Chapter 24

24

T ristan

Knuckles rap wood softly and then a voice from behind the door tells us the feast is about to begin and we are expected. Are we ready?

Us men are. All five of us lined up looking like penguins in our matching suits and white shirts.

Well, when I say lined up, that’s not quite true. Spencer’s pacing the room and Barone’s sprawled over a chair again, muttering to himself with a big grin on his face. We’re all waiting on Rhi, who disappeared into one of the bedrooms several minutes ago with her arms full of dresses.

Azlan steps towards that bedroom now and raps his own knuckles on the door.

“Rhianna,” he says, “are you ready?”

“Nearly,” she calls back, “give me a minute.” Azlan stomps back towards the suite door and informs the person on the other side we’ll be one minute.

I whistle under my breath. “You really don’t know a lot about women,” I say to him.

“And you do?” he says gruffly, giving me the evil eye.

“I know enough about them to understand that when they say they’ll be one minute, they won’t. We’re looking at half an hour at least.”

Azlan scoffs, but Stone, fiddling with his bowtie, nods. “He’s right.”

Azlan looks at us both, clearly debating whether we’re pulling his chain or not. Then stomps back over to the bedroom.

“Is there anything we can do to help, Rhi? The feast is about to start.”

I rub at my chin, smothering a smile with my hand. Azlan has never enjoyed being late. He’s regimental to the point and always on time. No wonder he never had a girl.

I hear Rhi murmur something the other side of the door and then Azlan disappears inside the bedroom.

“Are we likely to see either of them again this evening?” Spencer asks with a hint of bitterness in his tone. I can’t blame him. He still hasn’t gotten his hands on Rhi and I know exactly what that feels like.

“No,” I say, “Az likes being on time far more than he likes sex.”

Stone snorts. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

My eyes shoot to the door, immediately imagining him throwing Piglet down on the bed and …

The door creaks open and Rhi steps out.

And fuck, it’s like all the oxygen is sucked out of the room. We’re all catching our breaths. She looks beautiful. Like she did that night of the Victory Ball – only better. A million times better. Gut-wrenchingly beautiful. So much so my bond is dancing in my stomach.

How? Is it because we’re bonded now? Is it the way she’s done her hair tonight, the seductive cut of the gown, the dark makeup highlighting her honey eyes?

Or is it because I’ve fallen that little bit more in love with her?

Heck, a lot more in love with her.

I open my mouth to tell her just how amazing she looks, and goddamn Stone beats me to it.

“You look incredible, sweetheart,” he says.

She blushes and I remember this girl never can take a compliment.

“It looks okay?” she asks, smoothing her hands down the scarlet silk that clings to her body like water. “Not too … you know …”

“Looks the exact right amount of ‘you know’ to me,” Spencer says with a growl.

“But my …” she swallows, “dad’s going to be there and I want to look right.”

A chill seems to pass over my skin, an unease that I haven’t been able to shift since we climbed aboard those dragons.

I’m not convinced we made the right decision coming here. I’m not sure I trust her dad. The Black Prince for fuck’s sake. How is he even alive? And how … how is this the West? The piece-of-crap land they always said was some barren country where the people were starving.

“You look perfect,” Azlan says, sliding an arm around her waist, but his gaze dashes to mine and I read that same unease in him too. In fact, I’d say the only one who seems at ease in this situation is Barone and frankly, that does fuck all to alleviate my reservations. As if reading my thoughts, Azlan adds, “Let’s be careful tonight. Keep our eyes and ears open. We don’t know if we can trust these people.”

“They saved us from Christopher Kennedy,” Rhi points out. “And he’s my dad.”

“The same dad your aunt was keeping you hidden from,” I say, regretting it immediately as the excitement sparking in her eyes only moments ago, extinguishes.

“I know what you’re saying,” she says. “And I know we should be careful. I have a lot of questions too.”

“Then hopefully you’ll get a chance to ask them tonight,” Stone says.

I turn to look at the professor. He has one power that could prove pretty useful in this situation.

“Have you been able to garner anything from their thoughts?”

He shakes his head. “Everyone we’ve met so far has been well trained at guarding their thoughts.”

“Keep trying,” I tell him and he glares at me. He’s never liked me.

“Let’s all agree to keep a watch out – especially on Rhianna,” Azlan says, and we all nod in agreement, even the assassin.

“You know I can look after myself,” Rhi protests as Azlan guides her to the door.

“Yeah, yeah, sure we do, sweetheart,” Stone says.

