A resounding crack reverberated through the air, as if it split our very souls asunder.
In a blink, Sainte’s eyes reverted to their cool blue hue. He shuddered as if shedding Nothar from his skin, then looked down at Adastrus. Features void of emotion, he flicked his wrist, spinning his dagger, then slashed down in a single decisive strike.
I yelped and rolled away from my brother’s detached head, curling up on my side. Sharp pain drew a hiss, and I groaned, resting my temple against the cool, polished floor.
A warm touch pressed against my shoulder.
“Ellie.”
Slowly, through clouded vision, I blinked up at Sainte crouched beside me.
“It’s over,” he said.
His face was the last thing I saw before I slipped into oblivion.
Chapter 32
After Sainte removed Adastrus’ head from his body, a stunned silence fell before chaos erupted. Nothar used him as a vessel, but his actions in decapitating my brother appeared to be his own… or so it seemed.
We left the training chamber in a whirlwind of guards amid mixed cries of joy and rage. In Sainte’s arms, each step he took jostled my body, wreaking havoc on my aching ribs. Every inhale was a struggle, shallow and rasped. My eyes would barely open, I assumed, because of severe swelling. Warm sticky blood streamed from my nose and a split in my lip, staining his tunic. Unable to do more than wince and hiss at each jab of pain, I focused on one breath at a time. I was alive.
Unlike my brother.
The high court called an emergency meeting, thankfully without me. Anderz advised that I stay in my quarters until summoned, a relief in my current state.
The door creaked open, and I squinted to see Sainte striding past four guards, his grip firm but careful as he carried me into my chambers.
“Fetch Master Healer, Gilead,” he bit out, his voice rough and cracking.
With a forceful kick, he shut the door behind him and stalked over to the table in my receiving room, laying me down. His face, usually so composed, now bore a deep frown, his brows knitted in frustration. He let out a heavy breath, reaching out to wipe away the blood that trickled down my cheek. I turned my head, attempting to avoid more of it sliding down my throat. I’d swallowed so much at this point that the coppery tang stained my mouth and churned my stomach.
“Did–”
“Shh.” Sainte silenced me with a finger over my lips. “Save your words.”
He offered me a sympathetic wince before he tore at the fabric of my bodice. Water pooled in my eyes, and I clamped them shut as a frigid coldness seepedinto my bones, draining me, pulling me toward sleep. His sleeve brushed against my skin, wiping away blood to assess the wound along my ribs. I whimpered at the probing touch, longing for peace and quiet.
Time passed, marked by the creak of a chair as Sainte settled in.
At some point, Gilead entered, her voice a soothing murmur as she tended to my injuries. I bit down on a leather strap as she worked a needle through my flesh, stitching the gash shut. Once my wounds were clean and tended, Sainte moved me to the bed, his movements slow with care, as if I’d dissolve into dust in his arms. The tea Gilead gave me was bitter and foul. Its warmth barely touched the chill that ached through me.
And then there was nothing.
I glanced up from our card game as the door creaked open, admitting the handmaids and seamstress into my chambers at my call. Anderz entered alongside them, a familiar sight as of late. His updates, though cautious, kept me informed.
The past weeks were a whirlwind of events, yet progress seemed slow. Sainte faced a summons and endured a grueling interrogation by the entire court and their accompanying priests. They debated whether he had the authority to execute Adastrus. Nothar’s clear influence over him complicated matters, rendering the law almost irrelevant in his case. He belonged to Nothar as much as I did.
Aside from the business with Sainte, the council convened with the priests, debating my right to rule. The Rite of Combat hung in the balance, its sanctity questioned in the wake of divine intervention. Counselor Dyre didn’t hide his skepticism about the lack of support from Fiera’s followers. Their vocal opposition to my claim cast a shadow over the proceedings. While others hesitated to challenge Nothar so openly, they stood firm in their stance. Sainte’s bristling when Anderz discussed them spoke of something in his past, his lip curling in disdain at their mention.
Confined to my chambers, I awaited the high court’s summons, forbidden from venturing outside until their call came. Though, seeing the trio of women, I had to assume that moment finally came.
“The God Stones have surfaced.”
I snapped a card onto the table, startled by the revelation. Sainte pivoted in his seat, gaze locking on the newcomers as they rushed off to prepare my dressing room.
“The true God Stones?” I leaned forward, searching his features.
He responded with a pleased smile and slow nod. “Yes, my princess. They were concealed in Veiled Prince Adastrus’ chambers,” he said. “The high court requests a retrial of the Rite of Favor.”
