Graves stepped in front of her. "I will go first.Thatis an order."
The Fallen’s lips tipped into a smirk as he opened the door, and the hinges groaned as it swung open. "My Prince," the Fallen said.
Graves stepped inside, and she peered into the small cracks around him, seeing a cozy bed in the darkness.
"Take care of them," Graves said. "The vampire will need fresh blood daily. And we have animals on our ship, anchored in an outcropping of rocks not far from the arch. They will need to be cared for." Luella had almost forgotten about Ven and Tharen’s wolves, but as Graves stated his demands, she noticed how some of the tension in Tharen’s shoulders eased—he truly cared for his pack.
"Of course, Prince Sorren," said the Fallen.
"In a week, you’ll see that I am who I claim to be." Graves’s eyes found Luella’s, and she quickly looked away.
The door shut with a clang.
Az’s hand tightened around hers, unwilling to let her go. He stepped forward next, turning to press a soft, gentle kiss to her crown. "You’ll be taken care of, Lu. Safe," he whispered.
And the next door was shut.
"Through here." The Fallen inclined his head toward Luella, holding open another door.
She stepped into the room, finding a simple bed with gauzy drapes, a small stone bath tucked in the corner, and a spout jutting out of the wall above it. Windowless and secluded.
She stared out at them all, finding her remaining Vincire watching her with rapturous intent.
Vale and Tharen stepped forward at the same moment, both with hands stretched out toward her, as if to say something, do something. She didn’t want that. Not at all. Not right now.
Luella met the Fallen’s dark gaze. "Shut the door."
His eyes narrowed, but he dipped his chin, and the door fell closed, sealing her in the room.
The last thing she saw was Bastian, dark hair rippling around him as his pale skin shone beneath the dark night.
29
SOLITUDE
GRAVES
Alone.
Graves was alone.
And in that solitude, he found himself reaching for memories of his past.
He was back. In the Fallen Isles. Hishome.
As soon as the boat had sailed closer and the mountains rose against the skyline, it had all come rushing back to him, unable to be ignored.
In shame, he had left, even with the blessing of his mother and siblings. Gods, his siblings. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of them in years. Were they… well? Did they miss him?
And his mother, would she resent him?
The Fallen that had greeted them were not any Graves had recognized, but they had been prepared for this. For being treated as the enemy until proven otherwise; though, that didn’t mean it didn’t still fucking hurt—to see his own view him with such mistrust.
He couldn’t blame them. His wings were hidden, tucked away unnaturally with magic.
Graves gripped the amulet on his chest, feeling the weight of it burn in reminder, even through his gloves.
Tharen had gifted it to him, centuries ago, when Graves had first left the Isles—a way to hide his wings.
