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

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Tolek

The sand shifted beneath our boots as our party climbed out of the small row boats that took us from Ezalia’s ship, anchored out in the cerulean waves, to the little isle off the Gallantian coast designated for the fae arrival.

Ezalia and her people had been generous enough to offer the spot. We’d come to scout it with her a few times since residing in the outposts. It was the furthest from inhabited land that we could still access easily in the western Faelish waters.

The white beaches shone, grains of sand like diamonds in the sunlight and softer than an Angel’s wings. Palm trees formed a staunch border at the edge of the thick jungle, beckoning as our group trudged up the beach. But Lancaster and Mora went left, heading toward the jutting white cliffs that arched out into the water.

Ophelia’s court, that’s how he had referred to us. How he had summoned our group.

“Where’s the rest of them?” Malakai asked gruffly.

Ophelia walked ahead with Lancaster, making stiff conversation she hoped passed for pleasantries. To others it might. I nearly laughed.

“Wherever they made their camp, I suppose.” I kept my voice low. While warrior hearing was sharp, fae senses were annoyingly strong. And who was to say what lingered in the trees?

“They didn’t sail with the queen,” Malakai muttered.

I glanced at him, keeping my expression neutral. “No, these two were already on the isle, but they got word her ship was docking a few days ago.”

He frowned at the ocean. “Where is it?”

Besides the vessel Ezalia had used to carry us here, the ocean was a placid sheet of crisp, azure water. “Don’t know.”

My skin prickled. Malakai’s hand drifted toward his sword. We were all baring weapons today. The Seawatcher bow and quiver of arrows at my back were a heavy reminder that this may be a diplomatic effort with a peaceful goal, but we still didn’t know what the queen’s reason was for being here.

I went on, “We don’t know the intricacies of fae magic. When the treaty was signed between our people and theirs, we got the coveted magical land, but they got….”

Power and secrets.

Not in the ways the sorcerers of the Sorcia Isles did. No, that magic had been kept gated for thousands of years. But the fae were rumored to have unique abilities, varying even within bloodlines.

It excelled beyond warrior strength, speed, and commitment to the land we upheld with the treaty. Warriors did not need fae magic, though. It didn’t align with our purpose, so we hadn’t lost much with that agreement.

Or so I hoped, as we followed those pointed-eared immortals now.

“They’ve agreed to only remain on the isle, right?” Malakai double-checked. His stare was on Mila where she walked with my sister, those twin blades crossed at her back.

“The Revered’s first stipulation,” I assured, my own eyes locked on Ophelia’s swinging golden hair. Jezebel, Erista, and the Seawatcher Chancellor walked beside her. Santorina stayed in the center of the group, hands stiff at her sides. “But the outpost leaders are remaining vigilant. Just in case.”

Just in case the queen’s court went rogue. Just in case they wanted to resume that bloody war of thousands of years ago, when humans were slaughtered at the hands of fae, before the warriors sent armies to assist them and opened Gallantia to the magicless.

How Santorina hadn’t put a knife in Lancaster’s throat was a testament to her maturity.

“And you wrote to Cypherion and Vale?” Malakai asked as the sea washed up, darkening the sand.

“I told him where to go to catch a boat and meet us here if we haven’t returned by the time they’re back.” Angels, I hoped they’d make it here in time.

Not only because he was Ophelia’s Second—the queen would likely find it a snub if he didn’t greet her—but also because I missed my friend. Worry curled through my stomach at the thought.

“How far is this fucking camp?” I grumbled.

The closer we got to the cliffs, the more concern gathered behind my ribs. As Lancaster and Mora led us around the base of the towering rocky walls, across a natural bridge of flat stone that protruded into the waves, and watered crashed around us, I reminded myself this was necessary.

If we did not come to greet the queen, we would be breaking the bargain tying my and Ophelia’s lives to Lancaster. We needed to ensure we kept this quick and peaceful.

Should be easy , I nearly laughed at myself.

As we rounded a bend, Ezalia let out a gasp. My stomach dropped, and I froze in my tracks.

There, built precariously into the edge of the cliff, was a palace that had certainly not been there before.

Ophelia glanced over her shoulder, eyes meeting mine. Though her mask was up, the message was clear. Her signal that what we feared was true: The fae came with tricks, and we must be ready to play their games.

Her hand flexed at her side, and I was jogging ahead in a moment, lacing my fingers through hers. We both released a breath.

“This is new,” Ezalia forced through gritted teeth.

Though we were technically not on Gallantia, this isle belonged to the Seawatchers. And the queen had somehow constructed a palace on it seemingly overnight.

“It will be gone when we are,” Lancaster growled, stomping ahead.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mora said, watching us expectantly. When no one answered, she pursed her lips and strolled after her surly brother. Ezalia and the others followed, the chancellor lobbing harsh questions at the female.

