Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

M y boots thumped heavily against the polished white tiles which lined the grand entrance hall filled with the esteemed company of the Wrathcourt. The sprawling palace of Wrathbane was where the air kingdom's royal family held their seat in the far north of The Waning Lands in the air ruled nation of Stormfell.

"Here we go again," Dalia muttered from her position a step behind me to my right.

"I'm getting a strong sense of déjà vu," Moraine agreed, rustling her silver wings in a way that I recognised as both a warning and a sign of her amusement.

"No one is forcing you to accompany me," I pointed out, tightening my grip on the grisly trophy which swung from my left fist, dripping blood across the floor.

"Bullshit," Dalia scoffed. "You're forcing us to accompany you through the simple fact that this scandal will be all anyone is speaking of for the rest of the month – we're hardly going to miss out on that."

The corner of my lips twitched, tugging at the swollen, aching slash which had been carved into my right cheek from temple to jaw. It would leave one hell of a scar when it healed, but I wasn't certain that was a bad thing – my face could do with a little less symmetry.

We were late which didn't bode well, and our blood-splattered, battle-worn appearance wasn't exactly out of character, but it wouldn't meet the expected dress code either. And on the first occasion when we had actually been intended as guests of honour too. Though, in all fairness, that was likely an exaggeration. The ball we were about to interrupt was being held to celebrate the most promising candidates of our birth year finally turning twenty-one and being sent off to complete six months of training at Never Keep where the secrets of our elemental magic would at last be revealed to us should we secure a place – which we would.

Almost all of those who had been offered an invitation to this event were aristocracy, regular members of the Wrathcourt and well used to these kinds of social events. The three of us had actually earned our invitations rather than just passing into this world via the appropriate womb which of course was the only way a Sinfair could ever hope to set foot among high society.

I supposed the king might regret that choice now. Then again – he might be thrilled. Honestly, it was difficult to judge, but I was almost certain Prince Dragor would approve and he was the one who owned my allegiance, and the one with the most power in the kingdom if everyone was being totally truthful with themselves.

The king was old and bored of war; he had long-since divvied out the rule of his land among his children and Dragor was the heir who had risen highest and claimed the most. Not that his brothers or sister were likely to admit to it.

Guards stood to attention on either side of the doors to the ballroom where the lilting sound of an orchestra playing a waltz rang out and at least a hundred people chattered and gossiped over glasses of wine which probably cost as much as a battleship. But who cared? Air kingdom was flush with wealth and rife with power, so of course they flaunted it whenever they could.

One of the guards opened his mouth, taking a step towards us as if he might protest three bloodstained heathens intruding upon this lively event while touting the head of an enemy like it was the latest fashion. Another guard slapped her hand to his chest, shoving him back into position by the door, lowering her head and hissing beneath her breath to remind him who we were.

"The Sky Witch answers to none but the royals," she breathed and again, a smile threatened to crack the jagged wound open on my cheek.

At first no one noticed us as we stalked into the opulent space, the ceiling opening up above us beyond the upper terraces where more courtiers tittered and looked out across the party.

The entire room was decorated in shades of white and gold – the colours of our nation – elaborately carved stone archways giving way to a wide, glass roof which domed overhead, allowing the stars to shine down on us.

The scales of Libra were carved into the stone above the glass doors which led to the outer balcony on the far side of the grand space and to my right, the face of Aquarius peered at me over his bucket of water as he poured it. The twin faces of Gemini observed from the stone to my left too, beautiful mirrors of one another, their wisdom on offer to all who sought it.

The royal table stood beneath the scales, raised on a dais to give the king and his children a view above the rest of the room. The dancefloor occupied much of the central space, swirling skirts of varying metallic colours swishing around the legs of the women who moved to the practiced steps and their partners who held them firmly.

In the spaces to the left and right of the dancefloor many round tables were taken up by aristocrats who discussed anything from the state of the war to the weather, to marriage arrangements and business deals. It was all so predictable – at least until they noticed us.

"For the love of Gemini," Cassandra Bluster snarled as her eyes fell on me, her golden skirt whirling around her legs as she jerked to a halt mid-dance. She was the picture of a Wrathcourt aristocrat, her golden hair coiled artfully in a design which likely took hours to perfect, her bronze skin unblemished and unmarked by war despite her being trained for combat – I guessed daddy knew a Reaper or two he could call in healing favours with. Her partner, who was one of the Effelbrand heirs – though I could never remember which – scrunched his nose up as his gaze fell to the severed head swinging from my fist.

"Trust in the Sky Witch to turn up bloody for every event," Cassandra scorned, looking to her preening friends and acting as though I couldn't hear her every word. "No doubt it's her barbarian blood – I've heard they roll in the dirt and fuck like beasts in Cascada. That's probably why they failed to plan her conception better-"

I stopped in my tracks, Dalia's sharp breath of excitement catching in my ear as I swung the severed head in Cassandra's direction, flicking blood over her and her companions then smiling darkly as a drop struck her directly in the mouth.

Ether rushed for me as I opened myself to the twisted power of it, the blood I'd spilled in claiming this head more than payment enough to offer me what I wanted.

Cassandra jerked violently as my connection to her blood formed and I took hold of her body, forcing her limbs to lock and her eyes to bulge with terror.

