32. Something is Going Right

thirty-two

Something is Going Right

Alessia

I wake before Rainer and gaze at his sharp, angular features. In sleep, he appears gentle. All the tension has melted away from his eyes and lips, leaving them soft and inviting. Dark wisps of hair stick to his smooth forehead. I reach over, brushing it back and planting my lips there.

He stirs, mumbling something inaudible.

Carefully, I pry myself from his grip and tiptoe to the bathroom to relieve myself. I finish and wash my hands, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My curls are braided back away from my face, sticking up in frizzy chunks, but my eyes capture a new lightness. My lips twitch into a giddy smile as I think of waking up next to Rainer like this every day for the rest of my life.

I dry my hands on a towel and smooth down Rainer’s oversized tunic. It comes down to my thighs, swallowing me whole. Pinching the neckline, I bring it up to my nose and inhale. It smells delightfully of sandalwood with just a faint hint of roses.

A soft whoosh of wind chills me, and I glance up, locking eyes with Ezamae in the mirror.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper-yell, whirling around and glancing at the closed bathroom door. As much as Rainer likes Ez, his possessive side would be rather displeased with another male alone in the bathroom with me .

“Checking in.” He smirks, his eyes skating over my bare legs. “Your work is completed, I take it?”

I scrunch my nose. “Don’t put it like that.”

He lifts his hands placatingly. “Ah. Let’s try again—is your wonderous, realm-shattering, love-making complete?”

Heat floods my cheeks. I’m no prude, but I also don’t appreciate my intimate life being discussed and dissected by others. Even if it’s only Ezamae—especially if it’s him, actually.

“Not that it’s your business,” I hiss through my teeth, hoping Rainer doesn’t hear us. “But no.”

Ez’s shoulders stiffen, and he frowns. The excitement he possessed in his earlier visits is gone, and I hope it doesn’t mean he’s out of patience.

He wouldn’t kill the queen with Rainer’s life still tethered to her, would he?

We need to kill him first — before he can betray us .

My eyes bulge. So much for the shadow being fully pacified. No. Ezamae wouldn’t do that, and I certainly would never harm him.

He’s betrayed you before.

“Stop it,” I mutter. “We’re not killing him.”

Ez’s silver eyes widen as he tucks a strand of hair behind his pointed ear. “I assume you’re conversing with your… less moral half?” He gestures toward the door. “And obviously, I’m not referring to your tormented prince.”

Sighing, I scrub a hand over my face. “Yep.”

“I’m not here to threaten or trick you, Alessia.” He places a hand on his chest, keeping his voice low. “I wanted to talk to you alone, in case you hadn’t already gone through with bonding.”

“Why?” I ask, nervous prickles dotting the back of my neck.

“Because I know the Umbra Prince. He will drag his feet, hopping from one excuse to the next, prolonging what’s inevitable out of fear—”

“Don’t do that.” I shake my head. “This is important to us both, but we will not be pressured or bullied into it, Ezamae. You’ll have to wait—be patient a little longer. That’s all I ask.”

It makes me feel guilty and selfish to ask him to pretend to stay bonded to Queen Yvanthia even longer, knowing that as soon as Rainer and I complete our bond, he can be free. He can end her life and vie for her throne, successfully ending her rule over Avylon.

But Rainer and I only recently agreed to put aside our fears and commit to one another fully. Ezamae needs to respect that we want to do it right for us. After everything we’ve been through, an intimate, peaceful bonding isn’t too much to ask.

“Things have changed, Alessia.” He leans against the bathroom wall, one of his legs bouncing nervously.

He’s usually so regal and collected that seeing him so worked up is strange.

“In what way?”

“Yvanthia found an Iorworth in the city—a cousin of Rainer’s—with enough blood to sustain Umbra Court.”

My heart plummets to the pit of my stomach and I tense up. “What does that mean?”

“She wants to… dispose of him.”

“What?” I yell, before checking myself and glancing toward the door. “She can’t just...” Kill him . The words lodge in my throat.

“She can and she will.” He gives me an apologetic look. “Unless you bond.”

“How would that help anything? We’d both die! ”

“Exactly. You would both die.”

It takes a second for it to sink in. The whole point of Yvanthia manipulating me into place at Spiritus Court would be null if I died. “She needs me. She can’t kill Rainer if it means I die, too.”

He nods. “Precisely.”

“And you’re sure there are no other Lírshadows?”

“She isn’t aware of any. If there are…” His lips tighten, and hardness glints in his moonlit eyes.

“If there are, what , Ez?”