“That does not sound convincing,” she protests.

He winks at her and then we’re all pacing towards the door, everyone, including the pig.

Azlan pauses, hand on the doorknob.

“Is the pig coming with us?” he says, glancing down at Rhi’s pet.

“Oh,” Rhi says, crouching down in her heels. “Pip, I think it’s best you stay here.” The pig grunts like it disagrees. “ I have a feeling feasts are like balls – crowded. I don’t want you to get trampled.”

“Or mistaken for the main meal,” Stone says, winking at the pig. The pig grunts again, this time directing its displeasure at the professor, and then we’re all squeezing through the gap in the doorway, attempting to stop the pig from following us as he tries to scuttle between our legs.

Once we’re all through, the man who’s come to collect us stares at us like we’re all nut-jobs.

“The feast?” Rhi prompts and with a jerk he sets off down the corridor.

I follow Rhi, watching her back and wishing it were me with my hand on her waist, me whispering into her ear and me making her laugh.

“It’s hard taking turns,” the assassin says right by my ear, making me jolt. He looks almost respectable with his baby-smooth face and his tux. Or else he would if it weren’t for the ink crawling up his neck and the fact he’s insisted on wearing his boots with the tux and refused the bowtie outright no matter how hard Rhi begged.

“What do you mean?” I ask, a frown forming on my brow.

“With the girl. It’s hard waiting out your turn.”

“I wasn’t … I didn’t …”

“Although you do enjoy just watching her, right?”

“What?” I mutter. The man is hard to follow.

“You like watching her. You spend a lot of time doing it.”

“Bullshit,” I say.

“Huh,” he says, eyes boring into me. “Could’ve sworn it was you watching her all those nights back at the academy.”

I feel a chill judder down my spine. How the hell does he know about that? Should I confess to it? Deny it? Take him by the scruff of the neck and ask how the hell he would know that? But before I get the chance, he’s fallen back and is attempting to make small talk with Spencer next. I mean, I guess I have to give points to the dude for trying.

Our guide halts at the end of the corridor and the rest of us do too. Then he turns to us.

“Your father will want to announce your arrival,” he says before disappearing. We wait in the dark corridor, hearing the chatter of many voices behind the great door in front of us. Then there’s the blast of trumpets and those voices fall silent.

“Loyal subjects of the Western Kingdom. I have gathered you all here tonight for a great celebration.” We hear the Black Prince’s voice boom from behind that door. “Today, the royal princess, my daughter, has been returned to me. She has returned.”

There is a stunned hush followed by loud cheers and applause. Whether it’s genuine or not, I can’t tell. But I’m no fool. I’ve seen how deftly the cheerleaders could cheer for us, could paw all over us, while secretly bitching us out behind our backs – particularly whatever girl it was who’d had her heart broken or her ego dented.

“Tonight we celebrate!” the Black Prince roars above all the noise and the great doors swing back to reveal a huge ballroom – at least three times as big as the Great Hall back at the academy – rammed with magicals all dressed in dark robes and dark dresses, all their gazes trained our way. No, not our way. Rhi’s way – standing among the five of us.

The ballroom itself is vaulted like the chapel at the convent, except here everything is made from dark, slick metal, no stone in sight, with fires flickering in the corners, throwing moving shadows up against the walls. Long tables run the length of the room, along which the magicals sit.

The Prince himself waits at a table on a raised platform at the head of the room, his chair far bigger and more ornately carved than any of the others and on his head balances a crown of jet black metal. He no longer wears his leather suit, but a long black robe, embroidered with scarlet, the pattern making him look as if the flames from the fire are flickering around his very body.

He holds out his hand in our direction.

“Come, daughter. Come, Princess. Take your rightful place beside me.”

Rhi hesitates, eyes darting to us, and then she walks forward, through the middle of the tables, the magicals watching her intently, clapping as they do with all their might.

I’m reminded of that first day she showed up at school. Of how she’d walked the length of the Great Hall, out of uniform, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, her hair all scruffy, not a smudge of makeup on her face, chin raised in defiance, not caring at all about the people gaping and whispering around her.

There’s that same defiance now, that same determination. Life will throw all sorts of shit at Rhianna and yet she always remains on her goddamn feet, resolved never to fall. My heart swells with pride for her.

Maybe we are wrong to be so wary. Rhi is a fucking queen. Sitting on a throne is where she should be. Maybe this is exactly where fate intended to take us after all.

