I’m his.
And he’s mine.
The marking at the center of my chest burns where the thread strung through me. But it isn’t my skin. It isn’t the mark itself. It’s deeper. It’s not the soul bind at all; what aches is the mark of my mate. The reason my magic woke. Because I couldn’t stand to let him die.
And now my home will perish.
Wilder’s gaze remains unreadable, which infuriates me more.
“They tricked us.” Selia steps forward, seething.
At my back, I notice Callum and Greer shift as well, but I can’t tell who they plan on protecting. I’m no longer promised to the king. I’m no longer the hope for their kingdom. I’ve become the enemy.
“Ah, my little storm cloud.” King Malachi glances up at the storm stirring overhead. Thunder echoes, and the back of my neck prickles. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
My attention moves to Hazel, who is calm.
Too calm.
The shadows that crept her arms are now small swirls at her fingertips. Her gaze drifts around the courtyard, assessing. It’s almost like she expected this.
King Malachi’s laugh rattles my nerves. He wasn’t angry either; he was thrilled. Disturbingly ecstatic. And when I glance around, I remember there is no audience, only the Crown Guard. As if he knew what was going to happen, and he was prepared for it.
My eyes snap to Wilder, and I read his blank expression again. It is not a lack of emotion on his face, but calculation. He’s seeing the same thing I am. This was all a trap. King Malachi knew Wilder would find a way to stop this, and he came prepared. He lured us to this altar.
Reaching out, I press my palm to the edge of the altar again, remembering how it caught me when I almost fell. In the haze of everything happening, I assumed it was Wilder protecting me from falling, but the webbing wasn’t warm. It wasn’t soothing like aether.
The barrier that meets my palm is icy. It bites. Stretching up at the edges of the stone and trapping us in this magic-void circle.
“See.” The king pets Selia’s cheek. “There is nothing to worry about.”
His amusement is met with a sadistic smile. She peers at Wilder, happy to see him trapped again.
Anger courses through me, heightened by Wilder’s own rage tangling with mine. I’m having trouble separating what’s my emotion and what’s his. But my heated glare lands on his sister, and I wish with all the stars in the sky I could rain my anger down on them.
The king’s smile falls like he’s reading my thoughts. “There’s no magic in the altar. And there’s no breaking out. You can thank your mate for giving me that idea after he locked you behind that annoying barrier these past few days.”
My mate.
Wilder shifts closer to me. His shoulders stiff and his jaw set, like he’s ready for battle. Although I doubt this is the battle he saw coming.
“It’s over, Malachi.” Wilder sets his sights on the king. “You can lock us in your cage and wait for it to slowly fall, but there is no fighting off the Well. Elorie bonded with Vaelier. Her magic is with us now. Lyrichia will die.”
My chest tightens, and when he reaches for my hand, I pull away because I can’t stand what he’s done, even if every part of me yearns to be near him.
He betrayed me. His own mate. What else is he capable of?
“You spent so much time playing warrior, you forgot that you should be learning how to be king,” King Malachi says to Wilder. “I suppose that’s why your mother was willing to sacrifice you to save her kingdom. The great aether wielder with the magic of one of the four gods themselves. You might have bonded with Elorie, but it is not only Vaelier she is tied to. And now, I have you both.”
A heavy pulse makes my head throb between the temples.
“Your mate has many secrets that even she is not privy to.”King Malachi stares at me with no emotion in his eyes. “The gods’ blessed star and the gods’ blessed destroyer. There is not one key to the Well when there are two twined kingdoms.” His gaze drifts to the other end of the courtyard. “I wouldn’t have believed you were right, but you are.”
“Of course I’m right.” A voice comes from the edge of the courtyard, where a woman wearing a flowing red dress stands in front of two guards. Her dark hair is bound by intricate silver pins, and a crown rests atop her head. The sharp spikes are familiar, although more delicate in how this crown is crafted. But there’s no mistaking the stones that rest on the peaks. Round bits of obsidian like the crown Wilder wore.
The crown of the Quietus Court.
Queen Delayna.