9. Chapter Nine: Theo

Chapter Nine – Theo

T heo returns to consciousness in a dangling cage. He blinks through the cloth fluttering over his face, his every exhale billowing the blue covering and every inhale sucking it back in. He tries to bat the fabric away – but his hands are bound. His movement causes the entire enclosure to sway and creak.

Nausea rolls through him. He grits his teeth. Instinctively, he reaches for his wolf.

Nothing.

Fear rises, rapid and violent. Even as a child, Theo always had his wolf. The beast was his one companion, that saw him through near-death a thousand times over. But now –he has been disarmed in the worst way.

Inhale. Exhale.

The fabric flutters over his lips. It's sheer enough for Theo to see through, but it takes a minute for him to calm his panic.

First – take in your surroundings.

Theo releases his clenched fists. He strains to run his fingers over the bars of his cage; smooth, sun-warmed metal about the width of his wrist, it ordinarily wouldn't intimidate him because it wouldn't be enough to contain the strength of his beast.

But now –

Theo shakes his head and turns his attention outward – and then downward.

His stomach tightens. His cage dangles from the ceiling, swaying with every movement. Crowds of people swarm below. Theo is just close enough to make out some defining features that aren't concealed by face coverings and rippling veils. Dozens of Balivartians appear to float across the shining pale marble in their floor-length robes. Some wear cloaks that trail behind them like jewel-toned tails. Diamonds catch the light of the evening sun, shining from the brilliant fabric like droplets of water captured in the emerald, ruby, and sapphire fabrics. Hands dance as the Balivartians converse, nails long and painted, trimmed not for warfare, but elegance.

A few lined eyes dart toward Theo, though the Balivartian's faces no longer crease with fear when they take him in. Instead, their lips curl upwards, muffled giggles covered by flitting fabrics.

Theo snarls, but the noise emerges weak and damp. He yanks at his bonds again. The manacles hold him fast.

The motion makes the cage swing wildly, and Theo's stomach sways with it, making like it wants to turn itself inside out. Theo braces himself against the bars, barely able to keep his balance.

The giggling pair don't seem to notice his struggles, or simply don't care, and their attention wanders to a nearby group. They join in a chorus of greetings, their words muffled by the distance and their dialect.

Beyond the crowd, open doors overlook violet skies. A bird cage-like two-story wall made entirely of oddly darkened windows catches the bloom of – sunset. Theo has been unconscious for hours. Unconscious, or…

Theo winces as his head pulses viciously, a half-formed memory pooling in his thoughts. His cheeks burn for reasons he can't entirely recall, a mixture of humiliation and rage heating his ears.

Theo automatically yanks away from the memories – but if he wants to get out of here, he'll need to remember all that he can. He attempts to pick through the clumped thoughts, heavy with a too-sweet scent.

Lovelace.

That's what they poisoned him with.

Relief warms him. That's why I can't use my wolf. The drug was used often in the Balivartian-Kiteran war; soldiers who consumed it lost touch with their beast sometimes for days – after babbling like idiots for hours. Theo should have had some level of resistance – but his time spent with Luka has weakened him.

To his right comes an odd creaking sound – the same noise Theo's cage made when it moved. Theo looks out. Another half a dozen cages dangle from the arched ceiling, all occupied by individuals wearing similar slate-blue robes, their faces covered. It is only when the first occupant, who is perhaps a sword's throw away, looks out, that Theo can make out the shape of a man's profile, brightened by the evening sun.

Theo freezes at the sight, his heart constricting.

But no – that man is far too large to be Luka.

Quickly, Theo scans the other occupants of the cages, his throat tightening.

Relief seeps through him when he realizes that none could possibly be his Siacchian. Luka is safe.

No, whispers his memory, and Theo recalls with a groan Luka in the crowd. Luka's face contorting with pain as –

He was stabbed by one of the Wolf's Teeth.

Theo wants to seize the bars of his cage and rip them apart. He wants to howl, to scream, to claw his way to his mate, to make sure he is safe.

He is safe. He has to be safe.

Theo forces himself to repeat the words until his weakened beast calms, until his racing heart stops shaking his chest. He has to get out of here. He has to find Luka – poor, sweet Luka, who might be bleeding out in an alleyway as Theo dangles here –

"Balivartians!" a grand – and annoyingly familiar – voice calls from below. Theo's eyes snap downwards. His lips curl into a snarl.

The crowds still as they turn to face a dais opposite the door. Giggles ripple through the room, tinkling like fine glass. Sunlight catches on a flaw in the darkened windows, casting a puddle of rainbows on the throne erected on the steps at the head of the room.

Theo tenses as Cathalan struts forward. As before, the sight of Theo's decade-long nemesis stirs an old, sour terror. Memories of fresh snowmelt and still-warm ashes fan his thoughts, turning fear into an almost tangible creature. Theo grits his teeth and forces the thoughts away. Now is not the time for such things. There is never a time for such things.