"What's wrong Cassandra?" Dalia purred, stepping around me and closing in on the terrified courtier. "Cat got your tongue?"

Cassandra's friends backed away, even the Effelbrand heir released her, none of them willing to intervene on her behalf.

My grasp on Cassandra's body let me feel every straining muscle, from her twitching fingers to her straining tongue as she fought to speak – no doubt to beg – and the rush of power had me fighting down a moan as it consumed me.

"More like a demon has a hold on it," Moraine laughed, reaching out to grasp Cassandra's chin, her dirty fingernails pressing into the courtier's skin as she forced her jaw to move. "I'm so sorry," she said in a simpering voice which was such a good likeness to Cassandra's that I broke a laugh and my hold on the blood magic shattered.

Cassandra wrenched herself away from Moraine's grip, causing my friend's nails to gouge lines in her skin as she threw herself back into the crowd of dancers.

She was babbling something inane which may well have been an apology, but I had no interest in whatever it was.

Prince Dragor had just gotten to his feet and the look of cold fury in his eyes made the smile fall swiftly from my face.

I jerked my chin towards him and silently led the others through the dancers who scattered to allow us to pass, the trail of dripping blood now weaving across the pale floorboards too.

The music never faltered and the swish of skirts told me the dancers continued to move across the floor behind us too. Nothing rattled a Skyforger after all. But I could feel the eyes of the crowd glued to me, their curious whispers adding a soft hiss to the ambiance which hadn't been there before our arrival.

Prince Dragor sat at the high table directly beside King Aquila in the position of honour at his right hand. Princess Laurina was positioned on the king's other side and the two remaining princes, Roarson and Evard had places set for them bookending the line-up, though they weren't currently present.

I moved to stand before the king, though my eyes met Dragor's and stayed there as I dropped to one knee, the connection only breaking when I bowed my head low in deference.

We remained as such while the swish of skirts and pulse of music continued to fill the air, the seconds ticking into a minute, then two.

Only the sound of Dragor's chair legs scraping across the tiles told me that the royal family remained before us. My knee began to ache where it was pressed to the cold floorboards, my fingers cramping where they were knotted in the hair of my kill but I didn't so much as lift my head, waiting on their command.

"Rise," King Aquila growled eventually and we did, my sisters in arms standing with me. "Out with it then."

I nodded to the king, my eyes tracing over his long white hair, which had been pulled back into a neat tail, the colour of it only a few shades lighter than his son's. His weathered face was fixed in a bored expression and the way he leaned back in his chair may have seemed casual on first glance, but I sensed a heavy exhaustion clinging to him. There had been whispers that the king was dying for years now, and despite the small clues which might signal a decline in his health, he remained with us, holding onto the throne through pure determination if nothing else.

Dragor had once told me that his father refused to die until he saw the war won, and though that had to have been a joke, sometimes I wondered if there was truth in it.

I stepped forward, reaching for the empty plate intended for Prince Evard and placing it between the king and Dragor before depositing the severed head on top of it facing the two of them.

"Do you expect me to recognise this mangled corpse?" the king grumbled, scowling at the head as though it offended him – not because he was disgusted by it but likely because it wasn't singing its own secrets and saving him the bother of having to listen to me.

"That," Dragor murmured in a dangerous tone. "Is my advisor, Tobias Stern." His pale blue eyes snapped to me, his jaw ticking. "Do you care to tell us why you have murdered one of the most powerful and influential members of our court? Tobias's family hold lands which stretch the length of the Valborn Plains and provide much needed food to fuel our army - not to mention the six towns within his province which send yearly recruits to bolster our-"

"Tobias was a drunk and a coward," I sneered dismissively, causing Princess Laurina to drop her fork with a clatter as I dared interrupt her brother's tirade, but I had been dancing this line with Dragor for long enough to know that he preferred a point to be made rather than pranced around. "He was a valuable asset because of his family holdings but he was greedy and sloppy – no doubt if he had spent more time in recent years keeping his training sharp, I wouldn't have managed to take his head from his shoulders."

"He hid from the fighting at Crathguard," Dalia added in a bored droll. "I saw him skulking behind the armoury while the rest of us dove into battle."

"He was also a traitor," I added as if it were an afterthought.

Dragor's eyes brightened and though his expression remained just shy of livid, I could have sworn he was entertained by this interaction.

"Proof?" the king demanded, spearing a potato with his fork and shoving it into his mouth.

"We were sent to Pyros to remove a player from the board," I said, uncertain how much the king even knew about the assignments his son gave me.

Memories of that dark and oppressive land pushed in on me, the stench of burning and soot staining the walls as we crept down dark alleyways and avoided the watchful eyes of the street thugs who ruled there. All of them were headed by the violent ruler known as The Matriarch. She was a brutal creature born of the ganglands, her cohort of sinners stoking a plague of death in her name, and all who crossed her found themselves meeting a bloody end.

We'd been disguised as Flamebringers of course and had moved among them without too much trouble, allowing us to locate the gated mansion where our target lived.

