Chapter 44

Rhi

A man strollsdown the grand staircase, his back rigid, his hands clasped in front of him and his black robes billowing out behind him in a way that makes him look like a bat swooping down from the ceiling.

His skin is sallow, his nose hooked and his eyes full of malice.

I don't need any introductions to know this is Christopher Kennedy. I recognize him from the dueling match. Although that day, he'd been a formidable blur in the distance. Tonight, he's much closer and, despite my attempt, I struggle to see the likeness with his son.

Where Tristan is all golden and fair, his father is colorless and dark. And where Tristan disguises his intelligence behind that mask of nonchalance, his father's cunningness radiates from every pore. In one way they are alike though, both arrogant. Both powerful. The man's magic seems to fill the great hallway, even the guards cowering in his presence.

His intelligent eyes lock onto me and a wide unkind smile spreads slowly across his face.

"So it really is you, Rhianna Blackwaters. I wasn't sure whether to believe it or not. And delivered to me by none other than the academy's wayward professor and Lowsky's hunting dog. How intriguing. How very intriguing indeed."

"We've delivered her to you," Stone says, "now we want the money."

"I'm sure you do, Professor Stone," Christopher Kennedy says, continuing to stalk down the staircase. "I'm sure you do. Once a sewer rat, always a sewer rat. That desperation for money never leaves you, does it, no matter what pretty position the academy hands you?"

Stone bristles on the spot, struggling to hold his tongue.

Christopher Kennedy reaches the bottom of the staircase and crooks a finger towards me.

"Come here," he commands.

Beside me, Stone flinches ever so slightly and alarm flares through our bond. I don't flinch at all. In fact, I don't move one little bit. Instead, I stare at the man now terrorizing our country. A man, I suspect, remembering all those healed injuries deep inside Tristan Kennedy's body, has spent a lifetime terrorizing his son. A man, who I've no doubt plans to terrorize me too.

Yeah, well, he wouldn't be the first. I doubt he'll be the last. And I'm no longer so easily afraid of assholes like him.

The new Lord Protector frowns, an expression that suits his face far better than the smile, and diverts his attention back to Stone.

"Come, Professor, tell me everything. I'm sure this will make a pretty tale indeed. How did it come that you are working with a known criminal and not at your post in the academy? And how did you catch the girl, Professor? She's been a very tricky one to trace. I've had men out searching for her all over the republic. It seemed the girl had simply vanished into thin air the night of the Victory ball, the night our great republic was so savagely attacked."

Stone opens his mouth to speak. He has his answers, well rehearsed on the journey here. I'm sure he can make Christopher Kennedy believe him – Stone could make anyone believe anything if he truly wanted to.

But before he's emitted one word from his mouth, Christopher Kennedy swoops his hand through the air and the two men beside me fall to their knees, their arms snapping behind them and iron gloves clamping over their hands. I go to fling my own arms forward, to fire my magic, hot and angry at the man smirking in front of me, but cold metal curls around my hands as well, encasing them completely.

"What the fuck!" Stone cries, as he struggles to free his arms and Renzo flails around on the floor, kicking out at the men around him, spitting at them and cursing.

My magic sparks against the metal confines but no matter how hard I try, I can't blast through them.

Christopher Kennedy shakes his head.

"Did you really think I was so stupid, Phoenix Stone? Did you really think I didn't know?" He takes a step forward. "But it seems you and my nephew were far more stupid than I expected. Delivering her straight into my hands. How can I ever thank you enough?"

"If you hurt one hair on–"

"Take them away," Christopher Kennedy says, flicking his wrist as if Stone and Renzo are nothing more than annoying insects.

Several guards pull my mates to their feet, Stone shakes them off and stands himself, but Renzo refuses, kicking and scrapping, biting and snarling so that the men are forced to drag him along the floor.

I yank harder on the cuffs encasing my hands, blast more of my magic against the confines. It's useless, utterly useless. Whatever this damn contraption is, it's stopping me from using my magic.

"We can come to an arrangement," Stone says desperately, trying to regain the Lord Protector's attention. "We can help you. We can … we can give you information. I can read minds. I can help you interrogate your enemies." Stone's words become more desperate and more frantic as the guards walk him towards the door behind which I know Spencer lies. "Rhi!" he shouts, as the door opens, "Rhi!" He struggles against the hold the men have on him. It's no use. He's outnumbered, they both are, and soon they're pushed through the doorway, the heavy door slamming shut, separating me from my mates.

