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

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Malakai

Those doors closed, sealing us in an antechamber to wait for Ophelia and Tolek, and my chest tightened. I leaned my back against the wall, head thumping to the stone, and took deep breaths as I counted the flames flickering in the chandeliers.

There were so many candles in this fucking palace. Mystlight was so much easier.

How would they get extinguished tonight? Was someone expected to climb up there? There were no visible ladders or tools of any kind. Not a helpful thing to be seen. Sure as Spirits wouldn’t be my problem, but it seemed impractical.

I dragged my hand down my face.

“What in an Angel’s fuck are we doing here?” How had we gotten here? Emblems and bargains and gods. That was the purpose behind us making a temporary peace with the fae, but this—us being separated—grated nails through my chest.

Locked in. We were locked in. No better than?—

I pushed off the wall and strode toward where the others consoled Santorina.

“I am fine,” she was assuring everyone, no heat or ice in her voice. She’d likely boil over later, but Rina always thought a few steps ahead. She was likely waiting for the right time.

“We need drinks,” Lyria chimed, drifting around the room and poking into cabinets.

“It’ll all be faerie wine,” Mila reminded her.

Lyria grumbled, sticking her head out from the cabinet with two of the bottles in hand. “Endless supply of the shit.” She looked between them as if contemplating, then she sighed and returned them, slamming the door. “Why is there nothing else?”

“There’s plenty of candles,” I muttered, and Mila chuckled beside me.

“Lancaster will pay for that outburst,” Jezebel swore, tucking into the corner on a settee with Erista.

“We aren’t sure what he was after,” the Soulguider tried to placate.

“I am,” Santorina said, eyeing us all with an unaffected air. “He was after me.”

Lyria sauntered back to the group. “Last mistake he’ll make.”

“As soon as Ophelia and Tolek are done, we’ll get back to the ship,” Ezalia said, latching on to her leadership roots. “We’ll reassess everything back in the outposts.”

Jezebel huffed a dramatic sigh, grumbling about how entitled the fae were, and Erista began kneading her shoulders. The Seawatcher Chancellor struck up a conversation with Rina, attempting to distract her from whatever had happened.

I nudged Mila, nodding my head to the side. She followed me across the room, near a second exit. I was about to tell her my idea, but Mila’s attention snagged on Lyria, still shuffling through cabinets in a desperate search.

“She’s okay?” I asked.

Mila nodded, almost reluctantly, and whispered, “Still refusing to talk.” About the war, she meant.

“Is that unusual for her?” I asked.

“We talked about everything last time.” Mila sighed, leaning against the wall and gently letting her head fall back. Platinum hair tumbled around her shoulders, unbound and silky. “Perhaps every recovery is different, though. Spirits know we’ve all changed over the last months.” She gave me a shy smile. “Some of us have had the healing process easier this time, though.”

“Healing is never easy,” I said, shifting my weight. The ache to touch her was a pressure throughout my limbs, as if they might act of their own accord. Carefully, I brushed her hair over her shoulder, watching how it fell. “We all do it differently.”

“Spoken like someone with experience,” she joked, but a slight shiver went through her as I dragged my thumb across the bare skin over her collarbone.

“I was lucky this time. I didn’t suffer how I did after the treaty, so I think it’s easier.”

The last battles had been victories for me, both personally and for the Mystiques. I’d survived on that battlefield and in my mind. But Lyria had faced so much more. If the screams of warriors echoed across the dark caverns of my memory on the hard nights, I couldn’t imagine what she was going through.

“Some of us got luckier than others,” Mila mumbled, eyes dropping to her shoes. Her deep teal gown stood out against her tan skin, making her eyes shine when she looked up at me. “I think I feel guilty at times. For being…happy. When so many aren’t.”

“ I think that makes sense,” I told her honestly. “Because we’ve both carried the weight of so many lives on our shoulders. So now that they’re gone—to an extent—we don’t know how to carry ourselves.”

“ I think,” she mimicked, “that is very wise and spoken like someone who has truly evaluated his trauma and taken steps toward healing himself.”

Something akin to pride warmed my chest. “I had someone smart helping me out.” One corner of her lips tugged up. “You’re allowed to feel guilty, Mila. But maybe being happy is how some of us move on. And it’s okay to take a step forward and support the others as they catch up.”