“If Yvanthia stayed in rule, we would need to find them and kill them,” he says carefully, as if it can soften the blow.

“But?”

“When I achieve my goal and secure her position, you will never have to worry about that with me.”

The sincerity in his voice is louder than his words. He holds my gaze, allowing me to read all the deep well of emotion there—the fear, the concern, the honesty.

“Okay,” I say, swallowing down my own confusing emotions. “I understand the urgency.”

“That’s all I wanted,” he says, “For you to understand the importance of speeding things up. I know it’s… asking a lot of you both.”

I give him a soft smile, grateful for his consideration despite everything. “Hey, Ez?”

He pauses, cocking his head.

“Are you going to tell me who you bonded with?”

An arrogant smile lights up his face. “Eventually.”

“Okay, Prince of Secrets.” I roll my eyes playfully. “Just one more question.”

“Hm? ”

“Are you bringing Sera back when you’re done?”

He blinks as if surprised, pushing off the wall and straightening up. “I thought you might be relieved she’s gone.”

I shrug nonchalantly, thinking about how she’s grown on me so quickly. How I’m apparently not the only one she’s grown on. “I figured it might be awkward for you and your bonded.”

His brows pinch together. “Why? She is one of my dearest friends.”

Leaning a hip against the counter, I cross my arms and study him. “You do realize she’s in love with you, right?”

His breath hitches, and he pauses, considering my words. Then he bursts out laughing. “It’s a mutually platonic friendship, I assure you.”

I shake my head. “Idiot,” I mutter softly. “She most definitely harbors feelings for you.”

His high cheekbones tint pink. “Shite.” He rubs his slack jaw. “I left them alone together.”

“At least Sera won’t kill them,” I joke, although heartbreak’s not funny. If Sera realizes she’s with Ez’s bonded… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Ez stays silent for far too long. His already pale face looks at least two shades lighter, and my heart drops.

“She wouldn’t, right?” I ask, alarm flitting through me.

Ez gives me an exasperated look. “Of course she wouldn’t!”

But he quickly disappears into the abyss with a cool puff of air.

I redress in my plain nightdress to reassume my role as a pretend Tradeling, and I comb and braid my hair out of my face. It takes longer than I’d like, and the curls give me hassle. Then, I leave Rainer slumbering peacefully upstairs as I head down to locate food.

Prichard stands in the lobby, glaring down at something. Mid-morning light reflects off his shiny bald head, and I’m surprised the others hadn’t come to wake us up at dawn.

A boy, maybe about sixteen, kneels at Prichard’s feet, his peach cheeks tinting red and his brow pulled low as the elder man’s mouth moves rapidly, giving him a quiet lecture. I move closer, trying to make out what he’s saying.

“—and be grateful your arse isn’t in the mines, boy ,” Prichard barks.

The boy nods, keeping his gaze downcast. Fury blazes to life inside me, burning my skin from the inside. My shadow thrashes against me, roused by the potent emotion.

The boy bends his head low and then disappears through the door behind the counter.

I don’t like that .

“Me neither,” I mutter.

Prichard’s head snaps in my direction, and some of the violence in his eyes dissipates. Instead, it heats in a new way, dragging up and down my body. My teeth grit and dark spots dance in my vision. I know it’s my shadow threatening to come out and play , but I take slow, steady breaths, working overtime to keep it down.

“Excuse me,” I force myself to say softly, to stay in character lest we attract unnecessary attention. The smile I give him is horribly fake, and I fear he’ll see right through it.

His eyes are too busy lingering on the neckline of my dress to notice. “The pretty little whore came to play, eh?”

The air leaves my lungs in a fiery burst. My hands shake, fighting the urge to unleash the gates and let my shadow out.

He deserves it. The bastard is a piece of—

“My… owner sent me to acquire food for his… unit,” I grit out, talking over my shadow-self. I pause between words, forcing myself to breathe before I lose control. “To break fast.”

“Ah yes, and for payment, he sent you, did he?”

A deep growl rises from somewhere within me.

“No, you grimy spud.” The words burst from my mouth as if my shadow had spoken for me.

I gasp. Thinking quickly, I drop my hands and pretend to fiddle nervously with my dress. Outside, I’m the picture of a weak, insecure Tradeling. But inside, I’m a monster desperate to be unleashed—anything but meek or quiet.

I clear my throat. “My owner said to insult you if you proposition me again.”

“Again?” he asks, brows pinching together.

Tynan must’ve glamoured last night’s entire interaction out of his mind. Shite . I’m making this so much worse.

