Chapter 1

T he blazing sun warmed the earth enough for Sybil Lockhart to tend to the Tower gardens in her bare feet. Her long jade-green dress blew gently against her creamy skin as she cut back the briar of the rose bushes. Her auburn hair lay curled against her back, shining wildly as the beams of sun hit flecks of fiery reds, vibrant oranges, and strawberry-golds.

As she worked her way along the garden, two hummingbirds swooped down and rested close to her on a tree branch. She smiled at them and dipped her head to acknowledge their presence before she began to include them in her song. Her melody was upbeat but contrastingly soft at the same time. It was wonderful.

Gideon's heart fluttered in a way it shouldn't when one was on duty. He placed a hand on his weapon belt, reminding himself that he was a guard—and only a guard.

He couldn't deny that he liked having Sybil in the Tower. It was easy. She somehow fit into the madness, bringing peace and a comforting energy, especially these past few moons. The Empress of Earth had moved here to help with Emara's recovery after the winter solstice ball, and from that point on, she had just existed within the walls, avoiding a return to her own home.

Gideon assumed it was because of the trauma that had happened to her family there and the murder of her sister by the Dark Army. Well…the late Supreme, Deleine Orinmore, had been the one to orchestrate the attacks. But he didn't dare give thought to that wretched witch and what she had done to Emara. She was history, her name and legacy all buried in a shallow grave. Torin had made sure of that. Gideon thought that Sybil would need to return to her home at some point, and as her guard, he would travel with her. For as long as she needed the protection, he would be there.

Arlo Stryker was on duty too, and he stood under the safety of a huge willow tree across the grounds, melting into the shade with one hand on the hilt of his short sword. He had been in the Huntswood Markets last night, and Gideon could see the effects of the liquor on his features. The heat didn't seem to be helping his recovery. His russet hair flopped onto his forehead limply, sticking down because of the temperature, and his cheeks were flushed.

Gideon wiped away a bead of his own perspiration that had started to make its way down the side of his temple. The guard tunic really wasn't made for summer months in Caledorna.

"Look, Gideon," he heard Sybil call over to him, and his eyes instantly found her again. "It's a monarch butterfly." She beamed a bright smile that stole his breath, and he walked forward, his eyes fixed on the small creature that fluttered on her index finger. "Isn't she so beautiful?"

He swallowed. "Yes." He smiled back at her. "The colours are remarkable."

"Don't you just love sunny months? Everything blooms." Sybil let out a small giggle and lifted her finger into the air whilst the butterfly took flight. He watched as the small creature circled her, its wings majestically gentle in the summer breeze. The butterfly got so close to Sybil's face, Gideon could have sworn it touched a kiss to the tip of her nose before it floated into the garden again, lost in all of the shrubberies.

"The creatures of the Tower love you." Gideon nodded in her direction.

"And I them." She popped a little shoulder up, and her eyes flickered shut for a second as the sun rays danced across her freckled face. "I love it out here." She craned her neck back and let the beams glow down on her, warmth spreading like a pink ink in her cheeks. "I didn't think I would like to live in a city, but these gardens are beautiful. It makes me feel like I have the best of both worlds."

"Well, it helps that you keep them beautiful," he said softly. "The gardens were always maintained, but with the Empress of Earth here, they seem to have come to life."

Sybil's eyes opened, finding his, and her lips parted to speak, but before she could reply to him, a man's voice shouted, bursting the serene bubble she had created around them.

"Gideon!"

Gideon's head swung to see Marcus Coldwell standing in his grey guard uniform, looking a little flustered. "I have to release you from your post."

Gideon lifted his chin. "You are supposed to be sleeping, Marcus. You took the night shift."

Marcus sighed, his broad chest puffing out. "Yeah, well, warriors don't need sleep, apparently. Commander's orders. He wants to see you in his office. Now." Marcus gave him a wry grin and patted his shoulder.

Gideon sucked in a breath before he nodded to Sybil and bowed. Her lips pushed together into a polite smile, and for a fraction of a second, he wondered if there was a hint of worry in her vast eyes. But she said nothing as Gideon turned his back on her and left for the commander's office, where nothing good was ever discussed.

