Chapter 36

36

KASSANDRA

H eir to the Day Court.

Heir to the Day Court.

Heir to the Day Court.

I twist those words around and around, searching for any alternative meaning. Any hidden definition.

Heir to the Day Court.

Heir to the Day Court.

I can’t stand. My legs refuse to carry my weight.

I may have fallen if Draven didn’t capture my arm and guide me to the bed.

Heir to the Day Court.

Heir to the Day Court.

I wanted answers, didn’t I? So why is it now that I have them, I wish I didn’t know the truth?

Heir to the Day Court.

Heir to the Day Court.

“Explain,” I sign.

We’re sitting close enough that if he were to move even an inch towards me, we would be touching. However, Draven—or I suppose I should say Sylvan—seems to realize that I’m ticks away from exploding. I’m not sure how I'd react if he were to lay a finger on me.

“My name is actually Sylvan. The fae in the prison? That’s Draven—the true Draven. I stole his identity and his powers.”

He says all of this without any inflection, any emotion. His eyes glimmer with a sort of manic intensity that siphons the breath from my lungs. Or maybe it just steals all of the air out of the room.

“His powers?”

He glances down at his wrist, where an intricately carved cuff sits. “This cuff allows me to use his magic. Borrow it, so to speak.”

Use his magic…

A shiver works its way through me, and I find that I can’t stop shaking. Tremors reverberate through my body as I attempt to hold myself together.

Draven’s frown looks out of place on him—as if he’s not used to showing any emotion whatsoever.

“Why are you shaking, little bird?” Shock splays across his face as if he has just come to a startling conclusion. “Are you scared of me?”

He sounds incredulous. I don’t know why he would be. What’s an appropriate reaction to learning something so horrendous?

“Were you planning on draining my powers?” It would make sense, in a demented way.

Is that what those cuffs were for?

To “borrow” my magic?

The thought of Draven with the ability to heal and kill on demand…

Icy dread creeps up my spine, and I feel the chill of it in the center of my chest.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Kassandra.” His use of my real name startles me enough to face him.

He’s close.

Too close.

His nose nearly brushes my own.

He inhales deeply, and his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Fuck, you smell good.” He lowers his face to the hollow of my throat, where my shoulder and chin meet. He breathes me in again with a low moan.

I jump when his stubble grazes my sensitive skin, his nose practically flush against my neck.

“So fucking good. I don’t want to hurt you, my sweet birdy. I want to possess you. Own you. Make you mine.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that statement, and I don’t know where to even begin. So instead of acknowledging any of that, I focus on what’s important.

I pull away just enough so he can see my fingers move. “Why did you steal Draven’s powers? Why did you lock him away? I thought the two of you were…friends?”

At least, that’s what I heard. The Night and Day Courts were supposed to be inseparable. They were—or are—one half of the same whole.

So why would Sylvan betray Draven?

Why would he steal his magic and lock him away?

“I needed to dispatch the Summer ruling family.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “The Night Court wouldn’t help me, and I knew I couldn’t do it on my own. If it were just me, the other seasonal courts would have rallied behind the Summer Court and destroyed my kingdom. However, with the Night and Day forces combined, the other courts were a lot more hesitant to declare war.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you want to kill the Summer Court rulers?” I sift through my meager knowledge on court politics but can’t think of any reason why Sylvan would want the Summer rulers dead. They were allies—more so than any of the other courts, excluding Night. Summer can’t survive without sunlight, after all.

“I didn’t have a choice. They were infected.”

“Infected?” I parrot.

By the black virus?

Thoughts of Treyton press to the forefront of my mind, but I push them back.

“No.” Draven shakes his head and frowns, forcing his gaze straight ahead. The skin around his eyes scrunches, forcing his scar to crease. The jagged line has never looked so severe before, so out of place on features that may have been described as angelic. “By Chaos.”