The husband had died quickly – he was no great warrior and I'd caught him by surprise right as I slipped in through a rear window, Dalia and Moraine remaining outside to guard the exit and make sure our retreat was clear. But the real effort had come when we navigated our way to the enemy General's office. She was an important piece of the Flamebringers' hierarchy and removing her would create an opportunity for our forces to press forward at my prince's command. Of course, I hadn't expected her to be meeting with a traitor.

"I found Tobias deep in conversation with the Flamebringers' war chief, General Kalfire, who I was there to assassinate. I draped myself in shadow and listened while he spilled secrets about our movements, telling her details about the next planned Ironwraith raid as well as giving information on the layout of the estate of Lord Darcoid who I assumed The Matriarch plans to strike against in one way or another."

"His lands are rich with coal," Prince Dragor murmured thoughtfully, but Princess Laurina slapped her hand down on the table, making her food bounce on her plate.

"Enough," she spat, looking at me like I was something she would dearly like to scrape from the base of her shoe. She was an imposing woman, her features sharp in every way from the crisp triangle of her nose to the razor slashes of her cheekbones and defined point of her chin. Her hair was a deep ebony which contrasted brutally with her pale skin – the only one of the king's children not to have inherited the pale blonde hair of their father. "I won't sit here and listen to these accusations from a dirt born creature of hellish reputation. You allow this beast too much leeway, Dragor. I appreciate the fact that her Order form makes her appealing, but if you want to fuck her then just do it in private – the rest of us shouldn't be subject to her violent tendencies and lack of decorum. If there is truth to these accusations-"

"I swear on the scales of Libra that every word I have spoken is the truth," I said, forcing myself to bow my head to her in deference despite the keen desire which rose in me to pounce across the table and see how uncouth she found my sword when it was plunged between her ribs.

"If what the Sky Witch says is true – and I remind you that doubting her word is akin to doubting my own judgement, sister," Dragor said in rough growl. "Then we need to act against these nefarious plans and make certain to send more forces to Lord Darcoid's estate in preparation of an attack. Not to mention changing our plans for the deployment of Ironwraith and likely several more of our upcoming strategies as Tobias was privy to many of them."

"Your judgement is in question either way, dear brother," Laurina purred. "Tobias was your advisor after all."

Silence fell as the two glared at one another and I almost didn't notice the king leaning forward to peer at me from between them, ignoring the volatile atmosphere as if it were as inconsequential as a summer breeze.

"You'll submit to a Cyclops reading?" he grunted, and it sounded like a question, though of course it was a command.

"I will." My vow was echoed by Dalia and Moraine but as they hadn't been present to overhear Tobias's treachery, the truth would be torn from my mind by the psychics, turned over and digested, picked apart in hunt of a lie. I didn't relish the prospect of the king's Truth Sayers rooting around inside my head, but I knew it was necessary. All five of the Cyclopses would take their turns slipping into my mind and memories, untangling my thoughts and motivations before making individual reports which would then be compared to ascertain the accuracy of them. But I had nothing to hide.

"Good. Enjoy the festivities first – it is your last night among us for a while," he said, waving me away dismissively as though I hadn't just exposed something so potentially catastrophic that it would change the course of the war itself. "Dragor, take care of whatever needs doing to stifle the impact of these claims for now. No doubt you will need to question the rest of your inner circle as well."

The prince got to his feet and stalked away without another word to me, the roiling cloud of his displeasure so thick that Fae scrambled to move aside for him as though they could feel the foul touch of it.

I bowed to the king once more, turning to leave but Laurina flicked a finger, casting a whip of air to strike me in the face, splitting open the ruined skin there once more and causing blood to run freshly from the wound. I stilled but didn't flinch, looking directly at her and obediently awaiting whatever it was she had to say to me.

"You will clean yourselves up before indulging in the festivities," she snapped, her blue eyes flashing with contempt. "And if you spill so much as one more drop of blood on our floors, I'll have you scrubbing them clean yourself while the revellers step on you as they pass."

I nodded my understanding, tearing a chunk of fabric from the edge of the tablecloth before her and pressing it to my cheek to make certain I didn't make any more mess of her precious floors.

Dalia chuckled darkly as I led my two friends away, the burning pressure of the princess's ire never once lifting as she no doubt glared after us until we had left the ballroom behind once more.

"I guess we'll see you back here in…well I was going to say thirty minutes but I think it will take you closer to an hour to scrub the sin from your skin this time, V," Moraine chuckled, her dark eyes sweeping over me appraisingly.

"It's bone deep by now," I assured her. "But I can polish the exterior to hide it well enough."

"You can't hide it, asshole," Dalia snorted, turning away from me. "It's just that everyone else is too terrified of you to point it out."

I smirked after their retreating forms as they headed for the palace gates so that they could return to their rooms in the city barracks, letting my hand fall from my cheek, the balled-up fabric of the tablecloth now stained red with my blood.

I started walking in the opposite direction, heading deeper into the palace grounds towards the apartment Prince Dragor had given me to make use of here, away from the barracks. He had claimed the special living arrangements were in part to reward me for my accolades in war and in part to save the other recruits from the torture of my nearness – keeping them from the temptation caused by my Order form. I had never quite decided if I should feel honoured by the gift or insulted. Was it truly a reward or just a way for him to keep a closer eye on me?