The knock on his father's office door boomed through the corridor before Gideon slid into the room.

He halted in the threshold as his eyes found Emara Clearwater's. She sat in a leather chair at the opposite side of the wooden desk from his father—his commander. She was dressed in a lilac chiffon dress that complimented her skin tone, and it bared her shoulders to the world elegantly. He took in a breath as her dark eyes met his, tired and swirling with uncertainty. She hadn't been sleeping much, that he knew. Whispers around the Tower had said that she was screaming in the night. And Sybil had told him that she had been letting darkness whirl around her room as nightmares stole her peace. Sybil and his mother had helped her keep the darkness at bay, for now.

Emara lifted her chin in a cold, authoritative way, and Gideon nodded slowly in her direction as he took his place in the other chair across from his father.

Gideon suppressed a shudder.

Viktir cleared his throat. "Thank you both for joining me."

Emara shifted in her seat, causing the leather to creak. She moved her hair from the back of her neck. A rush of air swept in around her, cooling her down, and Gideon was grateful for her gift as he felt the benefit of it too.

Viktir smacked his lips before he began, "It has been a while since our last meeting, and I think it's clear that many moons have passed since I declared my intentions of your alliance to the kingdom. It's true, with the trouble at the palace, I had priorities to take care of before my focus fully set on our arrangement . But the majority of my missions are now complete, and this union has my true attention at last . "

Gideon's lungs squeezed.

There had been a lot of damage control for Viktir to do, making sure that none of his hunters were involved in the attacks on the witches at the Amethyst Palace or for the kidnapping of Emara Clearwater. Whilst Viktir's eyes had been elsewhere, they had gotten away with their union being at a standstill. Their relationship was…complicated.

"Can I have an update on your status?" Viktir asked as he moved some loose papers around on his desk.

There was a potent silence in the room that lay thicker than the summer air.

"We are still courting." Gideon cleared the lie in this throat. "We will give you an update when we set a date for the engagement to be announced."

"Still courting?" Viktir put his pen onto the table and looked down his long nose that had been broken in more places than one. "What could possibly be left to explore between you?"

Emara's voice was small but stern. "We just need more time. We are still getting to know one another."

"I think I have given you long enough to get whatever was happening between you and my eldest son out of your system. Is that what this is about?" The commander flung a lethal glance towards Emara, and Gideon's mind flashed back to hearing his brother's voice beg his father not to remove the treaty from him. From them . "I would have assumed that whilst I was working hard, ensuring your safety within my Tower, that you would have dabbled enough in social experiments with my warriors to last a lifetime. You should be ready to fulfil your duty, Miss Clearwater."

How did Viktir Blacksteel manage to suck the life from every room? He really did have a way with words that could cut into your skin and make you bleed out your own pride.

"And you, Gideon"—his bottle-green gaze landed on him, the wrinkles around his eyes scrunching together—"I assume you have been courting Miss Clearwater enough to ensure that this alliance is a successful one?"

His throat dried.

Viktir wanted heirs to the Blacksteel name. It had nothing to do with the success of their marriage. Viktir wanted a strong and powerful alliance, one that could wield elemental value to him. Heirs and magic, that was what this was all about. Power.

A daring, hot anger coursed through Gideon's veins, mixing with guilt and shame. It had been so very clear who Emara's heart had chosen, and this exercise of Viktir's dominance on the clan was truly sickening. He didn't dare take a glance at Emara as he thought of what to say. What lie could he come up with that didn't condemn them both to what "courting" had actually been happening between them?

He opened his mouth to speak, but it was Emara who got there first. "Let me ask you something, Commander Blacksteel."

The tone of her voice was full of unwavering steel, and Gideon's head whipped in her direction.

She remained unfazed by his father as she said, "What professional tone are you setting if you continue to demean me in front of your son, my proposed fiancé, by not using my correct title? Is that proper etiquette for an important meeting such as this, Commander Blacksteel? Should I just call you Viktir?"

Gideon's windpipe closed entirely as he whisked his head back to his father.

Viktir's mouth pulled into a taut grin that could have been confused for both anger and respect for her.

