to have the ink tether your soul the way only the ritualistic promises could.

“It’s empty most days,” I admitted. “Sometimes, we both feel a pang of emotion, but it’s normally not clear why. I felt it during the battle.”

I’d thought a knife was being driven through my chest, actually. I’d asked Ophelia if she felt anything similar, but if she had, her body had been under too much distress in the Spirit Realm to remember.

Mila’s eyes swam with a mix of worry and something else. Something I thought might be…jealousy?

Tilting her chin up, I said, “It doesn’t mean anything. I’ll get us tea.” Bending to kiss her forehead, I climbed out of bed, but she didn’t follow.

“It might not mean anything to you two, Malakai,” she said, “but those soul bonds don’t go away that easily.”

I nearly shuddered at the weight to her words, searching for that cage in my chest I used to lock all these feelings in. But the door had been blown wide open by the woman looking at me with raised brows. So instead, I let the discomfort her statement dragged up find a spot in the back of my mind. One where I wasn’t locking it away, but it waited until I knew what to do with it.

Laughter echoed from Mila’s bedchamber before I even stepped foot in the door. It was a laugh I was beginning to recognize anywhere, and my own spirit lifted with the throaty, gleeful sound.

“Must you be so cheerful?” Lyria Vincienzo’s voice echoed as I crossed the threshold, tray in hand.

Mila laughed again, propped against the foot of the bed with her arms crossed. I handed her a steaming cup of tea—the spicy, cinnamon one she loved, with ginger and clove—as she said to her friend, “I don’t believe I’m any more cheerful than yesterday.”

The Master of Weapons and Warfare was sprawled on one of the low settees before the fire, a damp towel spread across her eyes and head. Her long, chocolate brown hair pooled over the black cushion, curls nearly spilling to the floor.

“Lyria,” I greeted, leaning against the bedpost near Mila. “How late did he keep you up then?”

“Until nearly dawn,” she grumbled. “After he returned from visiting Celissia with the proposal”—she pointed a finger in our direction without removing the cloth—“and you two snuck away, there was no chance for me to leave.”

“Like you would have,” Mila snickered.

“His Royal Highness wanted to celebrate his encroaching partnership, and I am nothing if not a loyal ally,” Lyria drawled, waving a hand.

I stiffened. “How is he?”

At that, Lyria removed the towel and sat up. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting off a wave of dizziness. “He’s furious, asserting he will find a way out of this bonding, but I believe he’s come to terms with the fact that they have to pretend for now.”

“Was she with him?”

“No. He wants us all to meet her tonight, though. A formal introductory dinner, and we are all guests of His Royal Highness himself.” Lyria flopped back onto the settee, the legs creaking.

I smirked at Mila, and she rolled her eyes but shot her friend a wary glance. Lyria had taken up the position of Barrett’s comrade in drink, the two emptying many bottles of rich Engrossian wine in the time that we’d been here. Barrett, because his advisors were driving him to a rage as deep as the Blackfyre. Lyria, because…she hadn’t said. But we supposed it went back to the war. To the pressure she’d had on her shoulders for months—Spirits, for her entire life. To the way it had cracked like a storm cloud when that final battle ended and the enemy surrendered. To the death count of Mystiques and alliance clans that had risen with the white flags.

She was processing, Mila said. Trying to come to terms with not only the war we’d survived but the conversations she’d had with Tolek regarding their father’s manipulation.

Many long conversations, all driving her to a bottle now.

It hadn’t become a problem yet. Merely a habit to watch, which Mila took responsibility for. It was her own way of coping. Lyria found distractions. Mila nurtured and organized. And I talked to Mila.

She was good at managing everyone’s emotions. Checking in with each of us, helping us work through the demons at our backs. So, I did that for her when flashes of blood-strewn, snowy mountains or a cage beneath the ground clawed at her.

“Let’s get you back to your bed,” Mila said, crossing the room to help her friend off the couch. The scars warping the skin across her legs shone in the morning sun. “You can sleep until dinner?—”

Before Mila could finish that thought, the entire tower shuddered with two large booms.

“Oh, Damien’s shining cock, can’t I have one day of rest?” Lyria grumbled, and neither Mila nor I could help laughing this time.

Jezebel and Erista strode into the entrance chamber of Mila’s suite as Lyria made herself presentable, straightening her leathers and tugging her errant hair into a braid. Barrett and Dax followed on the girls’ heels.