Contemplating the prince's trust in me - or potential lack of - was never a particularly enjoyable state of mind and I scowled at the darkened corridor ahead of me as I started along it. Wide archways stood open every twenty feet or so, allowing patches of glimmering starlight into the space along with the frigid polar wind which was so common at this time of year, whispering tidings of turning leaves and snow to come before long.

I rounded the farthest reach of the walkway and turned towards the guarded doors which led into the east wing – Prince Dragor's quarters. Though as his wing was made up of over two thousand rooms, many of them dedicated to housing his staff and most celebrated warriors, it wasn't as though I was actually living in his personal space.

Once again, the guards let me pass without hesitation, though there was a new recruit on duty who took a double take as I drew nearer then fell to his knees, throwing himself into my path and prostrating himself on the stone floor.

"My Lady, please allow me to assist you with your wounds," he begged. "I will do anything I can to aid you. Let me wash your linens, massage your feet, compose a poem about the way you smell of death and-"

One of the other guards kicked him to silence his babbling and I paused, arching a brow.

"I smell of death?" I questioned in a low voice.

"Forgive Reg, your…erm…Sky Witchness," a guard said, looking at me, then away, then at me again like he didn't know which was the least likely to raise my ire. "He was warned about your beauty and allure but it is quite something else to behold, the startling wonder of your features and the way your eyes sparkle brighter than all the stars in the-"

"Enough," I grunted, knocking him back and placing a foot on Reg's spine as I stepped over him, causing him to groan in an overtly sexual manner.

I continued past them without another word, upping my pace in case they were tempted to follow. My gifts had done this before – flaring more powerfully than usual when I was injured, encouraging those who laid eyes on me to offer all kinds of desperate pleas to assist me.

I kept my eyes firmly ahead as I crossed through decorative courtyards and grand halls meant for entertaining, each space hung with lavish paintings and detailed mosaics either depicting the stars, representations of the three zodiac symbols which were born to air magic, or the violent acts of war which were committed by our most prolific historical monarchs and their best warriors.

My apartment was located on the ground floor to the far east of the sprawling palace and by the time I made it within the confines of the heavy wooden door and locked it, I was so tired that I wished for nothing more than to lay down in my bed and sleep.

However, the prince's intentions for me were clear the moment I looked around at my rooms. A fire had been lit in the hearth, a copper tub filled with heated water set before it and draped over my bed, a silver embroidered dress had been laid out for me.

I tossed the blood-soaked cloth into the flames, knowing only too well how easily blood magic could be used against me should someone else get their hands on it.

The ball was well underway and time was short, so I leaned my sword against the copper tub within easy reach then removed the rest of my weapons and stripped out of my battle leathers in well-rehearsed movements.

I glanced down at myself, taking stock of the vivid blue and green bruise across my ribs, pleased to see it was improving at last. Ink coiled through the bruised skin, a pattern of twisting clouds filled with hidden runes and words of prophecy in the language of the stars. Words of power and strength, protection and fortune. I'd worked my blood magic into the decoration on my flesh and though very few Fae ever saw the ink which spanned my back and crept around my ribs, I couldn't help but think of it as the most honest pieces of me. My Order meant that everything about me from my face to the curves of my body had been designed to seduce and command desire, but those swirling lines of scripture mixed with the representation of the power of air spoke more truthfully about who I really was.

I groaned as I sank into the water, letting myself drop right beneath the surface. Blood from the wound on my face tainted the liquid surrounding me, the cut stinging in protest but I ignored it, needing the grit from our travels to wash free of it if I wanted to avoid infection.

I counted to fifty before I let myself scream, all of the frustration, anger, shock and grief which surrounded me daily pouring free in my tiny underwater haven. It was a ritual I couldn't even remember starting. I simply shoved every scrap of feeling, every hint of humanity deep down inside me day after day after day and then when I was alone, beneath the surface of the water, I gave it that one point of release. I let myself picture the faces of the Fae I'd killed in my most recent battles. I let myself acknowledge the tremble in my limbs where the blood magic I'd used had carved a price from my soul. I heard every veiled or outright insult, every slander against my blood, every muttered insinuation that I had earned my position on my back instead of on the battlefield thanks to my Order. All of it rushed out of me as I screamed until I was void of breath and was forced to emerge above the surface once again.

Panting, I grabbed a washcloth and made quick work of scrubbing the grime from my skin then took the bar of fragrant soap intended for my hair and worked to clean that too.

I was out of the water and stepping into the dress within minutes.

The garment was stunning; clearly intended for someone of far greater birth than me and I swallowed against the sense of gratitude which rose in me, reminding myself that this wasn't some petty gift – I had earned it.

The style was the latest design, a pale white coated in silver embroidery, the fitted bodice and billowing sleeves traditional enough but the skirt cut just below the knee, the voluminous fabric encouraging it to twirl around the legs, revealing more skin and clearly made for dancing. It was a perfect fit of course, clinging to my curves and cinching tight around my waist, though I couldn't reach the ties to secure it at the back.

"I thought it would be more lavish." A rough voice had me whirling for the door, a dagger snatched into my grasp as I bared my teeth at the unwelcome guest.

