She doesn’t bother meeting my gaze, seemingly put off that she has to attend the Rite at all.
A few of the king’s private circle are in attendance. Alasdair grins at me when we catch gazes, and I quickly look away. Cyan stays at the edges of the courtyard, watching. A male with wavy dark hair and stormy eyes is at his side.
The final one to cross the threshold is Wilder, wearing a simple pair of black pants with weapons strapped to a harness across his chest like he’s ready for battle. He’s shirtless, and the expanse of muscle is distracting.
“Glad I please you, Starfire.”He winks, continuing forward.
“Shouldn’t you be more royal? Or at least put on a shirt?”
“This is traditional Vaelier battle dress for a duel.”
“This isn’t a duel.”
“Isn’t it?”He hitches an eyebrow, and my stomach sinks.
“It doesn’t offer much protection.”
“That’s the point. No armor. You walk in with what you can carry—on your body and in your blood. Only one walks out.”
My throat tightens as I take in his battle dress.
Because he’s right. That’s what this is—a battle.
The final stand before his people die. Once I choose King Malachi, Vaelier will fight tooth and nail, but with the Well against them, they won’t win.
Out of respect for what I’m about to do to his home, I don’t break Wilder’s gaze as he approaches the altar.
“My chosen.” King Malachi lifts my hand, pulling my attention.
His lips press to the back of it, and my skin prickles.
Callum moves to the side of the courtyard near Greer, while Selia and Hazel stay close to the king’s back.
A final figure moves through the doorway, carrying the Staff of Sarrow.
Notcarryingit exactly. She holds it inches from her hands, levitating it over the ground.
The female is wearing a lace gown like the high priestesses in Tempest, and when her gaze lifts, I’m met with swirling white eyes.
“Your Majesty.” She bows her head to King Malachi, pushing the staff forward so it floats in the center of the dead stone altar. It glows even brighter above the gray stonework. The intricate rivers of crimson magic weave through the staff, deeper than they were before. Or maybe I’m only now grasping the full depth of what lies within it.
My Fae senses are still muted but stronger than they were when I first came here. This other half of who I am is brimming at the surface. Pushing through in different ways. Like my teeth last night when my magic reached an unbearable peak.
A tightness claims my throat, and I don’t dare look at Wilder. My chest is tearing in two with what is about to be done.
“Elorie Vale.” The priestess turns her attention to me, white eyes glistening.
At the center of her gaze is a drop of red like blood in snow.
I roll my shoulders back and glance at Greer, clinging to thepromise I made her—made myself and my home—before turning back to the priestess.
“It is time to choose who you will enter into the Rite of Blood with.” There is no emotion in her voice. A calming indifference that does nothing to settle my nerves.
My fingers clench at my sides while I stand frozen, fighting to breathe.
“It’s all right, Starfire.”Wilder’s voice breaks through, and I finally dare to look into his golden eyes.
“None of this is all right. I want you. I—” love you.It almost slips through the thread, but I manage to cut it off.