A tense silence rings out in the otherwise empty lobby as we hold each other’s stares. Finally, a rough, scraping laugh leaves him as he flashes his teeth at me—all regular teeth. No incisors .

He’s not a vampyr.

Not a monster , as some might say—he’s only human—but I prefer monsters to men.

His laughter subsides and he crosses his arm, giving me another leery graze. Gratefully, he stays where he is, keeping distance between us. “Well?”

“Well, what?” I try very hard not to sound challenging. I might not be trying hard enough because his mouth tightens.

“I’m waiting for an apology.”

I stare at him blankly. No apologies burn my tongue like they once did. I’m done placating the egos of men.

“My owner said not to apologize.” The words taste like bile. After leaving the lord, I said I’d never heel to another again. “Just obeying my orders lest I be punished by his… brutal hand.”

A malicious smile lights up Prichard’s face, and he scratches his chest as he lets out another entertained laugh. “A man I understand.”

Rainer is no man , you prick .

He turns, cups his hands, and hollers. “Luis!”

The door quickly opens a few seconds later, and the teen boy reappears. He practically bolts to Prichard.

“Yes sir,” he says, out of breath.

“The soldiers would like to break their fast,” Prichard says, holding my eye contact. “Now, we don’t normally serve a meal on demand, but since our guests are so kindly serving the Wessex Peninsula, it’s the least we can do.”

“Yes, sir.” Luis quickly flees through the back, likely toward the kitchen .

My stomach pinches with nausea, and I’m left hating myself—hating Prichard—for Luis’ treatment.

Prichard returns to the counter, busying himself counting coppers. It takes everything in me to force myself into an armchair while I wait for Luis to emerge. I sit with my back to the wall so I can see the desk, the door to the back, the stairwell, and the front door all from one vantage point.

Prichard hums to himself, and as the minutes tick by, he checks a couple in and greets a few patrons as they head out into the day.

I study him, my anger building as I think of poor Luis stuck listening to his berating day in and day out. My hands tremble with my shadow’s promise of violence, so I try to think of anything but the teen Tradeling making my food in the back.

I’d tell Prichard to forget about it if I didn’t think Luis would pay for it. If I had known last night that he was a Tradeling owner, I’d never have stayed here. Never would’ve supported his business with our patronage.

A short while later, Luis emerges, balancing an oversized tray cluttered with various foods. I jump to my feet, surging toward him.

“Can I help?” I ask quietly, hoping it won’t attract Prichard’s attention.

Luis’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. The movement is a little too eager because it throws him off balance, and the tray sways to the side.

We both gasp, and he finds his balance, righting himself before the whole thing topples sideways. But not before a jar of jam crashes to the ground, spilling everywhere .

Instinctively, my gaze jerks toward Prichard. The ire in his beady eyes sends me back to the lord. Suddenly, I’m the one who is a teen again, dropping a mug of tea on the hardwoods of his estate.

Prichard charges toward us, and I notice Luis coiling in on himself from the corner of my eye. When the old man raises a hand, preparing to strike, I lose it.

“Touch him and die ,” I spit, my voice propelled by venom. My vision darkens at the edges, and pressure builds beneath my skin.

A split second before his hand makes contact with Luis’ face, the pressure dissipates, bursting out of me like a gushing waterfall. My shadow wraps around Prichard’s wrist, yanking it backward.

Snapping sounds fill the air, and Prichard screams. Luis pales, and he drops the tray, surging backward.

My shadow is fast, splitting off into a second tendril. It lurches for the food tray and catches it a second before it hits the ground. It places it carefully on the counter, then merges back into itself, winding like a dark vine up Prichard’s arm and around his neck.

Everything happens quickly, but somehow, with the adrenaline and shock coursing through me, time feels slower.

“Run,” I whisper to Luis.

“Th—thank you,” he stutters, eyes wide and glistening. Fear is etched into every corner of his young face, and I can’t tell if it’s me or Prichard he’s afraid of. Until he puts his hand on his heart and says, “Forever thank you. I’ll keep your secret.”

Then he turns and bolts.

My shadow doesn’t waste time. It doesn’t play with its prey. It doesn’t ask me for permission—because I've already silently granted it.

This time, it snaps the man’s neck, swiftly ending his life and tossing his body on the floor. It recoils immediately, silently into me.

Perhaps it’s because I didn’t fight it this time, but I’m not nearly as exhausted as before. And the shadow must realize something changed between us the past few days, too, because it nuzzles up gratefully against me from the inside and immediately settles down.

At least something is going right.