Neither of us answers.
“Ronin,” Anethesis accuses and the Golden Son turns to face him.
“Would you mind releasing Princess Amara? I would hate for you to damage something of such great importance.”
With that, Anethesis glides forward, his movements smooth. His fingers wrap around the Golden Son's wrists, prying his hands away from me. The scrape of his long, cold nails against my skin leaves an eerie, lingering sensation. He gently guides me back into my seat, the proximity of his presence unnervingly close.
“Great importance,” I repeat, the weight of the words hanging between us. It’s the first time he’s said anything like that.
Anethesis smiles, but it’s not a smile that reaches his lips. Instead, it radiates from his eyes, something colder, darker, that makes my stomach tighten. “Yes, Princess,” he replies softly. “Our preparations are complete, and we are so very excited.”
I catch the flicker of confusion that passes over the Golden Son’s face, and for the first time, I see that he’s just as much in the dark as I am. His brow furrows, and for a split second, doubt flits across his features.
“For what?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intend.
Anethesis takes a slow, deliberate breath, his shoulders rising and falling as though the weight of what he’s about to say is almost too much to bear. “At long last, the Ithranor are going home,” he announces, his voice thick with a quiet pride. “To our true home, to the lands of the Vornahl, and away from this wretched place that has caused us nothing but pain.”
His eyes lock onto mine, a glimmer of something disconcerting in their depths. “It is time to get to work, our blessed Awakened.”
Chapter 3
Daed
Ilie sprawled across the table, the heat of the wood seeping into my skin, slick with the salt and sweat of endless days at sea. The ship rocks with the rhythm of the waves, their ceaseless lap against the hull a taunting melody. A reminder that I have been adrift far longer than my feet have known solid ground these last months.
Feet. Ground. Not wings. Not air.
Not since they were sliced from my back, leaving jagged, mocking scars.
The ache of their absence cuts deep, sharper than the blade that took them. I remember the wind rushing through my feathers, the cool caress of clouds on my skin. But even those memories, so sacred, so bittersweet, are nothing compared to the hollow agony of my true loss.
Amara.
My woman. My wife. My love. My salvation.
The gift my wretched soul never deserved.
I knew it was a matter of time before fate took her from me. But never did I imagine it would be like this. I failed her. These hands, this body, forged to protect and destroy, failed to shield the only light I’ve ever known. And not just Amara. My beautiful, good Amara. I failed the child I cursed her with. The child who carries my blood, my strength, and my ruin.
I was going to tell her in Pariseth. Tell her everything. The truth of what lay ahead, the weight of what we could never escape. That to build a life together would mean fighting tooth and claw for every fragile moment of peace. But I never got the chance.
Now she’s out there, alone, with nothing but lies to cling to. Lies spun by Anethesis, that Fae snake. Yet even his venom pales beside the threat that haunts my every thought.
The Golden Son.
It was never his army that concerned me. Nor the alliance he forged with a Fae house. No, it was the look in his eyes when he gazed at Amara. The look of a man who covets something he cannot have. I’ve seen it before, in war, in life, in death. And I saw it again, clear as day, on the fields of the Grove and in Pariseth.
He dares to think he can have her.
But she is mine.
I will find her. I will bring her back. I will tear apart any who dared to touch her, who dared to think they could keep her from me. And when I stand before her again, I will say the words I should have said that night on the balcony.
The truth that could have saved us both from this curse.
From this agony.
From this endless, unyielding ache.