Emara continued, "My title is no longer Miss Clearwater, Commander Blacksteel. It is Empress, and I should be addressed as such."

Gideon's heart didn't know whether to jump from his chest and dance or crawl into his stomach and die.

Since the moons had passed on from the winter solstice, Emara Clearwater's heart had hardened. She was one of them now, a valued member of the magical society, Empress of House Air, and a warrior in her own right. In such a short space of time, not only had she won over the hearts of her coven, but she had also earned the respect of the other witches in her efforts to defeat any threats that her faction faced.

Gideon was in awe of her progress, and as he watched her stare down the commander of the Blacksteel Clan, he could do nothing but respect the challenge too. She was fearless.

Or so it seemed.

Viktir gave a cynical laugh. "Please accept my apologies, Empress ." He clasped his hands together and rested them on a few scattered papers on his desk. "I meant no disrespect. You see, I look at you like you are one of the members of this Tower, and you have stayed within these walls for so long that sometimes I forget you are not. So please understand when I say I forget sometimes that you are a witch with a crown. You have helped raise the wards on this building and restore our protection whilst we sleep. Your fire heats the rooms of my men, and your gifts allow us to communicate with society easily." He blinked slowly, still eyeing Emara like a hawk. "The Clan does not forget these generosities, even when you are not linked to us in marriage."

The commander reached out for the crystal glass on his desk and held it to his lips before savouring its contents. He must know the silence was uncomfortable, and he bathed in its painful glory. Sadistic bastard.

He finished his liquor slowly before raising one finger with a menacing grin. "But what I do need to remind you of, Empress, is that you are only a resident of this Tower for as long as I say you are. You are an orphan, a refugee from Mossgrave that we have taken under our wing. Please make no mistake when I say that you are welcome here, but my patience is wearing thin. For both of you." The commander's eyes slid to Gideon and then back to Emara. "You are here because you are to be Gideon's wife. You are to bare Blacksteel boys. Warriors. An heir to our legacy. That is your purpose. That is why you still stay in the comfortable quarters that you do, or you would be on your own."

Gideon choked down a breath as heartbeats pulsed in the room.

Or maybe that was just his own.

"I am here because I provide protection for your men, whether you respect it or not." Emara lifted her chin. "I heal their wounds and I give you as much security as you give me. I am well liked within the community, and that position comes with respect from the elders. I liaise with the prime just as much as you do, and with the same relevance as any man. That, Commander, is all without being a wife. No demon can walk through those doors because I keep them out of your failing wards."

"You don't keep all of them out," Viktir snapped, and his eyes sparkled with an unspoken danger.

Gideon heard Emara's breathing hitch.

"Are you forgetting that I know what blood runs in your veins?" he sneered. "The fact that I am taking a chance on your half-murky blood to produce warriors of my calibre shows how much I respect you. Don't you talk to me of respect. You need to remember, girl, that you have demons walking under your skin. I give you all of the respect you deserve."

Shit.

Gideon could have sworn steam was coming from Emara's ears. He closed his eyes to regather his thoughts. Shit! This could go sideways, especially now that Emara was painfully quiet.

"Father!" he finally said, sitting forward a little. "That's enough. We decided collectively long ago that we don't care what blood runs in her veins. We know she is of the Light Gods' following. She fights with us. She stands with us. And if she is to be my wife, I beg you, do not use that part of who she is against her. She is our alliance." He looked down at his trembling hands as he stood up to his commander. "And a strong one at that."

His commander ignored him, keeping his eyes on Emara's face. "There are only a select few who know of your blood, Miss Clearwater, and should you want it to stay that way, you will obey my orders."

Gideon almost hissed as he took a quick glance at the Empress who sat in the chair next to him. Her skin was flushed now, and he could see how much she was trying to control her anger by the way she had clasped her hands tightly together. She must be trying to control a wave of magic that could blow this room apart.

Viktir sat back in his large chair that swept up higher than his head. "If I were you, I would sign this treaty." He slid a piece of white paper towards Emara. "And I would sign it fast, solidifying your union. You never know what alliances you are going to need if word ever breaks of your ties to the underworld...of whom your father is."

