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To say he was impressed would be an understatement. Rymedur regarded Areanel in a new light. She was as cunning, intelligent and adaptable as a fox. He had not seen anyone think the way she did. ‘How generous of you! And how exactly do we take vengeance?’

The wide, cruel twist of her lips, paired with the cunning of her eyes, sent a shiver racing across Rymedur’s spine. Though it was not the cold chill of sinister intent, but a shock of excitement. The thought—not so much the act of vengeance, but of the person he would commit it with—sent a thrilling wave through him.

And he knew, without a doubt, he was going to enjoy this.

Chapter 13

Areanel

Almost two decades ago…

It had been an entire year since the war had ended.

She had missed it all. A year of her life gone in the blink of an eye. Or, well, she supposed that, to everyone else, it had gone by so fast—but not for Areanel. She had suffered an entire year in The Pit, and even now, more than three months since her release, terror clawed her spine at the memory.

Pain, dull and constant, grounded her in the present. Areanel dug her sharp nails into the palms of her hands to stop herself from reaching for her neck. She could still feel the phantom weight of the Ikarus collar her father had placed there. Sometimes, when she passed mirrors, she thought she could still see the faint marks and discoloured skin from the corner of her eye—like a phantom limb, the spikes of pain lingered.

But that was impossible; her father had ordered the palace healers to remove any scars. Too visible, he had claimed. It represented her weaknesses. Still, she clung to the distant pain. She needed to remember—to know it had been real, and not a figment of her imagination. It was unnerving, having to wonder whether the experience was true or not, but the real fear had been the thought that her own mind had somehow tricked her.

Was she going mad, just as her brother Silas had? Or was she paranoid like her father?

Areanel could hear her teeth grind as she forced her anger to abate. Not now. There were too many eyes on her. It felt like the entire Kingdom of Andrea, with the exception of the Selcirith royals, stood watching with bated breath as she married Rymedur.

She had to be patient. Revenge would be much sweeter if she were patient.

The last time she stood in this throne room, surrounded by these very people, her father’s sentries had beaten her within an inch of her life and dragged her by her hair down to the lowest level of The Pit. No one in the throne room would ever know the meaning of true fear. But Areanel did. She had suffered; was still tormented. It was why she spent most days lying awake, staring unblinkingly at the overly ornate canopy above her bed.

Sleep was the cousin of death, and Areanel had found herself longing for either during her sentence.

There was a reason no one ventured to the lowest level. Level five was the lowest that even the sentries would brave for patrol. Horrors too great for a mortal mind—that was what she witnessed. Anyone else would have lost all sanity, but Areanel had purpose. She wanted vengeance—for the brothers and friends she’d lost in the war, but most importantly, for herself.

Areanel could feel lightning in her veins. Every fibre of her being was on edge, alert. Now that she stood where she had been a year before—at the base of her father’s throne—she waited for the other shoe to drop, certain another betrayal would follow.

The way she had fought, kicking and screaming, echoed in the recesses of her mind—because, with every bit of fight left in her broken and abused body, Areanel had fought. She had managed to kill a few of her father’s guards, to no avail. Where one fell, two more appeared.

Areanel hadn’t realised she had been shaking until a large hand covered her own, halting her erratic movements. Glancing to her side, emerald clashed with her blue eyes. Rymedur—standing tall and proud in his wedding attire that perfectly complemented her dress, a mixture of navy blue and delicate silver threading—raised a brow in quiet question, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

She had no idea how one man could simultaneously make her heart race and calm her mind. He was a walking contradiction; something her father hated. Yet here she was, marrying him.

Turning towards each other, Areanel had to strain her neck to look up at his towering form. His hulking figure was a testament to the warrior he was, but Areanel wasn’t intimidated. Instead, she found strength in him—and that thought terrified her as much as the memory of The Pit.

She refused to give her heart to someone else. Refused to let them have that much power over her. She would not be used again. Made a fool of again.

The Pit had changed her; everyone saw it. She saw it. She was no longer the young girl with love and hope in her bright eyes.

She glanced over her shoulder to where her brothers stood at her back, though two spaces were now left empty. They had been walking on eggshells around her, worried she would break, but Areanel was not fragile.

‘Rymedur, son of the Princess Jaycee, the former commander of Selcirith…’ The Luminar of Edre—Caelum of The Eternal Light’s—sure words echoed around the opulent hall, but Areanel barely listened. Her thoughts were plagued by the interaction she’d shared with Rymedur in her rooms only hours ago.

The Pit had broken her, that much she would confess.

She wasn’t blind to how she’d changed. How she’d withdrawn. Mirrors showed her eyes glazed when she was lost in the vault of her mind, confined to the prison of her memories. She rarely found an excuse to laugh, constantly looking over her shoulder like something was chasing her, flinching at loud noises or when someone touched her unprompted. She lived in constant fear that someone would soon haul her back to that void of a cell. She refused her magic, instead leaving it to bubble and boil beneath her skin until she was afraid it would burst from her. Or worse… reject her as it did when she was in The Pit.

But when Rymedur first looked at her, he had seen her—all her broken pieces—and he hadn’t shied away. Hadn’t run from it or treated her like glass.

When she had spotted him hidden within the shadows of her room, she wasn’t scared or angry but calm. The shadows had been her home for the last year in The Pit. With no routine, rare meals and lack of interaction, she had relied on the shadows, her only companions. They were her comfort.

So, when Rymedur had moved closer and she’d felt a blanket of warmth wrap around her, she had lost her resolve and allowed her vulnerability to show. She finally felt… safe. Or was it purely recognition?