Chapter 13

13

CALAN

R etracing my steps proves to be futile. I’m no closer to finding Faye’s camp than I was before.

No closer to finding Kassandra.

Pain spears my chest at the thought of something happening to the infuriating female, but I quickly squash the emotion before it can fester further.

She’s okay.

I know she’s okay—I can sense it, the barest brush of her emotions against my consciousness.

I take a modicum of comfort in that fact.

Draven declared that we needed to “regroup,” so now I find myself heading towards who knows where, stowed away in the back of a carriage like a Gaiadamn animal.

When we finally stop, my stomach is knotted, sweat dots my skin, and vomit crawls up my throat. Bloody fucking hell. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t vomit all across the ground.

Unease skitters across my back at just the thought.

Already, I feel disgusting, like I’m cocooned in a layer of tar and slime. I’m desperate to submerge myself in a blistering hot bath, but I don’t dare voice that wish out loud. I have no doubt Draven—and even Mikage—would use that weakness against me.

Even still, I can’t help but wipe at my arms and legs, attempting to remove as much dirt and grime as I possibly can.

“Welcome home, my new friend,” Draven singsongs as he wrenches open the back door of the carriage.

Blinding sunlight sears my retinas, and I blink my crusty eyelids, wincing nearly imperceptibly.

Draven and Mikage grin down at me. Well…the former grins down at me, his expression decidedly mischievous, while the latter appears subdued. His expression is taut with tension, and there’s a noticeable furrow between his blond brows. He continually flicks his gaze between me, Draven, and the building behind him.

A very familiar building, rising from the sand like jagged, golden teeth.

The Summer Court castle.

I’ve only been here once before, when I was a child, but it would be impossible for me to forget this place.

Though it’s one continuous building, it has varying levels that give it a misshapen, convoluted look. The front entrance is surrounded by stone pillars, and those pillars boost a balcony that overlooks the desert. From there, the castle expands in either direction, the roof dominated with turrets and gables. Stone gargoyles, bleached from the sun and crumbling with age, crouch directly above me, their sightless eyes homed in on my face.

The keenness in their stone gazes sends a chill across my spine.

Draven moves to stand directly beside me and turns his face up towards the castle as well. He cocks his head to the side with a contemplative expression, almost as if he’s attempting to see it through my eyes.

“It’s not as magnificent as some of the other courts’, but I have to say when I first arrived here, I was impressed. Still am,” Draven states lazily, reaching upwards to run his fingers through his midnight-black hair.

The strands catch in the blinding light, reflecting in a way that makes the roots almost appear gold.

“I’ve heard you took over the Summer Court and killed the royal family.” I keep my voice level, despite the frost sweeping through me. “I didn’t know you took up residence in their home as well.”

Draven chuckles and claps me on the shoulder. “All’s fair in love and war. Now, come. We have much to do and little time to do it.”

As he approaches the front doors, they swing open automatically, and two Night soldiers bow humbly as he stalks by.

I don’t immediately follow him.

It’s one thing to know that the Summer Court has been destroyed, but it’s another thing to see it with my own two eyes.

I’ve never been overly friendly with the royal family—after all, Winter and Summer are as opposite as they come and don’t always get along—but it still strikes me how easily Draven was not only able to destroy a kingdom but take it over. He’s living in their house, sleeping in their beds, sitting on their thrones.

And where is the Day Prince in all of this? Aren’t the two allies?

Mikage offers me a sympathetic smile and jerks his chin towards the front entrance. “Come. You shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

I don’t want to stay out here in the sweltering summer heat, but I also don’t want to take a step into enemy territory either. Indecision roots my feet in place.

“How can you be okay with this?” The question bursts free before I can stop myself, and I inwardly curse at betraying my true emotions.

Calm.

I need to be calm.

I can’t allow a single chink in my armor, a single crack in my mask.

Biting down on my lower lip hard enough to bleed, I begin to tap my fingers against my thigh. There’s comfort in the familiarity of such a movement.

Safety.

Mikage doesn’t even blink at my outburst, though his lips do tighten at the corners. “Not everything is as black and white as it appears. The Summer King and Queen were not good fae or leaders. Draven did the Summer Court a favor.”

“By killing thousands of innocents?” I shouldn’t care about these answers. I don’t want to. Caring is what got me into this predicament to begin with. The Summer fae aren’t my responsibility.

And yet…

“It’s not that simple,” Mikage says. He scratches absently at his wrist. “We did what we had to do.”

“And what about Prince Narian? Did he deserve to die?”

Mikage casts me a confused look before focusing back on the castle. “He’s not dead,” he says vaguely, then gestures me forward. “Come. We have a lot to discuss.”

With heavy reluctance, I follow Mikage through the large oak doors and into the immense entrance hall. The polished tiles almost seem pearlescent, the colors alternating between an eggshell white and a dull pink depending on how I look at it. The domed ceiling is constructed entirely of glass, allowing an ample amount of sunlight to illuminate the area.

There are numerous hallways branching in every direction and a wide staircase leading to a mezzanine. It’s there Draven stands, his hands resting loosely on the railing, his smile carefree and jovial as he gazes down at me.

A ruler overlooking his subject.

I instantly straighten my spine and grit my teeth together.

Draven may think of me as his prisoner, but he’s wrong. I’m a Gaiadamn prince.

I refuse to allow this bastard to look down on me.

“Welcome!” Draven spreads his arms wide as if giving the room a hug. His benevolent smile never falters, though his eyes flicker with a chilling darkness I feel in the hollow of my bones. “Please, make yourself at home.”

I keep my expression blank. “Like you did?”

“Now, now, Prince Calan.” He waggles a finger in the air disapprovingly. “That’s no way to speak to a prince.”

He spins on his heel and walks through a second pair of doors at the very top of the staircase. He doesn’t wait for us to follow, but Mikage immediately hurries after his master like a besotted puppy. I remain where I am, studying the hall with keen eyes.

After a moment, I choose a hallway at random and walk down it.

“Prince Calan!” Mikage calls to my retreating back, but I ignore him, opening up doors as I go and peering into each room.

All of them are empty, a fine layer of dust collecting on every available surface. It’s apparent that, despite what Draven wants me to believe, he doesn’t spend too much time in their residence.

“Calan.” Mikage’s voice lowers with urgency as I reach a door at the very end of the hall.

Unlike the others, this one is latched shut with a padlock.

Interesting.

My curiosity piqued, I will ice into my fingertips and then drag them across the lock. It instantly freezes over and then shatters to the ground with an audible thunk.

Mikage curses and races towards me, already drawing his sword, but he’s too far away. I give the other fae a droll look, as if daring him to stop me, push open the heavy door, and step inside.

What the hell?

I don’t know what I expected behind the locked door, but it certainly isn’t this.

My carefully placed mask cracks. I can’t stop from gaping in shock.

“What in Gaia’s name is this?” I demand, spinning to face Mikage.

Only to discover he’s not alone anymore.

Draven gives me a pitying look and tsks his tongue. One of his hands rests on the pommel of his sword.

“I really wish you hadn’t seen this,” he murmurs.

Before I can formulate a response, he lifts his free hand and aims it at me, his fingers spread and his palm out. A burst of light hits me straight in the chest, and I fly backwards and careen off the wall.

And then, like a curtain drawn shut across my vision, darkness, mercifully, claims me.