"How did you get in here?" I demanded as I took in Cayde leaning against my doorframe, his features cast in shadow by the flickering light of my fire. He hadn't actually crossed the threshold but he had opened my door without knocking. A door I was certain I had locked behind me.

"Believe me, I have no interest in coming to your room," he drawled, glancing around at the bare space, the only décor my collection of weaponry which hung against the far wall.

"And yet you're here." I turned the dagger in my grasp, pinching the end of the blade between my thumb and forefinger.

"I was tasked with bringing you this." He raised a small jar with a waxy-looking poultice inside it, shaking it at me in explanation.

My cut cheek tingled as if in recognition, fresh blood slowly dribbling from the wound and I was forced to slash my hand across my chin to stop it from falling onto my dress.

"You aren't housed within the east wing," I said firmly because I knew I would have noticed his arrogant swagger strutting about the place if he was.

"And you are fond of pointing out obvious facts. Are you going to take this from me or will I be required to stand here all evening?" Cayde glanced away as if desperate for something else to claim his precious attention, his profile offering me the opportunity to study his chiselled features for a moment without him studying me in turn.

There wasn't any motive that I could think of which might have drawn him here beyond delivering the poultice, but I had good reason to mistrust him.

In the year since I had been unfortunate enough to make his acquaintance, Cayde Avior had become the most infuriating thorn in my side. He was one of us – the Sinfair whose shame clung to us like a second skin, though luckily for him he wasn't born of weak blood like me. No, from what I had gathered by asking about him – purely because he was in my way so fucking frequently – first his mother had lost an entire legion to a raid on the earth lands of Avanis. Then his father and older brother had gone seeking revenge, taking five thousand Skyforgers without permission from those in a position of true power, leading them all into a trap which had ended every last one of them.

Before then, nothing much seemed to have been known about the younger Avior brother, and when the Stonebreakers had attacked his home and killed every soul in sight, his survival had seemed something of a miracle - though all he had really done was Emerge at the opportune moment and use his newfound Drake form to fly for sanctuary. The royal family needed someone to punish for the failings of his family and as the sole surviving member, Cayde had appeared from within the woodwork and been named a Sinfair like me.

Clearly, he had decided that becoming the most celebrated Sinfair of our army would win back his favour with the royals. But there was already someone who had claimed that position. Me. And I'd be damned if I'd let him take my place.

"Give it to me then," I demanded, holding my free hand out for the poultice but Cayde only arched a brow as he looked back at me.

"No thanks? No please?" he questioned, lowering his hand and dropping the jar into the pocket of his brocade suit.

I hated to admit it, but the thing looked good on him. He had precisely what I lacked – aristocratic blood. And where I felt out of place in the dress the prince had gifted me, Cayde looked just as at home in the deeply embellished blue suit with its golden stitchwork as he did drenched in the blood of his enemies and clad in battle leathers. Just another thing to hate about him.

"If the prince sent you then you have your orders. So stop dicking about and hand it over," I growled in a voice which made most people shit their trousers, but not him. Of course not him.

Cayde scoffed lightly, turning to leave as if he didn't give a damn about following orders or not. I hurled my dagger, catching the sleeve of his suit and pinning it to the doorframe, forcing him to a halt.

"Your aim is either impeccable or terrible," he commented, reaching for the dagger while I gave up any pretence of patience and stalked towards him, my teeth bared.

"You know which," I hissed, shoving him against the doorframe and pinning him there with my forearm against his chest.

Cayde's lips twitched with amusement - like I wasn't the deadliest creature in this place - and I snatched the jar of healing poultice from his pocket.

I shoved away from him, causing the dagger to tear the fabric of his suit further and taking a grim satisfaction in that small victory as I moved back into my room.

"Your dress is open at the back," he commented.

"Well don't go thinking this is some cliched bullshit where I ask you to fasten it for me. If I wanted your hands on my body, I could achieve it in a far less convoluted way." I dropped into the chair before my desk, unscrewing the lid and sticking my fingers into the jar.

The poultice smelled of honey and lavender, the other herbs mixed within it creating a fresh undertone and even inhaling the scent of it made my aching body feel better.

True healing magic was the closely held secret of the Reapers who only offered out their abilities when they were petitioned to do so and felt moved to oblige, but there were potions, spells and poultices such as this one which helped with most wounds.

I took a dagger which I'd been using to mark my place in a book and angled it in the light so I could see my reflection, albeit a warped version of it, then carefully applied the poultice to my wound.

"You have a lot of scars," Cayde commented from his position by the door and I turned to glare at him, finding him toying with the dagger which he had now pulled free of his jacket.

"I've fought in a lot of battles," I deadpanned. "Why are you still here?"

"I was referring to those caused by lashes," he pushed, his tone darkening as if my inability to follow all of the rules laid out before me was somehow infuriating to him.

"I'm sure you are aware of my bloodline," I ground out. "So it should be no surprise to you that I come under scrutiny far more often than someone as used to privilege as yourself."

"You seriously think I'm privileged?" Cayde growled, that infuriating calm finally cracking.

I got to my feet, stalking back over to him and gripping the door in preparation to fling it closed in his face.