A familiar guard shadows the damned Third Blessed Prince – Darri, Theo's muddled memories manage to recall. Even in the ceremonial armor that snakes up his broad shoulders and muscled arms, falling in pieces across his face in elegant silver strips, the man is recognizable by his glower as he takes in Cathalan's adoring crowd.

Cathalan raises his hands, the faded sunset kissing the sharp, bronze planes of his face. He smiles, the expression both kind and somehow hungry.

The crowd replies in turn with unhinged cheers. Theo winces as the roar claws at his ears. Glasses filled with sparkling liquid rise and fall in salutation for the Third Blessed Prince.

Cathalan lowers his arms and the shouts quiet. The man's grin widens.

"I understand it was a time for mourning before, but no longer," he says. "The skies have wept and the dusts have settled. It is time for a new sun to rise on our glorious kingdom, is it not?"

At Cathalan's back, Darri shifts his weight from foot to foot, glancing behind the prince toward a collection of people standing beyond the throne.

Theo narrows his eyes – six individuals stand there, in the half-shadow. One, a towering man, crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head. Another, a slender man with a shock of brilliant red hair, scowls and exchanges glances with the woman at his side. Two others glance at each other and turn heel, heads leaning close as they disappear into the darkness. The last, a man who looks like a warped mirror of Cathalan, only darker skinned and broader shouldered, takes a step forward, only to be stopped by the towering man's hand.

All of them wear circlets similar to the same headpiece Cathalan bears, like a piece of near-glowing silver ivy has been tangled with their curls.

We should tell your siblings.

The words bounce through Theo's head like spring-time rabbits. Theo's lips curl into a grin.

"We will start with my debut, but don't you worry," Cathalan continues, his smile growing coy. "If you were hoping to speak with Marlacyn or Lanai or Kian, you can expect for them to debut with each subsequent rainfall, may the downpour wash away the dust of our mourning… assuming I cannot find a consort amongst you that suits me."

The crowd echoes Cathalan's words in excited whispers, practically vibrating with enthusiasm and glitter. Theo shakes his head. Cathalan, you fool. You still haven't told the other heirs that you've captured me, have you?

All I have to do to escape is widen the gap between them.

Cathalan widens his hands again, theatrics and formalities continuing to pour from his lips. The red-haired prince's lips tighten and he turns, leaving at an audible stomp.

And Cathalan, you've already almost done that for me, haven't you?

The relief clears Theo's thoughts, sweeping fear away and leaving behind cold calculation. He came here for allies, and a bumpy start – he resists looking at his manacles – doesn't necessarily herald a bad finish. There are still plenty of siblings left in Balivartia who could return with him as allies. Allies that would be strong enough connections for Theo to return to his people – to return to Commander Jennison and reclaim Cesscounthe in the name of Kitera.

Cathalan finally concludes his speech with a grand wave of his hand. The golden bangles on his wrists chime as he moves.

At the signal, the crowds once again part. An old man with golden flakes scattered across his wrinkled cheeks steps forward. He clears his throat, standing at the steps at the base of Cathalan's dais, and says in a shockingly clear voice, "May Consort-Applicant Hesthalia Driasafia, daughter of Mathria and granddaughter of the Noble House of Scales, approach the throne?"

A pretty young woman raises her head, blue eyes so vibrant, Theo can see them from where he sits.

Darri leans toward the Third Blessed Prince, likely to mutter something unkind in Cathalan's ear. Cathalan waves away his guard and turns his attention to the first who would argue for his hand.

As he speaks with the woman, the crowd leaning close to eavesdrop, the remaining siblings glance at each other. The sister speaks to the giant, who shakes his head. Scowling, she departs.

Lanai. That must be her. Would they allow a woman to compete for the newly vacant throne?

Cathalan exchanges another few words with the pretty young woman before his lips part in an apologetic smile. He waves his hand. The woman bows and is escorted away by the guards.

A cool hiss of disapproval shudders the crowd. The citizens seem unhappy with Cathalan's choice – though none more so than a trio of bent elders. A circle of guards surrounds the disapproving man and two women, shadowing them as they make their way through the crowd to the thrones. One gestures threateningly as they close in on the prince, his veined hand squeezing into a strained fist as his face contorts.

Darri looks up at their approach, his arm reaching for Cathalan. Cathalan bats him away and gestures to the old man at the base of his throne. The old man looks between Cathalan and the oncoming elders and says, "Next Consort-Applicant, Sessalia of the Third House of Teeth."

Cathalan manages to sort through another four prospects, dismissing all to rejoin the masses, before the three elders are upon him. From the shadows beyond the thrones, Cathalan's remaining siblings hide smiles.