Emara's chest was heaving in rage. The air was warming around them like they had just entered a furness. Suddenly, his collar felt strangling around his neck; he tried to loosen it, but nothing helped.

Viktir raised a scarred hand under his chin nonchalantly. "If rumours were ever to circulate of you being a demon half-breed, you are going to need more than just an alliance. You are going to need a credible husband who will support you and legitimise your position as an empress. You will need a strong clan to bulk out your protection, and you will need your coven to feel safe with you on its throne. They need to know you are not a wild card, ready to throw them to your demon king for immortality. After all, a woman needs a husband to ensure normal life, a stable life, to ensure reproduction of magical life—"

"I am sick of hearing about what you think I need, Viktir Blacksteel." Her voice cut through the air like an arrow. "I was more than willing to set aside my feelings on an arranged marriage to suit the needs of my coven before you changed your side of the bargain out of spite. But you are right about one thing; I do need to make sure my alliance is strong, and I need to ensure that my witches are safe. But with you in the thick of my arrangements, I don't feel safe, nor do I feel that it is a credible union. Do you think that you are the only one interested in what I have to offer? Do you think you are the only commander in Caledorna with sons? I think it's about time that I remind you that I am the only Empress of Air in this kingdom. Do not fire threats towards me, Commander. As you can see, I have overcome a lot to be sitting here in front of you, and you are only one man. Rumours fade; alliances are forever."

Emara stood and flicked a look towards Gideon, her midnight hair tumbling over her bare shoulders. Her eyes bore hurt, and if Gideon didn't know her like he did, he wouldn't have noticed the fear in them too. She held her mask well. "I am sorry, Gideon; when I talk of the credible union, it is not a reflection of you. You are a credit to this clan." She dipped her chin, and her hard features softened for the briefest of moments. "Please excuse me. An empress has better things to be doing than tolerating the insults of a man."

Emara bowed her head towards Gideon and then stormed from the room.

Gideon bit into his lip as the door slammed shut. His eyes trailed to his father's face—a face of hard stone and relentless callousness. "Blackmail? Really, Father? You would blackmail her into marrying me? Do you know how low that was to talk of her blood?"

"Gideon…" His father released a deep breath and he repositioned the half-full whiskey glass back on his desk. "Fear is the angle I am going for to ensure this alliance. She is defiant. I told her I would make her bend, and so far, she hasn't. It has gone on too long. Something needs to give." His cold eyes explored Gideon's face. "I used the fact that she fears what would happen to her if people knew of her blood. And that, my son, is her weak spot. She has no one if her coven turns their backs on her, and we need to use that. As for you"—he looked up through hooded eyes—"I am not sure what it is that you are doing to make sure you secure a marriage to the Empress of Air, but it is not working. We have all seen her power. I have to give it to her; she is a force to be reckoned with. The girl knows what she is worth, and I need you to ensure she is not looking elsewhere for an alliance. Do you want to fail me like your brother did?"

Gideon's fists tightened. "A force to be reckoned with? You say that and then you go and treat her like—like she is not an empress of a coven, but a low-bred demon from the underworld. Emara Clearwater is not a toy to be played with, Father, as you have so cleverly pointed out. So why are you toying with her emotions?"

Viktir sat back in his chair again and circled the liquor in the glass once more, letting the smoky aroma of the drink filter into the air. "Because when someone is toyed with long enough, they start to believe that they have no other option but to be a part of your game."

Gideon let out a bitter laugh. "And is that where I fit into all of this? Is that all I am to you? A part of your games? Your pawn?" He flinched as he recalled Torin's words.

Viktir cut him off harshly, "You are not my pawn, Gideon; you are my son."

Gideon's heart beat like a war drum at his father's words. He never acknowledged their relationship or gave any sentiment to the fact that they were anything else but commander and hunter.

Viktir leaned forward and pushed the treaty towards Gideon. "Let's not bring our emotions into decisions that need to be made by warriors, son. Your task is simple. Get her to agree to the treaty and set a date for the union. Courting is officially done. That's a command."

Gideon's fingers hovered over the paper before he snatched it and left the room without looking back.