Those words sat between us for a moment, Mila’s eyes on her friend.

“Enough of this,” she finally said, straightening with a commanding breath. “What did you want to talk about?”

I cracked a smile because I’d forgotten I actually had a plan when I pulled her from the others, content to speak with her in this gilded antechamber flooded with candles, the two of us in ridiculous clothing.

But there was a point to this.

“I was thinking, we’re here for a reason.” Her brows shot up, urging me to continue. “Ophelia needs to handle what’s going on in there.” I waved a hand at the audience chamber. “But…”

Reaching around Mila, I pushed down the handle of the second exit, and the door clicked open.

“Looking for an adventure, Warrior Prince?” It was her general’s voice with a bit of a taunt heightening it. Spirits, that thrill traveled through my entire body.

“I’m suggesting exactly that. Perhaps something godly .” I swallowed, dropping my voice.

Mila smirked. “Wouldn’t it be unwise of us to wander off after what happened in there?”

“Wouldn’t it be unwise of us to risk being here without even attempting to get answers?”

Her eyes lit up, brighter than that damn dress. “What did you have in mind?”

“Do you think this palace has a library?”

“Brystin sets me on edge,” Mila admitted, voice so low I could barely make it out as we strolled through the wide palace corridors.

Created this . Lancaster and Mora had created this entire structure, from the marble beneath our feet to the rich tapestries draped along the walls to every last candle.

“They all do,” I agreed, and quirked my head to the left. “Let’s try this way.” We seemed to be traveling into the depths of the building.

“They do,” Mila said, a step in front of me. Her long white braid swayed down her back, the soft, embroidered fabric of the fae gown draping across her hips and leaving little to the imagination. “But Lancaster and Mora seem easier to understand. They’re here for their power. How they ended up here, where the rest of their family is, I don’t know. But at least that makes sense.”

I pulled my eyes away from her ass long enough to process what she’d said. “Did you hear what Brystin was saying on the way to dinner? About his tracking and assignments ?” Bile built in the back of my throat.

“I did.” Mila’s eyes widened with concern. “Tracking power sounds dangerous. We need to be careful around him.”

I nodded. It wasn’t the implication that many of his assignments involved dismembering enemies, the memory of my own torture, or even Mila’s torture, that haunted me. It was the twisted grin on the male’s face as he’d said it—the way he’d seemed willing to do anything for the scent of blood in the air. For the fun of wreaking havoc.

That unsettling thought followed us as we continued winding through the palace. We passed a few pairs of fae, some carting linens or baskets of food and casting us wary looks, but not a single one stopped us.

“They don’t seem to care that we’re here,” Mila observed, as a female with long black hair braided in a crown around her head kept walking, the pockets of her apron weighed down.

“Probably because we’re being watched,” I muttered. “They’ve likely been told not to engage unless we give them a reason, but to trail us.” And without thinking, I slipped my hand around Mila’s waist, turning her back to the wall, right up against a heavy tapestry.

She blinked up at me. “Yes?” But she bit her bottom lip, a sultry look clouding her eyes.

Dipping my head, I whispered in her ear, “Let’s give them a reason.”

Her hands curled against my chest, slipping under the lapels of the fae jacket to clutch my tunic as she exhaled. A decadent, breathy sound that had my cock aching. Maybe this was a bad idea.

She arched her back slightly, her breasts pressing into me, and my skin felt tight.

This was definitely a bad idea.

Placing one hand beside her head, I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and brought my lips to hers. I kissed her, slowly and indulgently, my tongue stroking against hers.

Angels, I wanted her. More than teasing kisses, more than a show to weed out who was watching us—I wanted every piece.

My fingers dug into her hair, tilting her head back, and a soft moan hummed up her throat, begging me to hurry my pace.

How could I ignore a request?

I dropped my other hand to her ass, pulling her tighter against me, and the reins on my control were ready to snap when she writhed?—

“Excuse me?” My head snapped up at the voice. The fae female with the braided coronet stood not two feet away, eyes wide. “May I help you with something?”

