Flipping the letter around, it wasn’t a handwritten warning that greeted us. Instead, it was an invitation, a call to attend a castle grounds event—a wedding.
Parran’s dark brows furrowed. “I-I’m not sure why you’re laughing?”
Alastair flicked the bottom corner, where a signature sat nestled beneath the mirage of colors coating the parchment. “Because Caspian fucking Vayne signed it.Hesent it.”
“He’s alive…” Syoran whispered, my words quickly devouring his.
“He knows…”
“Of course he does.” Rolling his eyes, Alastair stared at the invitation for a breath before he elected to turn, not to Leilani, not to me, not to Syoran, but to Parran. “How probable is it that you can still use your Voidstep?”
Their large turquoise gaze only seemed to grow. “Y-You’re asking me to use my magic beyond healing?”
“Did I miss something?” Syoran asked. “What the fuckdoes Voidstep mean?”
Alastair nodded, ignoring Syoran. “I trust you. You’ve proven yourself a capable crew member, Parran.”
“But what if I… What if I can’t… What if I can’t form a link back?”
“Then we will figure it out,” Alastair reassured, placing a gentle hand on their arm. “But for us to make this happen, we are going to need your help. Do you think that is something you can do?”
Parran dipped their chin. “I can try. For you, I can try, Captain.”
“Perfect.” Finally, electing to address the rest of us, Alastair smirked. “Here’s the plan. Syoran will cater to the eastern wing of the palace, and I will focus on the western. Leilani, you will cover ground along the main entrance.” Turning toward me, his grin only widened. “Rohen, Parran will use their abilities to drop you right into the palace, right to Caspian fucking Vayne, and I only have one request. Give them hell.”
CHAPTER 47
Looming War
CASPIAN
The nightfollowing the execution had been one of the longest, and the only other time comparable was intertwined with a life I was no longer a part of. Each step carried the weight of responsibility, of duty in a position I never wanted. And the blood still lingering beneath my fingernails—no matter how hard I scrubbed—served as a reminder of the essence that should’ve never been spilled.
With the sword passed down from one guard to the next sheathed at my back, my strides echoed down the mostly vacant hallways. Clad in a tailored midnight doublet, ornate clasps trailed down the entire length of my torso. The garment itself was structured like a court military coat, with its high collar framing my throat with stiff, defined lines.
Across my shoulders lay a mantle of embroidered brocade guard panels, their silver filigree woven into the dark cloth to mark the authority of the crown’s sentinels. Each time I passed a window, the patterning caught the light like frost on steel, emphasizing a rank I had no right nor interest in upholding. As if to drive that point home, engraved vambraces hugged my forearms, both etched with royal motifs.
To anyone else, they signified extravagance and thesevere elegance expected within royal service. But to me? They were makeshift cuffs that confined me to the grounds, to the king, to the Others.
This was my fucking prison.
Rounding the corner, the deep purple cloak stitched to the minimal fabric backing of the panels caught the breeze and snapped behind me with an air of authority that made my skin crawl. Where I’d held the position of the captain of a crew, the men whom I supposedly commanded were family. But within the walls of the palace, where a wrong word could cost your tongue, and obedience was the only way to stay alive, there was no such concept.
And the king’s decision to have me take the position of the man I’d killed, the man who once stood beside Kaelivan in both honor and love, only proved the depth of corruption littering the lands.
Forgetting that I was towing company, the deep, refined voice ripped me from my wandering mind. “They expect Kaelivan to be in the ballroom no later than the golden hour, sir.”
I turned to my right, locking eyes with the male who once bore the title of Percival’s second, recently turned mine. Brix’s fire-red hair settled just above his shoulders, and the crystal-like hue of his irises seemed to reflect his emotions, a hint of red igniting them as he held my stare—a sign of the tears he had shed over losing a man who should still have been walking alongside them.
It should have been me.
“Have you or the others been able to get into his quarters?”
He shook his head. “No, he’s been unresponsive since…”
“I understand,” I interrupted before he had to relive the moment the news spread through the capital. “And in the efforts of protecting him, I will ensure he obeys. This reign has lost far too much already, and there remains no bandwidth to consider the fall of the heir.”
Before I could blink, his forearm met my throat as he forced me into an alcove just off the hallway. Back slamming against the stones, I grunted but didn’t bother to fight back as the tip of his dagger met the side of my neck.