“We heard your entrance,” the prince said, swiping a hand through his sleep-mussed curls.

“We weren’t expecting you so soon,” Dax forced through a yawn.

“Things have changed,” Jezebel said, tugging off the thick leather gloves she wore when she flew.

“You really should be more conspicuous, Jez,” I scolded, but hugged the younger Alabath tightly, her black flying leathers cold even through my tunic. “I thought we agreed you’d hide the khrysaor and make the end of your journey on horseback?”

Jezebel snorted a laugh. “Have you seen how dense the fog is across the swamplands today? We’d never be seen, especially landing on the highest towers.”

I peeked around her shoulder toward the wide window of the sitting room doorway. A thick layer of gray rolled across the land below the tower.

“The canopies over the swamplands nearly block the skies from sight anyway,” Erista added. The bun her curls were slicked back into today didn’t so much as wobble as she nodded to assure us. “We didn’t go anywhere near the cities in case the fog parted.”

Barrett dipped his chin in appreciation, a slow grin spreading across his face. Jezebel launched herself at him, and he caught her with a sweeping hug.

Setting her down, he said, “I’ll accept my well wishes and congratulations when you’re ready. Has the Revered sent an offering?”

“What?” Jezebel’s brows scrunched.

“Aren’t you here because of Barrett’s approaching partnership?” Mila asked.

Jezebel and Erista looked between the prince and his consort, and my stomach turned over. “What’s happened, Jez?”

“Ophelia didn’t want to put it in writing, but Queen Ritalia’s arrival has been confirmed.”

A cold chill passed through the room, every smile fading and every spine straightening. “When?” I asked.

“Two days from now.”

“How do you know?” Dax crossed his arms, feet planted and ready for battle.

“Lancaster and Mora returned last night,” Jezebel said. “Said she was three days out and we are expected to greet her. Ophelia wants us to fly back tonight.”

“Who else?” I jerked my head toward the sitting room. We may as well be comfortable for this.

“The queen travels with her court and requests Ophelia do the same.”

“Court?” I echoed.

“Bant’s cock.” Barrett dragged a hand down his face. “I’m getting flashbacks of my mother.” The leader of the only warrior clan to retain titles and habits such as queen and holding court.

Barrett walked straight for the liquor cart beneath the window and poured himself a glass of deep red wine.

“Spirits, me, too, please?” Lyria said, falling onto the couch and stretching a hand out for a glass.

“Ophelia doesn’t have a court,” Mila said, returning our attention to Jezebel and Erista as they each took an armchair across from Lyria’s couch. “Who is she gathering?”

“Ezalia is going to attend, given that the meeting is technically on Seawatcher land, but she’s sending Seron and the children away. And Ophelia wants you three to return with us,” Jez explained, nodding at Mila, Lyria, and me.

“I’ll attend with the Mystiques,” Erista added with a proud gleam in her eye. “And we’re hoping Cypherion and Vale will return in time, and perhaps Vale will be able to read before, if her magic has been righted.”

Having Ophelia’s second present would be beneficial, but none of us had heard much from him recently. If he didn’t make it back, we’d have to avoid the tricky mention that such a highly-ranking member of the council was missing.

I cast a look to Barrett, but he was already waving me off. “You three, go.” The prince exchanged a glance with his consort. “We’ll continue working on our matters here and begin introducing Celissia to the people as”—his jaw tightened—“my intended.”

Jezebel opened her mouth to inquire, but Erista discreetly kicked her in the shin.

“Okay,” I said to Barrett. Why was I worried about leaving him here? “But write to us should you need anything, brother.”

Barrett’s glee could have erupted at my use of the term. He teased me all throughout our preparation for the flight.

“This will always be your room now, you know,” he announced as I gathered my things from my suite in the Valley Palace. I didn’t tell him my chest clenched with the sentiment.

“Don’t you want something to remember me by, brother?” he taunted when I intentionally left behind the book he’d loaned me when I couldn’t sleep last week.

“Are you going to miss me?” he finally asked when I climbed onto Jezebel’s khrysaor with her and Mila, no hint of teasing in his voice.

That time, I told him the truth. “I will, brother.”

Barrett’s victorious cries disappeared beneath the beating of the khrysaor’s mighty leathery wings, tipped in razor-sharp scales.

I squeezed Mila’s waist. “Ready for our next battle, General?”

And she shivered back against me as she replied, “Let’s meet a queen, Warrior Prince.”