But today, as I walk through the halls toward the throne room, something feels different. Something luring me, tugging me out of the pure, never-ending hatred I’ve always had for this building I’ve had to call home.
Thoughts ofher.
I don’t expect to see her again very soon after we’ve said goodbye. Surprisingly, my thoughts haven’t wandered to her at all since I left her in the courtyard. Well, just briefly, once or twice. Maybe.
Who am I kidding?
I’ve spent every fucking minute since I made the catastrophically stupid mistake of touching her cheek outside the castle wishing I’d given in to every single depraved urge I’ve had regarding her over the last week. Wishing I’d succumbed to every burning need that had plagued me while I’d been pressed up against her delectable body, her scent tainting every breath, torturing me with unending thoughts of fucking her in every way known to man and godkind. Thoughts that haven’t let up. For. One. Single. Fucking. Moment.
How I didn’t strip her of that flimsy excuse for a nightshirt and ravage every inch of her body in that inn the morning I woke up with her in my arms will never cease to surprise nor torment me.
And now I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what she would’ve felt like, tasted like, on the tip of my tongue, and on the end of my cock.
I force the thoughts of her to the back of my mind, tugging on the collar of my Celestaris cloak erecting the extra barriers I need when in my father’s presence.
As soon as I flick my wrist and the throne doors fly open, the air feels different, and I’m drawn inside like I haven’t been in the thirty seasons I’ve lived here. That’s when I see her, and for the first time in my entire life, I almost stumble as I walk into the throne room that one day will be mine to reign over.
She’s like a warm breath in this cold, sterile mausoleum, a flicker of life where there has only existed stone and shadow for so long. I almost don’t recognise her at first. She’s been transformed, dressed in a royal blue dress that clings to her form inways that should be criminal, making it downright impossible to look away. Her dark hair, with those striking streaks of blue, is like an ebony waterfall cascading down her back, one I want to bury my face in. But it’s her eyes that draw me in—they have from that first moment I spotted her from across that tiny town square. Those same teal eyes that have haunted my thoughts and sweetened my dreams in equal measure. Not to mention that mouth that looks like it was sculpted directly out of my deepest fantasies.
My mind flashes with memories of the way she’d handled being basically kidnapped by four strange men, for some unknown reason, and brought to the capital to, like she said, be delivered like a pig to slaughter. Taken it with courage, with fight, with enough questions to send any sane man to the crazy cells in my father’s dungeons, with unimaginable grace. She is, as I told her, a surprise at every turn.
My feet refuse to take another step forward as I stand level with her in front of the dais, my body cleaving to hers, aching to reach out to touch her, missing the feel of her after almost a week of being almost permanently bonded to her. What. The. Fuck. Is wrong with me? Get it together, Rylan. She’s just a woman. An insufferable, stubborn, chatty… sees right through you, drives you fucking mad, woman.
I force my eyes forward and away from her breasts, which are moulded by the corset of her dress, as I greet my parents.
“How kind of you to finally join us, Rylan. Narathia has missed its beloved Crown Prince and Celestaris,” my father says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Eirabella visibly stiffens next to me at the mention of my titles, and it’s everything I can do not to grab her hand and drag her out of here. She needs to stay, whether either of us want that or not. Especially after everything I did to bring her here.
Pushing down the irritation that rises within me at myfather’s tone, I keep my expression carefully neutral as I address him. “Father,” I say, inclining my head slightly. There’s as much warmth in my voice as his. Like father, like son, so much of the court likes to espouse. Not sure which of us finds that more of an insult.
Before I can say more, my mother rises from her throne, her movements graceful despite the toll the years of illness have taken on her. She descends the steps with a soft rustle of silk, her eyes warm as they meet mine. Her hand cups my face gently in her hands, her touch as soft as I remember from childhood. My heart cracks open a little at her loving touch.
“My darling,” she murmurs, her voice full of the affection I so rarely receive from anyone else in this place. “It’s good to have you back.”
I manage a small smile, leaning into her touch. But the smile falters as I take in her appearance. She looks worse than the last time I saw her, just a few weeks ago. The lines on her face are deeper, her skin paler than the falling snow. There’s a frailty to her now that wasn’t there before, and it sends a spike of worry through me.
“Mother, I have missed you,” I say, the affection clear in my tone. “You look… tired.”
Her smile is sad, knowing. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t take care of now that you’re home,” she says, brushing it off as if it’s nothing. But it isn’t nothing, and we both know it. I make a mental note to speak to the healer about some remedies I heard of during my journey—anything that might ease her suffering, even if just a little. Maybe that will at least help the guilt I’m feeling ease.
The king gestures impatiently toward Eirabella, who stands awkwardly in the centre of the room as I help my mother back to her throne. “This is who you’ve chosen as Aquilith?” he asks, his voice laced with scepticism.
Iallow myself a quick glance at Eirabella on my way back to the floor. She looks completely stunned, her eyes wide with shock. I suppress a sigh. She has no idea what she’s been thrust into. What I have brought her into. Her face still displays the stark shock from realising who I really am.
“Yes, Father,” I say, my voice firm, confident, devoid of emotion. “I believe that I have brought you your future Keeper of Water. I’ve seen her Strength with my own eyes.”
Father’s expression doesn’t change, but I can see the wheels turning in his mind. He’s always been quick to judge, slow to trust, if ever. “But her powers were stripped,” he says, his tone challenging. “How do you expect her to serve as a Keeper when she’s barely more than a novice?”
Eirabella bristles, her lips parting as if to argue. “I—” she starts.
But the king interrupts, his gaze snapping to her with cold finality. “You will speak only when spoken to,” he says, his tone sharp as a blade.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her, noting the familiar blast of anger in her eyes, the way her hands clench into fists at her sides. I can’t help feeling a flash of pride. Good. Let that fire burn, Eirabella. Hold onto it. You’re going to need it in this place.
“She will thrive with training,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “And with the right guidance, she’ll reach her full potential. I have already spoken to Master Tavyn to oversee her Keeper training. He’s the most experienced with cases like hers and believes she will be ready by the trials.”
He considers what I’ve said, his gaze shifting back to Eirabella. He studies her for a long moment before finally nodding. “Very well. We shall see. It will be interesting considering both Master Gavrik and Mistress Manoram have already begun training their own disciples.”
