No—fuck. He couldn’t say that. They were here for a reason, but that reason lingered right at the tips of their fingers.
Keep Luella safe, find Emarelia, and get some godsdamned answers.
And maybe there could be time to find some good liquor somewhere in there.
They’d been running on pure instinct since the castle had crumbled from her storm, and only in that damned solitude had everything come crashing around them all.
He knew Vale had procedures in place. The castle was being rebuilt. But Tharen didn’t even know if they could ever return. Would they spend the rest of their lives running from the Tenebrae, trying to keep Luella at ease so she wouldn’t break?
Tharen’s hand flexed around the glass. He could still feel her fingers against his palm. He didn’t think she’d meant to grab his hand, but at the first touch, he knew he wasn’t going to let her go.
From his spot near one of the arches, half-turned to the dark sea, the Prima watched.
Queen Samil seemed almost too kind, but Graves and Vale assured them all she was no threat. Her kindness was true, if a little sickening. It reminded Tharen a bit of Luella, before they had gotten their hands on her and begun corrupting her.
He hid his grin behind another drink of the sweet wine. Like grapes doused in too much sugar. He grimaced.
Was everything here sweet and nice?
Well… Luella fit right in.
Tharen’s icy blue eyes found his little lamb as she stood, clinging close to Azgorath’s side. Bastian was near them, his red eyes scanning the room, as if searching for threats. But he was looking far more closely than anyone likely knew.
There’s one.Bastian’s voice came through their link.That one near the far wall. Do you see him?
Tharen followed Bastian’s line of sight, settling on a Fallen with slitted eyes and sour lips.
I see him,Vale said.Problem?
We’ll need to watch for him. His thoughts are angry. He is mad at the Queen for letting an angel enter the Isles,Bastian replied.
Tharen watched as Azgorath’s hand curled around Luella’s shoulder. The trio moved out of sight of the Fallen. Bastian directed her to perch on one of the small lounges, grabbed a glass of wine from a table, and pressed it into her hands. Azgorath stood at her back, staring daggers at the Fallen.
Loosen up, beast, Tharen drawled.At this rate, they’ll target you before her.
No one will be targeting anyone,Graves cut in. At the sound of his echoed voice in the link, Tharen searched for him in the crowd of feathered beings. He stood near a young Fallen female, her dark hair and deep blue eyes the exact shade of Graves’s. So, that was one of his siblings. Graves continued, even as he spoke to his sister, the ease with which they were all able tocommunicate secretly, practiced through centuries.My mother made a decree. If anyone values their life here, they will not go against her.
She did,Vale stated,but we still must be careful.The King stood near a far wall, the wind rippling through his hair. Was it a trick of the dim light, or was smoke curling from his nostrils?We have sanctuary here, but the Fallen are loyal to the Queen, above all. Even over Graves. If we must, we will have to leave.
I won’t bring any more violence or unrest here,Graves agreed.My family has suffered enough.
Tharen knew little of why Graves had left the Isles and refused to return; he’d killed his father, but it hadn’t been his father—not truly. Tharen struggled to make sense of it. Tharen’s own parents hadn’t deserved the title. As far as the Prima was concerned, he had no family.
But…
His palm tingled.
Watching the others, Azgorath’s fingers sifting through the ends of Luella’s hair where it was draped over the back of the lounge; Bastian sorting through a plate of bread and cheese, picking out the meat for Luella; Vale standing watch over the crowd with draconic eyes and barely controlled temper as he worked to fight off his dragon; and Graves, who’d shoved down his own wants for them all, offering no protest as they sailed back to the very place he’d fled.
Still no sign of Emarelia.
Tharen tempered a sigh as he sat down on the lounge by Luella. She jolted and stared up at him, her blue eyes wide. He smiled wickedly at her, an arm thrown over the back of the seat,fingers grazing her bare shoulder. He had to admit—the gown was gorgeous on her. It revealed the entire expanse of her back, and he watched every twitch of her wings, wondering if they’d jump under his touch, too.
"T-Tharen," Luella stammered.
He tsked. "Still can’t say my name without tripping over it, lamb? Really—we must work on that."
She blushed, lifting her glass to her mouth to take a delicate sip.