And then it's just me and Christopher Kennedy.

"So many mates," he says, "all belonging to one scrap of a girl from the wastelands. It's extremely curious." I flinch. He can't know about my mates, can he? We've been careful. "Four mates," he adds.

I stare at his cruel face. Four. He only knows about four.

"At least, that's what they believe, anyway, isn't it, Rhianna Blackwaters? We both know that isn't true. We both know you've used magic to seduce these foolish men, to trick them into believing you're something special to them. Clever, really. But not clever enough to fool me. There's no way fate would choose an unregistered girl from the wasteland for my son, to bear my heirs. No way at all."

Bear his heirs? Is he fucking serious? Vomit burns my throat. Of course, that's what an asshole like him would see when he looks at a girl like me. Not a person with hopes and desires, not a magical with powers that could match his own. Just a means to an end.

He steps forward, lowering his voice so only I can hear. "There are even whispers that you are the girl predicted, but we both know that can't be so. Not you."

Girl predicted? I remember what the chancellor told me that day in the office – the day he'd threatened to melt my face off. My mom had foreseen a girl with powers even greater than hers.

"Fetch my son," he snaps to the guards, and then lowering his voice, adds, "he's no longer under your spell, Rhianna Blackwaters, I've freed him from it."

I don't know what the hell he means, what the hell he's talking about. All I care about is getting as far away from here as I can. I tug again on the cuffs. There must be a way to free myself; to free myself, blast this evil bastard away and rescue my mates. I swing my gaze desperately from side to side, searching for a way out, something that could help me.

And then all my thoughts trail away because Tristan Kennedy steps into the entrance hall.

The world stops spinning on its axis. Time itself halts. My heart thumps. My bond spins.

I gasp.

I can't hold back anything anymore, anything at all, because he's there in front of me, alive, and the last time I saw him … the last time I saw him he was slipping away. I thought he'd gone forever and the pain was unbearable, agonizing, excruciating, and now he's here, right in front of me, color in his cheeks and breath in his lungs and my bond purring, my magic sparking in every one of my cells, my body keening towards him.

I see him first, before he spies me and it takes him a moment, his green eyes sweeping around the entrance hall and all the people in it and then landing on me.

On me.

My bond spirals inside me.

He jolts, shock and pain and fear rushing across his face.

My feet carry me forward.

"Tristan!" I cry because I can't hold it in, despite knowing I should, despite knowing I'm a fool, despite anticipating how dangerous this is; I can't help myself.

For a split second an expression of confusion hovers on his face and then, then the mask of indifference slams down. His eyes glaze and he peers down his nose at me like he's always done.

"Pig girl," he says, his voice emotionless and cold. And it's like it always is, it always was. His disdain for me and his disgust. And a shard of ice hits me through our bond.

I am a fool, a stupid, stupid fool to ever believe, to ever think, to ever wish …

Tristan Kennedy is his father's son. As cold, as heartless, as cruel. He never wanted me, he's never cared about me, he's always resisted this. Our bonding was accidental, unintentional, something he most definitely regrets with every fiber of his stuck-up body. I doubt he's even felt one drop of pain at our separation.

His dad laughs.

"Ahhh, yes, I heard that's what they called you at the academy. On the account of that revolting little pig you stubbornly refused to be parted with." The man shakes his head. "A little trouble maker right from the start. A waste of time and space, isn't she, son?"

I glance at Tristan but he's not looking at me. He's staring straight ahead into space, his eyes blank, as if being dragged here for this conversation is the dullest thing he's ever been made to endure.

"There's nothing special about her," Tristan says, his voice just as bored as his expression, almost robot-like. "I've told you countless times. She's not worth your time or your interest."

Despite my best efforts, the hurt his words cause me reflects on my face. Christopher Kennedy smirks at me.

"Now, now, Pig Girl," he chuckles, "no need to be upset. You didn't really believe my son was interested in you?"

"I'm not interested in your, or your son's, petty games," I spit, finding my tongue at last.

Anger flashes in his eyes. "Yes, I've heard about your temper and your ill-manners."

"It's your son's manners that leave a lot to be desired."