The five of us follow after her, those gazes examining us with just as much interest, and when we reach the high table, I see there are spaces for all of us.

The Black Prince points to another elaborate, albeit smaller, chair beside him.

“Sit beside me, daughter,” he commands. Then he points to the chair on his other side. This one perfectly normal. “And you too, Kennedy.”

I judder. He knows my name. Knows who I am.

I walk around the table, taking my seat, eyes watching Rhi the entire time. The others take their seats too and I notice from the corner of my gaze how they’re scanning the crowd, looking for danger.

When we are all seated, the Black Prince raises his hands. “And now we eat,” then he claps his hands, and scores of servers come dashing into the ballroom. Only these servers are dressed in plain outfits and their gazes remain resolutely fixed to the ground. Not like the academy where the dinner staff were just as likely to spit in your face as they were to slap food on your plate.

When the food is distributed across the tables, the gathered magicals wait, eyes locked on the top table. The Black Prince peruses the dishes, then drags a slab of meat onto his plate and immediately the other magicals do the same, scooping and skewering bits of food.

I look down at my own plate, empty.

I don’t have an appetite. I’m too much on edge.

I peer to Rhi and see she is the same, fiddling with her cutlery as the man who claims to be her dad continues to pile high his plate.

“It is rude in our country not to eat when offered food,” he says, not looking at either of us as he deposits a chunk of meat into his mouth and chews. “I promise you, it is not poisoned. I have a man who checks for that.”

I stare at the food, feeling even less hungry.

“Your country, they said … I don’t understand,” Rhi mutters. “They said the West was–”

“A hellhole beyond compare.” The Black Prince smiles, so charming and yet I can’t help but find it unsettling. “ Perhaps it once was, but I have worked hard to build a home for our people, a country for them. The land where this city now stands was once as much part of the desolate landscape as the rest of the country. It is through grit and determination that I have molded it to be this great city.”

“It seems spectacular,” Rhi says.

The Black Prince considers her as he takes a sip of wine from his glass.

“I imagine they told you many things that weren’t true.” He smiles again, lowering his glass. “I have heard the stories about myself.” He leans forward and says in a theatrical whisper, “That I am some great evil force that threatened the very existence of the republic.”

He laughs.

“Are you not?” I say flatly.

He cuts a roast potato in half with his knife.

“Unfortunately, every ruler must be ruthless at times – for the greater good. There is often little choice. But I pride myself on my fairness and my humanity. It is your country that attacked mine all those years ago when they learned what I was building here. I simply defended what was ours.”

“And now?” Rhi says. “Couldn’t you find a way to make peace?”

“Ahhh. I suppose they have told you that we remain great enemies when really we are symbiotic. Neither could survive without the other. Wars keep the people distracted, Rhianna. Give them a common enemy and they will unite. Better the disquiet is with your neighbor so that your own house remains at peace.”

“You attacked the capital!” I say. “Burned our academy to the ground!”

He shakes his head. “I was searching for my daughter.” He covers her hand with his. “And, of course, I was encouraged by my ally.”

“Ally?” I say. “What are you saying? That–”

“Your father, the Lord Protector, is a shrewd politician. He always spoke highly of you Tristan Kennedy. Always boasted of the leader you would become. I was not surprised when I learned you were one of my daughter’s fated ones.” He chews the fatty meat in his mouth, his jaw working as he looks at me. “I am surprised you don’t know all of this already.”

“Y-y-you’ve spoken with my dad? With Christopher Kennedy?”

“But of course,” he says, lifting his wine glass to his lips again. “We have an understanding.” He takes a long sip of the wine, the liquid dyeing his lips a blood red. “Or at least, we did. Considering my most recent intervention, that understanding may no longer hold.” He lowers his glass and meets my gaze, behind him the great fires flicker and the scores of people eat, drink and talk.

“I still don’t understand,” Rhi says, the frustration clear in her voice and our bond humming with it.

The Black Prince gestures to her plate. “Eat. There will be time for more talking. For now, we celebrate your return. The people are grateful for it. I am grateful for it.” He pinches her chin. “You are just as beautiful as she was.”

I turn back out and look at all the people. They certainly do look happy. Is that simply the free food and the flowing alcohol or are they genuinely elated at the lost princess’s return? Can it really mean that much to them? I gaze along the table at the others, at Azlan, Stone, Spencer and Barone. None of them are eating either – not even the crazy-assed assassin. They are all gazing out at the banquet, as fucking puzzled as I am.