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‘She is close to the age.’ Aerileas’ silver brow raised questioningly. ‘You were around her age.’

Areanel couldn’t let this happen. Think. Think. Quickly! ‘Rymedur and I married to secure Selcirith’s loyalty—’

‘Yes. Yes.’ Aerileas lifted a hand, cutting her off entirely. ‘What the treaty entails is none of your concern, Selyë. Your brothers will handle the politics. You…’ he pointed a jewelled finger towards her, emphasising the order. ‘You will be going to assist them, under the guise, with your cadre,’ he spat the word at her as though it was venom on his tongue. ‘I want you to delegate the second task—have one of your spies find the chieftain. Rumour has it he knows the name and has a direct link to the rebellion’s leader, the one who dares call himself Tar-Angulócë! Find out who and where they are based by any means necessary. Have them make his death look like an accident—but leave the rebels a clear message. You will act as what you are—my envoy.’

Aerileas’s fingers steepled before him as he leaned forward. ‘I don’t trust the people of this palace. Nor the spies within these walls. So, you will leave before anyone finds out, understood?’ Areanel nodded in confirmation, but before she could say anything, Aerileas added, ‘And Areanel? Do not disappoint me.’

A clear dismissal.

As Areanel turned on her heel to leave, Aerileas stopped her one last time. ‘Take that husband of yours. Put him to good use. His shadows may be needed.’

Areanel recognised the tone for what it was—an order. No room for argument or excuse.

Stopping before the doors, Areanel turned her head towards the king and bowed her head once.

Chapter 31

Areanel

The servants’ tunnels brought back memories Areanel was trying to push down.

The pounding of her heart was like a drumbeat in her ears as she raced around a tight corner so fast her shoulder brushed the sharp stone.

Memories tore through her mind, threatening to shred her mental walls. Everything smacked into her like a cresting tidal wave.

Her father’s orders, the prisoner’s words—they were all a constant reminder of her failures and what she had left to lose.

A child of light will die by fate’s hand. Her mother’s prophecy played in her head like a loop.

One child had already been taken from her. Her father would use her daughter—Jessika— in the same way he had used her—as a bargaining chip. Why was it always her children? She was meant to keep them safe.

Just like we did with that boy of yours.

The sentence struck like an anvil on steel. No. She hadn’t kept them all safe.

That boy of yours. The words clanged through her mind like a death knell. Boy. He had just been a boy! Tears blurred her vision. Her sweet little Resmundur. A choked sob escaped her lips, and breathing suddenly became impossible.

Aerileas would use Jessika just as the rebels had used Resmundur. How could she save her daughter when she hadn’t saved her son? She tried to suppress the thoughts and push down her feelings until she reached her chambers. A child of light will die by fate’s hand. Jessika would meet the same end as Resmundur, and there was nothing she could do. Useless. Pathetic. Weak. Her father’s words rang in her head like a never-ending bell. She just needed to reach the safety, the privacy of her chambers.

Pushing her feet faster, all Areanel could hear was the rhythmic pounding of her boots as they slammed into the floor. Blood roared in her head.

Racing through the tunnels, the walls seemed to grow tighter and tighter. She needed to get out.

Boy. The word clanged again. Bile rose in her throat. Closing in on her from all sides, the stone brushed against her arms as they swung. Boy. It was mocking her. Gagging, Areanel swallowed the vomit racing up her oesophagus. She needed to get out now. It was too dark. The corridor too long. She wasn’t going to make it. Why hadn’t she reached the hidden door to her bedroom yet? The walls would close in around her. This would be her tomb.

Boy. Again. And again. And again. Why wouldn’t it stop?

Rounding the last corner, Areanel used the empty sconce on the wall to propel her body so that she could move faster. There! Just a few more steps and she would reach her rooms.

Her body slammed into the stone and crashed through the door; the deep emerald silk sheets with their subtle silver embroidery were a welcome sight. The matching chaise and dark furniture were exactly as she left them.

Areanel sprinted to her washroom. The sour, acidic flavour of vomit lingered on her tongue long after she had finished emptying her stomach.

Wiping the vomit from her mouth with the back of her hand, Areanel crawled to the corner of the large bathroom. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She must be losing her mind because all it would repeat was one word—boy.

Boy. Boy. Boy. Boy.

The thrumming of the word matched the beat of her thundering heart.