"I was raised in a waifhouse, told from the moment I was placed there that I was not worthy of my star sign, that my blood would out and prove my weakness time and again. I have been looked at with scorn and disgust every single day of my wretched, wicked life and everyone surrounding me was simply waiting for me to fail. In fact, they wanted me to fail. I have fought for everything I have, from the food in my belly when I was four years old and they told us that there would only be enough for the strongest to eat, to the right to even offer myself as a candidate for battle training. Which, by the way, I earned by brawling with boys twice my size when I was eight years old and winning. Every time I prove myself worthy of note, the bar is raised higher, making me reach for it once again. But you, poor, self-pitying heir to a line of fucking fools who brought shame down on their family and left you to shoulder the weight of it, only have to prove yourself less foolish than your parents and the world will once again bow to the whims of your airborne bloodline and you will return to the place of privilege and entitlement which was squandered by your dumb fucking fami-"

Cayde moved so fast that I almost didn't get my guard up in time, my forearm striking his and knocking the dagger from his grasp before it could make contact with my side. But I should have seen it for the distraction it was. His other hand made it beneath my guard, wrapping tight around my throat as he whirled me around and slammed me into the door, pinning me in place and snarling right in my face. A jolt of pure exhilaration sparked through my veins as the beast in him rose up and lunged for me. This was what I fucking lived for.

"That's enough," he hissed, but if he thought I was done just because he was choking me then he really hadn't been paying attention in all the time he'd spent trying to steal my crown.

My foot snaked around his and I had him on the floor in the next heartbeat, the two of us scrambling for the upper hand, rolling across the pale tiles.

We struck the edge of my bed and jarred to a halt, his weight bearing down on me, his hand still locked around my throat.

"I should snap your neck," he snarled, and I laughed because he thought he had me beat, the poor little Sky Witch trapped beneath the big bastard with the eyes of sin.

I threw a solid punch to his kidney, forcing him to curse, his grip slackening just enough and my forehead collided with the bridge of his nose, the loud crack confirming the break.

Cayde didn't slacken his hold again, his fingers digging in, cutting off my air supply as his weight pressed down between my thighs, his blood dripping onto my face.

My heart was galloping in my chest, my eyes pinned on his and suddenly the tension between us felt so much more potent, like a promise of something far more decadent than death.

"What precisely am I interrupting?" the cold voice fell over us from somewhere beyond Cayde's bulk, but I didn't need to see him to know precisely who stood looking at us now.

Cayde's weight was pinning me to the floor, his hips between my thighs, my skirt bunched up and bodice slipping from one shoulder where it hadn't been tied in place. No doubt this looked far more compromising than it was and a cold dread rushed through me at the thought of the prince seeing me like this.

I shoved Cayde back and he submitted, getting to his feet and pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the bleeding, a soft crack sounding as he realigned the bone I'd broken.

I scrambled upright, hoisting the sleeve of my dress back over my shoulder and looking to Prince Dragor, keeping my chin high despite the pure venom which glinted in his ice blue eyes.

"It was a poor choice of venue for a spar, your highness," Cayde grunted, not bothering to wipe the blood from his face and I had to admit that he looked even better than usual when he was bloody from battle. Though perhaps that was just the thrill of me knowing I'd broken his nose.

Dragor didn't even look at him, his eyes fixed firmly on me, trailing to my throat where I no doubt had Cayde's handprint lining my skin, then taking in my unfastened dress. I knew better than to speak.

"The ball awaits, lieutenant," Dragor said softly, dismissing Cayde with a flick of his fingers and I couldn't help but look to the asshole as he bowed his head obediently then left the room. His gaze struck mine for a single moment as he exited, and I braced myself for the fresh wave of hatred before it even hit. His fury was like an anvil to my chest, but there was more to the dark look he offered me in parting, a silent promise that this wasn't in any way close to done.

Good. I wasn't done with him either.

The door snapped shut as Dragor stepped over the threshold and I jerked my focus back to my prince as the air was filled with the wild tempest which was his presence.

"They say that to fuck a succubus is to ruin yourself for all other lovers," he said, stepping towards me and making me blink at the topic he had landed on. "Do you think there is truth to that, my little Sky Witch? Do your lovers trail after you in desperation, begging for another taste of your sweet poison?"

He took hold of my chin and I frowned at him. "I don't get much time for lovers," I replied dismissively while his eyes hunted mine for a lie.

It was the truth. Though I couldn't pretend I hadn't taken anyone to my bed. Usually when the need arose in me, I simply found myself a hall of sin and took pleasure from the unknown bodies who sought it within. Memories of broken kisses trailing my flesh, of mouths and hands exploring my skin, of writhing bodies and wanton moans rushed through me. I had even used the full force of my Order gifts in those places a few times, allowing myself the freedom to come undone in the darkness where all of my most debauched desires were celebrated and explored.

"War takes its toll on all of us," Dragor said. "But it is no reason to deny your flesh the reward of pleasure when it is offered."

I looked between his icy eyes, my heart pounding both from the collision with Cayde and the danger which coiled in the room surrounding this beast of a man before me. I should have been cowering at the look in his eyes and yet this fear, this terror was what I lived for.

I took a step forward while most would have stepped back.

Dragor arched a brow at me and I stepped closer again.