I flashed her a lethal look that said why are you interrupting ? But Mila’s cheeks flushed, and she falsely stuttered, “Oh, we-we’re sorry. We were, um, looking for the library. But we seem to be lost.”

The lustful daze in her eyes covered the lie nicely. Lost, distracted, hoping to lure out whoever was assigned to follow us when they thought us a pair of ambling warriors. Any excuse would work.

The fae assessed us, eyes shrewd. “Were you given permission?”

“Yes,” we both answered.

Mila looked up at me, her grin sending my heart pounding, and I wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her away from the wall with her back pressed to my front. The female tracked each movement, watched closely as my fingers tightened on Mila’s hip, massaging the silk. Her expression softened at whatever she saw between us, believing us nothing more than lust-drunk young warriors.

Apparently she forgot warriors were entirely capable of lying.

“You aren’t too turned around,” she said. “Take the next two rights and go down the spiral staircase. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” Mila said, flashing a kind smile.

Weaving her fingers between mine, Mila pulled me down the hall before anyone could say another word, the image of an innocent couple scampering off for a rendezvous, with that female likely following our every step.

When we reached the library, the arched doorframe towered, a show of power and extravagance like every other damn thing in this palace. And there were more candles lining the aisles. Spirits, the sooner we got away from here, the better.

I checked over my shoulder, but there was no sign of anyone following us.

“Mora and Lancaster truly made this?” I whispered as we walked down the long aisle leading from the doors to the center of the domed room. The air was heavy with the scent of worn parchment, leather, and magic—the latter likely from the construction of such a massive endeavor. “Angels, there’s an archive desk and all.”

Mila spun around herself, eyes dragging over every shelf and shadow. Through the windows carving along the upper level, moonlight pushed against the clouds, silver spilling over every surface and leather-bound story. It reflected in her wide eyes as she strode up to the round desk in the center of the library.

“Hello?” she called, leaning over the counter, and I ducked around the side, looking down a few of the aisles. Books towered to the high ceilings, rolling ladders awaiting use, but no one lingered between the shelves.

“Maybe we can?—”

“May I help you two?” A voice came out of the shadows, its owner rounding the far end of the circular desk with a candle in hand. Opening the waist-high door hidden in the wood, she entered the space and braced her elbows on the counter, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“We’re looking for books,” I said. Of course we were.

“You are in the right place.” Her voice floated on the air, comforting.

“Do you work here?” Mila asked.

She titled her head, black hair a night-drenched river over her shoulder. “I am a keeper of tales.”

“We’re with the warrior party visiting the queen,” I admitted. She could probably tell based on our scent anyway. “We’d love to learn more about the gods, though.”

A viper’s smile split her lips, eyes glinting. “The gods?”

“Given we know little of them but they’re imperative to fae culture,” Mila said, returning a much softer grin, “and we are being so kindly hosted here, we thought it may be prudent to study Aoiflyn.”

The woman observed us, then waved a hand toward the stacks to her left, gold bangles chiming a soothing rhythm. “That section focuses on the gods.”

“Thank you,” I said with a dip of my chin.

As we were walking away, her voice drifted after us. “I believe you’ll find the third aisle the most helpful.”

“Right,” I nodded, and held out a hand to guide Mila ahead of me.

We started down the row she indicated, but after reading the first section of titles, my brows pulled together.

“The third aisle is all…” I scanned the words gilding spine after spine. Death’s Child , A Goddess’ Dance with Death , Born in the Gates of the Desert …

“They’re all about Artale,” Mila finished. She looked back toward the now empty archive desk. As I came up beside her, her shoulder brushing my chest, I followed her stare. She dropped her voice. “Why would she tell us the third aisle if this is Artale, not Aoiflyn?”

Stretching a hand above my shoulder, Mila tugged one book from the shelf, holding it down near the candle. I stepped closer to read with her, her warmth seeping into my body and that cinnamon scent making me want to finish what we’d started in the hall.

“Sphinx tales?” I asked, trying to focus as she leafed through the tomb.

She answered, “Apparently, they’re a symbol of Artale.”

“Sphinxes don’t exist.” Mila leveled me a stare as if to say how many times have we been proven wrong about that? I corrected, “They haven’t been seen in a very long time if they do.”

“Neither had the pegasus or khrysaor.”