But Ophelia and I stood there for a moment, eyes on the structure more extravagant than even the Revered’s palace in the mountains. All gleaming gold as if sunlight lit it from within. It’s frame actually shimmered , a stark contrast to the bloodthirsty queen’s reputation.

Balconies extended out over the cerulean water. Towers were carved into the rock side, and flags flickered in the breeze atop the highest points, the blood red rose and nemaxese’s maned head set against a white backdrop. Lancaster directed our court to a spiral of stairs winding down to the sand.

“This feels…imposing,” Ophelia muttered.

“It feels both out of place and ancient all at once.” Because the rock was worn beneath the gold embellishments, if you squinted hard enough to catch it, and ivy twined up the southern facade.

“How could she think this is okay?” Ophelia’s voice was hard. “To simply erect a palace for this meeting? On warrior land?” She fiddled with the shard of Angelborn strung around her neck, the other emblems tucked safely in her pack.

The entire structure before us glinted like it was crafted of the heart of the sun and something more. Something radiating power akin to Angellight.

“When you spend centuries ruling unchallenged, you forget certain things do not belong to you.”

Ophelia looked at me, teeth digging into her bottom lip, but she nodded. As she stepped forward with my hand tight in hers, I followed, those flags flickering and the nemaxese’s jaw stretched wide.

And I hoped we weren’t walking right into its den.

Within those walls, marble floors and pillars gleamed, stone seemingly crafted from this island’s sand-warmed beaches themselves. A mural of blood red roses was splashed upon the foyer floor, catching the candlelight, and pennants with the royal crest hung between ornately-framed works of art—fae, not warrior.

The paintings glorified the brutalities of the war thousands of years ago. Elongated canines were bared in victorious smiles, weapons pointed toward the heavens. In one, the clouds parted, a heavenly figure looking down upon her subjects.

The Fae Goddess, Aoiflyn.

It was only that one silhouette that kept me from grimacing at the art and the fae lining the bustling balconies watching us. A reminder that we needed this partnership.

A representative stopped Lancaster before we walked much further. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder at us, though only Ophelia and I were close enough to catch it, and a hint of something akin to protection glinted in his eye.

“I don’t care what she wants,” Lancaster snapped, but with an admonishing look from his sister, he reined in the ire quickly.

The rest of our warrior entourage were muttering quietly to themselves, pretending to observe the gold-framed artwork as they noted all types of threats. My sister and Santorina stood to the side, their backs to the wall and stares sweeping the second story walkways framing the foyer. I followed their gazes. A pair of fae stood in the shadows, observing in high-collared jackets and breeches.

The hair on the back of my neck rose further with every step into this palace. With every eye glued to us.

I locked my hand tighter around Ophelia’s as Lancaster and Mora finished their quiet discussion, and the male stalked off without a word. With a shining smile, the female turned to us. “My brother has business to attend to, but I can show you where you may clean up before the queen’s audience.”

“Clean up?” Ophelia asked, not unkindly. She was curious about Mora after their first meeting in the Wayward Inn—when the fae had been posing as a warrior running from an abusive partnership. We’d never gotten the story on why or how she was there.

Now, she remained some odd combination of powerful threat and potentially friendly ally.

Peering down the hall Lancaster disappeared into, I almost wish he’d been our guide. At least with the male, we knew where we stood.

“We’ll provide proper clothing to meet the queen.” Without waiting for an answer, Mora turned and inclined her head for us to follow.

“Proper clothing?” I whispered to Ophelia.

Jezebel piped up from behind us, “This ought to be fun.” For the first time in days, despite the questionable magic she’d shown Ophelia, she looked truly elated.

“What about you, Ria?” I asked my sister as we passed a set of wide doors, thrown open to reveal plaques and medals. “Ready to indulge in a new gown?”

“Of course,” she drawled, and the flatness in her tone had my attention whipping around, but she strode ahead, not waiting for me to respond.

Ophelia grumbled beneath her breath as we followed Mora—cursing the formal fae fashion to the Spirit Realm if I heard her correctly—and digging her nails into her leather skirt. I stifled a laugh, kissing her temple softly, and she loosed a breath.

The palace’s wide corridors were made entirely of gold-flecked granite. Spirits, was this whole palace made of gold? The floor, the window panes, even the shimmering velvet curtains?

“There’s a dressing chamber that’s been crafted for your convenience,” Mora tossed over her shoulder.

Crafted?

She threw open a pair of heavy double doors with ease, leading us down another hallway lined with thick, deep green carpets. Those same red roses stood on pedestals beside each polished, dark-wood door.

At the end of the corridor, Mora turned expectantly to us as if waiting for some reaction.