"You have caused me many issues this night," he growled, his posture rigid as I moved so close to him that I was inhaling his air, the sweet thrill of danger rolling off of him.

"I did what I was asked and rooted out a traitor for good measure," I replied resolutely, because if I was going to be punished for something then I wanted to be certain my worth was understood.

"Tobias was my friend since childhood," he ground out.

"Perhaps you should keep his head in a jar in your office then. That way you won't miss him so dearly," I suggested, my muscles tensing for the blow I knew would follow, my reckless tongue always urging me towards danger instead of saving me from it. But I stood by what I'd done. I had even attempted to take Tobias alive and got my face split open for it as thanks.

Dragor scowled for a drawn out moment then barked a laugh, causing me to blink in surprise.

He shook his head, turning from me and moving to look out of the small window which stood above my desk. As my apartment was on the ground floor and at the farthest end of the eastern wing, the view beyond it showed only a small walkway followed by the outer wall of the palace.

"Come here. Tell me what you see." Dragor didn't turn to check whether I was obeying the command because of course I was.

I stepped close to him and looked out at the dim view, a shrug lifting my shoulder.

"A wall."

"Yes. A wall which surrounds this place. A wall which I want you to take with you to Never Keep. One I expect you to maintain surrounding yourself at all times. Whenever you think to release some of the tension of battle, whenever you imagine you need an outlet, you shall remember this wall and remind yourself that you alone stand within it."

"I don't-" I began but Dragor's hand clasped the back of my neck and he shoved me down over the desk, my hands flying out to brace myself against it as my pulse leapt in alarm. I knew every move I needed to free myself from the position, but he was my prince. I couldn't strike him.

"You have worked very hard to get my attention for the last five years," Dragor growled, leaning down over me so he could speak in my ear. "And now, at last, you have it."

Seven years, but I supposed I'd failed during the first two if he only counted five.

My lips parted but I didn't know what I was supposed to say to that and the silence pressed down on me while he waited on my response.

"I…I'm only aiming to please you, Dragor-"

He yanked me back upright, his hand remaining locked to the back of my head as he jerked me around and pulled me against the solid planes of his battle-hardened body.

My breaths came faster, my fingers curling at my side with the knowledge that I would have drawn a dagger on anybody else who tried to hold me captive like this.

"Tell me who you serve," he breathed.

"You," I answered instantly.

"Not the king?" he pushed.

"You," I affirmed.

"Not the great kingdom of air, Stormfell herself?"

"I'm yours," I swore because for so long now I had known that to be the truth. I had pledged myself to this beast and given up so much of my humanity in the pursuit of pleasing and impressing him and finally finding my own place in this ravaged world. No one was ever going to offer me a position of power, but I had sworn to carve one out for myself and I had chosen a place at the side of this heathen to claim it.

Dragor almost smiled, his hand falling from the back of my head and skimming down my spine where the unfastened dress left my skin exposed.

My chest rose and fell heavily, the dress threatening to slip and expose my body to him as his fingers pushed lightly at the open back.

My gaze fell to his mouth, that wicked slash across his strong jaw and I let myself imagine what he might taste like as he stepped against me, turning us slightly so that the backs of my thighs pressed to the wooden desk.

This was dangerous. In all the ways Moraine and Dalia warned me that vying for the attention of the prince was dangerous and even more so than that because this was a line we had never crossed before. I'd thought him immune to my allure when we had first met, his attention slipping over and beyond me like I was no different to any other warrior in his army. I had looked at him with his power and his title and I had seen my chance to prove myself, but he hadn't seen me at all.

Even after I had gained his attention by winning my way through countless battles in his name and earning the whispered reputation that had first seen me called the Sky Witch, he had never once looked at me the way most men did.

But I had looked at him. I had seen the power which clung to him, the respect that all those surrounding him offered up so easily, the loyalty he inspired through word and action alike. And now, at last, I felt as though he were seeing me too.

Through either bravery or madness, I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips tracing the line of his powerful jaw as I kept my eyes pinned on his mouth, afraid to meet his gaze in case I'd read this wrong.

"Careful, little witch," Dragor growled, stepping forward so that his knee pressed between my thighs, and I was forced back onto the edge of the desk, almost perching on the thing. "If you follow this path you'll become my creature entirely, bound to me in every way. I won't relinquish you once I've had you, so be certain you know what it is you're claiming because once you've fallen for the sin of me there will be no repenting, no undoing it. If it is true that you will ruin me for all others then you will take on the full weight of that. You will be mine in every sense. So tell me. Is that what you want?"

I lifted my gaze to his at last and for the first time I found the ice in them heated, his expression unchecked, his control slipping.

The only thing I had ever wanted was to belong and his offer sounded a lot like that. Would I become his creature? Wasn't I that already? All things considered, belonging to the prince of air didn't seem like such a very hard choice to make, even if he did terrify me as surely as he haunted my desires.

"Yes," I breathed, condemning my soul with that one little word.

His mouth met mine with such force that I was driven right back onto the desk, my thighs parting to make way for him to step between them, his tongue sinking between my lips in a brutal claim that had me undone.