She stopped on a page that discussed how sphinxes were messengers, protectors, and advisors of Artale, and often communicated with the sprites of the Fae Goddess, Aioflyn, and delegates of the Witch Goddess of Sorcia, Thallia. The creatures were heralds of the Goddess of Death’s blood across the land.

“Creepy,” I muttered.

Mila shut the book. “Let’s take a few of these with us.”

“Why?” I asked, but held out my arms for her to pile them in.

“Why not?” Mila answered. Placing a second volume called Godsblood Heir atop the sphinx book, she grabbed my hand and whisked me toward another aisle.

“Aoiflyn. Finally,” Mila exhaled as we reached the last row of the six marked for the gods.

“Many of these books are about bargains,” I observed, studying the spines. Deals with Gods , History of Locked Fates , Age of Bargains .

I tugged the last one off the shelf, asking, “Do you think any of these have ways Ophelia and Tolek can get out of their bargain?”

Mila shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

She pulled one of the others and dropped to the floor. In the dim candlelight, I sat across from her. What I wouldn’t have given for a hint of Ophelia’s Angellight to read by, but I cracked the book open and squinted at the words.

“There’s quite a bloody history around the Age of Bargains ,” I noted after a long enough period of companionable silence that my ass was falling asleep on the marble floor. Truthfully, it had probably only been a few minutes, but this library was uncomfortable.

“Here, too,” Mila agreed with a grim nod.

“Why is it all so entwined with blood?” I wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Mila said distantly, “but what’s more interesting in this volume is those striking the bargains.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, shifting closer.

“These are all accounts of the Fae Goddess’ children.” She chewed her lip, scanning the page. “Some she had with humans, most with the fae, and it’s detailing infamous bargains they made.”

“Does that impact the deal struck?”

“Not directly.” Her eyes lifted to mine. “But it makes the fae strong beyond measure, and in fae culture, the more powerful they are, the trickier they tend to become.”

And Lancaster was strong. We’d learned as much tonight when Ritalia spoke of his creation magic. Which meant his bargain was undoubtedly iron-clad.

Mila went on, “Certain goddess’ magic can also apparently repel other ancient sources of magic.”

“Specific,” I deadpanned.

“I’m not sure how it could come into play in deals. It all boils down to careful language.” She paused, flipping through the pages. “Apparently the most powerful bargain magic can be hereditary, and many of the histories describe them as being used to lock secrets away.”

I tucked that away to mull over later. “Are there any indications of ways out of bargains?”

Mila shook her head, opening her mouth to comment?—

“What are you two doing here?” A sharp voice sliced through the library. Mila and I both jumped to our feet, slamming our books, which earned us a disapproving stare from the fae now striding down the aisle, a candle in hand.

“The librarian granted us permission,” Mila answered as she tucked the book on Aoiflyn back onto the shelves, but I shifted to the side, hiding the two on Artale behind my back.

At least if we couldn’t get anything on the Fae Goddess, we could take something with us.

“I am the only librarian who travels with the queen.” Mila and I exchanged a glance. The female’s tightly braided gray hair and wrinkled expression was certainly different from the first woman we’d seen. “The library is closed to visitors as of sundown unless accompanied by one of the queen’s soldiers. Out with you. Now!”

“We’re sorry,” I rushed out, keeping my back to the shelves as we hurried away. “We misunderstood.”

As we fled, I cast a last glance back toward that round desk, where the original librarian had disappeared. The memory of her melodic voice followed us down the halls.

The palace was quiet as we made our way back toward the antechamber. “Want to find somewhere private?” I asked. The slightest pink tinted Mila’s cheeks, so I held up the books. “Research.”

She smirked. “Research.” But her eyes fleeted down the hall, in the direction our friends waited. “We should go check…”

She took a step toward me, then pressed onto her toes. With her hands firmly against my chest, every inch of my body was aware of her.

Mila, Mila, Mila , my fucking heart seemed to beat.

That cinnamon scent wrapped around me as she brought her lips to my cheek. “Perhaps we can do some research tomorrow night?” she whispered, a promise and a question.

“Tomorrow,” I said.

I bent to kiss her, but we both froze when shouting echoed from the palace’s foyer.