"Oh, I'm not talking about my son." He points to Tristan, motionless and quiet beside him. I peer at him. He's like a shell of his usual self. None of the usual swagger and arrogance. "I heard it from another, very reliable witness who tells me you have a penchant for attacking other students."

I growl, guessing exactly who he means.

"Summer Clutton-Brock is a spoiled little bitch obsessed with petty revenge and–"

"On the contrary, I've found my future daughter-in-law to be a very reliable informant and a most willing aid. Very keen to serve me." The smallest of frowns flickers across Tristan's brow and I jolt.

Daughter-in-law? Summer Clutton-Brock? Did I hear that right? I can't have heard that right!

"No," I mutter, not realizing I've said the word out loud until it falls from my lips.

"Yes. Tristan Kennedy and Summer Clutton-Brock are engaged to be married. It will make a very good match. Joining two powerful families together. And a high-society wedding – I hate to flatter myself – but a royal wedding – is just what the people need after all they've been through. Some joy. Some cheer. Everybody likes a wedding. And Miss Clutton-Brock will make an especially beautiful bride."

My knees begin to shake and I can't make them stop. I knew Tristan Kennedy was an asshole. I knew all along he didn't really care about me. But there's no denying we are fated mates – no matter what his father might say – fated mates who have sealed the bond, who are bound to be together forever. How … how could he marry someone else? How could he be with anyone else?

My bond pangs inside me, adamant this can't be true.

"No," I mutter again, shaking my head as my legs continue to tremble, "no, he wouldn't–"

"Tell her, Tristan."

"Summer and I are extremely happy," Tristan says, eyes still blank, voice still monotone. "And very much in love. We hope to be married as soon as the arrangements can be made."

"Ahhh," Christopher Kennedy says, "and here she is. The beautiful bride-to-be herself."

I look up and find Summer fucking Clutton-Brock sweeping down the grand staircase, dressed in a long gown that flows over the steps behind her. Her hair has been cut shorter, styled more elegantly, and she looks older, more sophisticated, like a damn film star.

She halts at the bottom of the stairs, curtsying a little to the Lord Protector like he really is royalty, and then sliding up to Tristan and curling her arm through his. He doesn't move, doesn't respond to her presence and my bond – so new, so raw – spits and claws inside me, desperate to scratch the silly bitch's eyes out for daring to touch my mate.

My mate. But not mine. Hers now.

She smiles at me with more menace than I've ever seen before.

"So it's true. She really has been captured." She leans her head against Tristan's shoulder and rests a hand against her chest. Her left hand. A massive diamond ring winking right at me. "That's such a relief. This girl is dangerous. She bewitched Trissy-Boo, and attacked me because I'm his girlfriend. She's a menace. I hope she'll feel the full force of your justice, Christopher, for what she did to us."

"I saved you," I hiss at her, "from that dragon."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she trills. "Come on, Tristan," she takes his hand in hers, "let's go. I can't stand to be breathing the same air as her."

She tugs on his hand and he doesn't move, doesn't respond.

"Tristan," his father says in a dark tone and he jerks to attention. "Go with your fiancée. I will deal with Rhianna Blackwaters."

Without looking at me, without acknowledging me at all, he lifts his feet and climbs the stairs, Summer trotting alongside him. Halfway up the staircase, she peers over her shoulder at me, smirking, and if my arms weren't bound, I'd finally blast that girl right to hell itself. After all, I'm certain that's where she belongs.

My body continues to shake while my bond screams at Tristan to come back. He must be able to feel that. He must! And yet he keeps right on walking like he can't feel me at all.

Finally, he's gone completely, and the pain is so vast, my legs crumple beneath me and I sink to the floor.

"The truth can be cruel, Pig Girl, but it can also be necessary. You don't belong in this family. You don't belong to him. You belong in a cell. And tomorrow that is exactly where you will be taken." He clicks his fingers and the soldiers remaining in the room jump to attention. "Take the girl to the east wing guest room and ensure she is heavily guarded."

Two hands grip my upper arms and drag me to my feet.

"Until tomorrow, Pig Girl," he says. "Sleep well."

"Go to hell!" I snarl, fighting the men marching me towards the staircase. But it's hopeless. I'm smaller than them, and without my magic, pretty pathetic. Christopher Kennedy knows it, smiling at me like a bat that intends to sink his fangs into my neck and suck me dry.