My fingers found the lapels of his jacket, curling into fists around them as I pulled him closer, sinking into the sinful taste of his kiss and moaning into his mouth. He was everywhere, this force of nature taking hold of me, capturing me and binding me in the cage of his solid arms as he laid his claim right down to the marrow of my bones.

My dress slipped from my shoulder, freeing my breast so that my hardened nipple grazed roughly against the golden brocade of his suit.

His mouth devoured mine, his hand moving beneath my skirt, skimming the inside of my thigh before pushing my undergarments aside so that he could feel my wetness.

Dragor growled his desire, biting down on my bottom lip and sinking two fingers into the tightness of my cunt. I arched against him, moaning loudly, my spine tipping back, my fists tight around his lapels as he drove his fingers in and out of me, his thumb finding my clit and making me cry out louder.

He kissed me harder and I fell prey to the sin of his fingers inside me, the utter devastation of his touch, the taste of his tongue invading my mouth.

I rolled my hips against the movement of his hand, my body tensing, my grip on his jacket so tight I could feel the stitches straining in protest.

Dragor's mouth fell to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin and drawing a ragged gasp of his name from my lips as he worked his way lower.

My open dress gave him access to my breast, his tongue rolling over my nipple before his teeth sank into the soft skin and I gasped at the rough worship, my gifts flaring as my body gave way to his commands.

His desire surrounded me, the force of it writhing through my veins and making my heart race with all the secret fantasies I had indulged in about this man who was power itself.

His fingers drove into me with more force, his thumb riding my clit in the most delicious way which had my toes curling and body thrumming with pleasure.

I tugged on his lapels hard enough to pull his eyes back to mine, the light in them flaring as he pushed his fingers in deeper, watching me fall apart beneath him.

I claimed his lips again, his kiss hard and unforgiving, demanding my surrender and though it went against every part of my nature to do such a thing, his want for it and my want for him had me giving in.

Prince Dragor had been my obsession for so long it seemed that my need for his eyes on me was as intrinsic to my survival as my need for air to breathe. The rush of holding him captive with my lips, of having his hands on my body after craving him for so long had me intoxicated.

I could feel the hard length of his cock driving against my inner thigh, the size of it making my pulse riot, the longing to feel every inch of him consuming me.

The force of his desire made my head spin, his want for my flesh, his rampant lust, the carnal need all filling the air around us as my gifts opened me up to the power of them. But there was a need even greater than all the rest, a ravenous desire for control in all things, for possession and dominion and right now, he was testing the control he wielded over me.

His fingers brought me to the edge of ruin, pumping in and out, his thumb rasping against my clit with every thrust of his wrist, my world narrowing to the feeling of his fingers inside me as oblivion rushed closer and my moans filled the air.

Dragor broke our kiss, leaning back to look at me as he brought me to the point of ecstasy beneath him, his cold eyes roaming over me like I was something to devour.

"It's the power that gets you off, isn't it?" he purred, watching me writhe beneath him, his hand an expert in sin, taking complete hold of my body. "I've watched you for a long time. I've seen the way you light up when you outshine your counterparts, when you prove your mettle, when you kill . I've seen the way your blood sings for violence, and I knew you'd be wet from the moment I found you pinned beneath that brute when I arrived in this room."

I sucked in a sharp breath, my head lifting, lips parting on some protest or defiance but he drove his fingers into me again, curling them within me while pressing down on my clit and forcing a climax from me that had me crying out instead as pleasure rushed through my body in a wave of rapturous bliss.

Dragor tugged his fingers out of me, clasping my face in his hand and pressing that same thumb which had just driven me into oblivion down on the ragged wound which marked my cheek.

He leaned in, close enough to kiss me again, but the words which brushed my lips were no sweet caress.

"I'll have you perfect or not at all," he growled, his eyes moving to the wound as I bit down on my cheek to halt any sound of pain which might have threatened to escape me as he continued to press against it. "The Reapers will fix this. Now get up and make yourself presentable for the ball. You have one night left to prove you are more than a simple savage to the people of the Wrathcourt before you head to Never Keep. I expect a creature of mine to present herself properly. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I bit out, though the agony in my face made it hard to even take in the words but I couldn't help the flare of indignation which rose on Moraine's behalf – she had suffered through months of slow recovery with her broken wing while the prince refused to ask the Reapers to assist her with magical healing. Yet now he intended to get them to squander their gifts for the inconvenience of a scar on my face?

He released me and stepped away, leaving me to right my dress as he straightened his own suit then strode from my apartment without another word.

I swallowed against the lump which had risen in my throat and counted to one hundred as I bent my arms at an awkward angle and forced the dress to fasten at my spine. With each number I passed, I locked away a little bit more of the ragged creature who had just offered herself up to a monster to devour. I knew better than to have let my guard slip like that. I knew better and I'd done it anyway. For a moment, when I'd been in his arms I'd been-

I shut that thought down as I reached one hundred, smoothed out the rumpled skirt of my dress, carefully applied more of the poultice to my cheek then raised my chin and swept from the room.

I was the Sky Witch. I did not bend and I certainly did not break. If Prince Dragor demanded perfection, then he would get it. First at the ball and then at Never Keep. Tomorrow, I would set out to unleash my air magic at last, and when I finally claimed that final piece of my power, I would be certain to wield it well enough to win back his fickle favour.