When no one said anything, she pursed her lips, then continued with a wave of her hand to the left. “Through that door is a selection of formal attire, including boots and jewels. It will be much more appropriate to greet the queen in such.” She waved her hand to the right. “Baths are through there should you need, and perfumes, oils, and other necessities can be found inside. Someone will return shortly to retrieve you, but guards will remain at the end of the hall should you need anything.”

Should we try to wander, she meant.

Ophelia’s fingers fidgeted against mine at the leash they subtly snapped around us. Ritalia may be centuries older, but she should be very careful how far she pushed Ophelia Alabath.

“Thank you,” she answered, without even a beat of hesitation, despite the suspicious suggestion. “This will suit our needs well enough.”

Ophelia’s voice was cool. Even. As if this was precisely what she’d intended and the palace was grand but nothing unique. She flashed a virtuous smile that, on the surface, spoke only of pure gratitude.

But beneath the exterior, her teeth were as sharp as the fae.

“This dress is horrible!” Ophelia called from rows away.

In the distance, Jezebel yelled at the rest of our party, assigning them each outfits from the fae’s extensive collection. The dressing chamber was massive and honestly a bit obscene, with high ceilings and endless rows of options. Ruby red and gold hung from every candelabra, fire flickering off the dark wood and marble floors. Even the clothing racks and wardrobe doors were framed with carved gold roses, and the air smelled strongly of flowers.

Thematic opulence. Manipulative extravagance. A damn tricky show meant to make us feel relaxed and comfortable and entirely under their control.

I slid high-collared jackets along racks, looking for any in my size, not entirely caring which I wore. Baby Alabath would likely pick something else anyway.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I called back.

There . I yanked a black piece with gold embroidery off the hanger and slung it on. I hated jackets—the sleeves never rolled up easily, so they were too restrictive—but I could wear it for this audience.

“Why does the queen insist we dress in the style of her court?” Ophelia grumbled. “And why am I listening?”

I laughed, striding around the end of the aisle. “Because?—”

Every word, every damn thought, vanished from my mind.

Ophelia blew out a breath as she looked over her shoulder at me. “What?”

“That dress is far from horrible, Alabath.” My voice was rough, but I could barely think enough to clear my throat. While the dress was different than anything I’d seen Ophelia wear before, and certainly not a warrior style, her in that dress was nothing short of spectacular.

The bodice was tight and strapless with a corset that was likely driving her crazy—driving me crazy, too. The gold fabric was so sheer that if it weren’t for the lining beneath, I’d see right through it. A beaded design looped around the front—an intricate depiction of roses, I thought, but I couldn’t focus enough to tell.

The skirts were full—she hated that, I was certain—but the material was thin enough that the outline of her legs was visible beneath. So fucking tempting.

And when she turned away from the mirror and stepped toward me… “I’m never going to survive this meeting,” I groaned.

One leg ending in a high golden heel slipped out through a slit, all the way to her hip, and my cock twitched.

The queen’s court may adhere to an outdated style of dress with the full skirts and tight corsets, but I could accept it if Ophelia looked like this.

“Jezzie added the slit for me,” Ophelia said, voice sultry. Dammit, she knew exactly what she was doing. “There were long sleeves and a collar to my chin, but she cut those away, too.” Golden hair tumbled around her shoulders, and her heart-shaped lips split into a tricky grin as she blinked those magenta eyes at me innocently.

“Not sure it still counts as fae fashion with your modifications,” I rasped.

Ophelia flicked her brows up. “Are you complaining, Vincienzo?”

“Not at all.”

She prowled toward me with a damn satisfied smirk I wanted to wipe off her mouth with my own, that dress cinching her waist and accenting every asset she had. All I could think of as she turned her back to me was bending her over here in the middle of the dressing chamber—our friends be damned—and burying myself in her heat. Her neck arched as she swept her hair over one shoulder, and I was ready to fall to my knees.

“Finish tying it for me?” she asked.

I didn’t want to tie the damn corset. I wanted to rip it off her. The silk ribbons were suddenly my mortal enemy. She’d managed to get them mostly laced up. I didn’t know why she hadn’t waited for me, but I didn’t really have enough blood in my head to ask.

Swallowing, I gripped the ends and tugged tightly. Ophelia inhaled, and in the mirror, her chest rose. Her eyes locked to mine, a challenge budding there.

“Rough, Vincienzo?” she asked as I finished lacing.

Ducking my head, I kissed the spot where her shoulder met her neck. Her eyes burned, and fucking Spirits, I was dangerously close to not being able to walk out of here.

“Surprised?” I skimmed my lips up her neck, and she inhaled, eyes fluttering closed.

“Intrigued,” she corrected breathily. “Even though I hate this damn dress.” She lifted the piles of skirts for emphasis. Her voice was calm. That wouldn’t do.

“I’ll make you a promise,” I whispered, nipping her ear and tugging the ribbons tighter so her breath hitched. “You wear this dress now, and I’ll help you take it off later.”