Which he was until I resurrected him and let him out.
King Malachi’s eyes narrow. “It’s interesting that you’re free and yet you choose to linger here of all places. I’m surprised you didn’t hurry back to your kingdom the moment those walls spit out your soul.”
His kingdom?
I look at Wilder, thinking back to what the king called him when he first walked into the room. Wilder Riven.
Riven.
The royal name in Vaelier.
“You’re the king of the rebels.” I take a step back, realizing who he is.
Wilder watches me, his smile gone. But he doesn’t deny what I said. Instead, he turns his attention to King Malachi, ignoring my outburst entirely. Probably because I’m a human and insignificant to him.
Some thanks for raising him from the dead.
“Would you like me to thank you?”Wilder’s voice whispers, and I take another step back.
“No. I don’t want credit for that.”
He smirks, his attention still on the king. “We both know I can’t get back to Vaelier with the condition of the Arches as they are.”
The only way to travel between realms is to use an Arch, which is something Callum told me Fae did often before the Collision. They’d travel to nearby realms. And since Lyrichia andVaelier were close in proximity, the two would regularly trade with each other. It wasn’t until after the Collision that tensions began to rise. And when the Arches started to flicker with the wane of magic, travel between realms became more unpredictable and dangerous.
Even with our two realms touching, it’s difficult to travel between them, which is why only rebels come through. Warriors. The last stand of Vaelier in this war. It shows how desperate they are, given that they likely lose Fae in the process of simply sending them here to fight.
“I’m sure you could have found a viable Arch if you were determined to do so. Clearly, your people still manage to find a few,” King Malachi says, his voice flat and unamused.
“None healthy enough to guarantee survival to the other side.”
“I apologize if your survival is the least of my concerns. Play coy all you want, Wilder; we both know why you really stayed. Selia, come here.”
King Malachi reaches out a hand, and Selia appears at his side. Her brown hair is nearly gold with the light overhead, and her eyes sparkle as she glances at the king. It might be that she’s standing beside King Malachi, but she glows.
The moment her fingers rest on the king’s arm, the air sizzles. It pricks my skin until the sting is nearly unbearable. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s coming from Wilder.
His golden eyes turn nearly black as he watches Selia lean closer to the king.
Is it jealousy?
I suppose I don’t blame him when her beauty stands out in a room filled to the brim with it.
“You didn’t go home.” Wilder’s fists clench.
A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck with how warm the room has become, and it’s only getting hotter.
Selia doesn’t bother looking at Wilder. Her gaze is fixed on where she holds the king’s arm. “This is my home now. You should leave.”
“Selia…” The air cracks above Wilder’s head. A bolt shoots down through him, webbing along his runes, his arms. His fingers flex, and tendrils of lightning spread across the ground. Fae panic, backing up. The few it reaches drop to their knees as a golden rope wraps their necks and squeezes, draining their life in a single breath.
Wilder’s power is unlike anything I’ve seen or felt. Even standing beside the king, who pulses with something that is a presence in its own, Wilder’s magic steals every last thought. It fills my lungs. The room is a ball of static, ready to burst with his rage.
And then, in one sweep, darkness drinks all light in the room.
Magic snuffs out.
My vision goes black.