Page 56 of A Kingdom of Magic and Rain

“Well, I’ve got her now, so I’ll deliver her to the king myself,” he hissed, his eyes gleaming with malice a second before the world plunged into darkness.

My skin prickled as magic enveloped me before my stomach dipped, and I was ripped from where I was and thrust into a different place. With no wall for support this time, I sagged in Tarn’s arms, instinctively grabbing onto his tunic as I took quick, shallow breaths to tame the rising nausea.

“Emelin!” Adrian’s voice cut through the dizziness.

“So weak,” Tarn spat, prying my hands from his tunic.

He swiftly stepped away from me, and I would have crumpled to the ground had it not been for two strong arms catching me—two strong, familiar arms. Adrian was holding me now, but knowing that brought little comfort. He had dropped his glamor, and his face was ashen as I stared up at him, willing my swimming vision to focus.

“Are you all right?” he asked low, his gaze flicking over my features.

I gave a small nod and looked away from him to take in my surroundings. I was in a throne room, with a dais immediately to my left. The platform rose high above the ground as if the rulers wanted to put as much distance between themselves and their subjects as possible. My wide-eyed gaze climbed the polished stone steps all the way to the top, where two intricately carved silver thrones sat.

“Princess Emelin Clairborne,” the Fae king’s deep voice echoed in the large open space.

His short, dark hair gleamed as he angled his head, studying me from atop his throne. When our gazes locked, trepidation slithered down my spine. The one before me was a king, but he was nothing like my father. Ominous darkness radiated from him, giving me the impression that power and dominance were something he craved and often abused. He was on a self-proclaimed pedestal, high up on his silver throne, looking down at everyone else because he believed them inferior.

“I am King Sorin,” the one in front of me said, and my gaze flicked up to the crown encircling his head. Sharp spikes of silver rose high as if to aid in elevating his status. Each point ended in a spear-shaped blue gem that pulsed with a silver light. “This is Queen Celestina.” He gestured to the woman sitting on the smaller throne next to him. Like Thea and the two other faeries I had encountered so far, he was speaking in the old language.

My gaze shifted to Celestina. She sat tall and unmoving, her long black dress spilling down the silver throne like ink. Thick, silver hair draped over her shoulders, and a smaller crown similar to the king’s sat atop her head, except the blue gems on it didn’t pulse with a silver glow. The Fae queen looked beautiful but cold, as if an aura of ice surrounded her, making my skin prickle even from a distance.

The king said something else, but the buzzing in my ears drowned out his words. I stood frozen in place, my gaze darting frantically between the two royals. I took in their features, letting them sink in until one thing became painfully clear—Adrian was their son. It was evident by the raven hair he had inherited from his father and by the more refined planes and angles of his face—courtesy of his mother. His most captivating feature—his silver eyes—was not a gift from either of his parents. Both royals had blue eyes. His father’s gaze was a darker shade of navy, while his mother had pale, wintery eyes.

My head swung to Adrian, and he must have seen the realization written on my face because his hold on me tightened. Still, it didn’t prevent me from scrambling out of his arms and taking a few steps back, putting some distance between us.

“Emelin,” he rasped, reaching for me again, but I took another step back, wrapping my arms around myself as if to ward him off.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” I bit out, enunciating each word.

I curled into myself as if looking for protection from the truth, but it was right in front of me as it had been all along. Every time I had caught myself thinking that Adrian carried himself like royalty, my mind hadn’t been deceiving me; it had been picking up on subtle clues. Had there been more signs that I had missed? Could I have prevented what had transpired on the border if I had paid closer attention?

A whimper escaped me as a sharp pain pierced my heart. I looked down at myself in confusion, but there was no physical wound. It only felt like a hole had opened up in my chest, gaping and gushing blood. The pain was throbbing and raw, and I gave in to it, unable to fight its intensity.

Adrian looked as if he, too, was in pain as he stared at me, his eyes glistening with tears. His hands trembled slightly as he balled them into fists by his sides.

“You know Prince Adrian, of course,” the king said in an amused tone. “And you have already met my other son—Prince Tarn.”

I tore my gaze away from Adrian to glance at the man who had brought me here. Tarn smirked at me from atop the dais, where he stood beside his father’s throne. I studied the prince in more detail, picking up on the features similar to Adrian’s. Tarn was shorter and slimmer than his brother, with a narrow face that seemed to be permanently set in a snide expression. His eyes were deep blue like his father’s.

“Why am I here?” I asked in Stellian, shifting my attention back to the king. My voice shook, betraying my anxiety. I could feel Adrian’s eyes boring into me from my right, but I refused to meet his gaze.

“You are here because you can do something for me,” Sorin said, rising from the throne to a staggering height. “You will bring down the wards.”

All color drained from my face as my heart stopped. Thea’s words from earlier invaded my mind: The wards still hold. We can’t launch a full-scale attack.

Was erasing the barrier in my power? I wasn’t going to find out. I would not lower the wards and leave Emeraldia defenseless. A feeling I hadn’t experienced in a while flared to life in my chest. The day on the border two months ago flashed through my mind. I had decided to stay in Zalie then because it had felt like my destiny. The feeling in my chest now was similar. Except this time, it was my fate to lay down my life to protect my kingdom. Fear spiked, but resolve quickly replaced it. The decision was surprisingly easy to make. Unwrapping my arms from around myself, I lowered them by my sides.

“No,” I said, lifting my chin. The word sounded as if I had shouted it, bouncing off the gray stone walls.

Adrian moved closer to me, but he didn’t try to reach for me again. Instead, he positioned himself as if trying to shield me from his father.

Sorin’s eyes narrowed, and a muscle flexed along his jaw as he stared down at us. Then, he moved, quickly descending the dais, his long, midnight-blue cape gliding over the steps behind him. When he reached the bottom step, every instinct in me told me to back away, to put as much distance between us as possible, but I steeled myself, refusing to cower before him.

The king wasn’t coming for me. Rage flashed in his eyes as he lashed out, going for Adrian’s throat. Sorin’s fingers clamped around his son’s neck before he lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Adrian’s feet dangled in the air as his eyes bulged, locked on his father. I watched in horror as Adrian struggled for breath, clawing at Sorin’s forearm. As he was doing so, the long sleeve of the king’s black tunic slid down, exposing glowing silver patterns on his skin.

“What are you doing?” I rasped, my throat burning as if it were me in a chokehold.

“You will not bring down the wards?” Sorin asked, turning his head to glare at me. “Not even to save your lover’s life?”