"Third Blessed Prince! By the skin, please, halt this! We need to discuss urgent matters with you in – in privacy," the woman on the right says. Her eyes dart from the prince to Cathalan's remaining siblings.

The Balivartians shift, but their unease gives way to nervous laughter when Cathalan encourages them with a sly smile, as if they are in some kind of joke that the elders hadn't been privy to. "Privacy, Vessidra?" Cathalan repeats, coolly. "Is there something you wish to conceal from our good people?"

The elders splutter. Their faces don't register in Theo's memory, but snippets of conversation float through his thoughts. It isn't until the old man mutters the name, something like Fedryn , that Theo remembers and smothers another snort despite the situation.

Has this really been his enemy this whole time? The Snake of the South is just a slippery bit of ice who doesn't want to be wed to the person who would probably bring his kingdom to prosperity. Where was the terror? Where was the cutthroat nature Theo knew him to have?

Where is the man who would burn sleeping children and elders alive to put an end to a border war?

Where is the man who took everything from me?

Instead, the posturing creature who stands before the half-circles of thrones smiles and preens, waving his hand. The guards surrounding the elders tense as Cathalan's people approach, but the elders allow themselves to be escorted away without fuss.

"One dance!" Cathalan calls after them. "That's all you'll get out of me." He turns his smile on the crowds and the surely dozens of other candidates waiting for his hand, all but oozing with charisma. "Don't worry," he reassures. "One of you will be far luckier than that."

Theo huffs with exasperation, forcing himself to not think of his Luka as he leans against the bars of his cage. Where would they take him next? How was his dosage of lovelace administered? If he could avoid consuming it when they return him to his hidden cells below, he could attempt escape – which would be all the more possible since Cathalan was determined to hide Theo beneath the other heirs' noses.

Theo sinks into his thoughts, keeping only half an eye on Cathalan's wooers below as half a dozen musicians coax their instruments to life and Cathalan rises from the throne. The Third Blessed Prince pauses to twirl about a surly looking man before returning to his waiting consort applicants. If Theo devotes any more attention to the damned Snake, it will lead to eventual madness. No one deserves this much fawning, much less the creature that is supposed to lurk in the shadows beneath children's beds at night.

It is only when the glittering sky darkens to night, starlight speckling the marble floors as a half-moon rises that something distracts Theo from his current plan to escape (pretend to consume the lovelace by clenching it between his teeth, and then force the drug into the mouth of a nearby enemy while overpowering the guards to steal their armor). Theo shakes his head. His beast instincts are slowly returning. Perfect . That will make escape all the easier.

The third time Theo finds himself sniffing too intently, he grits his teeth and swipes at his nose and switches to inhaling through his mouth. The change means the blue clothing covering his face flutters at an even more annoying pace, and Theo finally inhales deeply through his nostrils, focusing on the scent –

No.

Theo's eyes drop to the glossy floor, clawing across the white. That is him. He is safe. He is here, and he is safe, cries his weakened beast as he sorts through the dwindling crowd; Cathalan has selected a mere three potential consorts and sent them to stand opposite his guards, across from the thrones and his shadowed siblings: two women, one a short, plump brunette and another a dark blonde, and one slender man.

He's not there.

Theo searches the crowd fervently. He searches like a man who has been lost in the blizzard and finally sees the glowing sight of a campfire – the glowing sight of warmth.

Oh, sweet Mother, no.

There.

And there is Luka, only two suitors away from Cathalan. Theo isn't sure why it took so long to locate the man – in his dark, sleek linens, he stands out like a wolf in a sea of flowers. The only splash of color in his Kiteran robes is the scarlet veil that dances over his face, leaving just his full lips exposed.

Theo drinks in the sight; Luka is safe. The wound Luka suffered must not have been deep – either that, or Luka's impyassus healing abilities were stronger than Theo suspected.

But then: Luka is here.

Cathalan cannot learn what he is to me.

Theo realizes that his hands have tightened painfully around the bars of his cage. Deep inside, his wolf growls, the noise weak but valiant.

Leave , Theo wills Luka. He glares holes into the Siacchian's ridiculous curls. Get out of this city. Leave me behind.

Beneath that, a smaller voice whispers, almost pitifully, Please look at me. See me. Know that I am here and that I miss you.

Both pleas go unanswered as Cathalan waves away a beautiful woman with hip-length glossy black hair. Luka steps forward. He will be the next applicant announced, surely.

Will Cathalan somehow know? Will he scent him?

A terribly anguished sound leaks from Theo's lips as he wrenches against the bars. Despite the strengthening of his beast, it still isn't enough. And what could he possibly do?

I can't watch my mate proposition this man.

But the announcer is already clearing his throat, already glancing in surprise at the list of names on his scroll. "Anonymous," he says, and the crowd leans closer, curious, and then Cathalan is waving Luka forward. Luka approaches with a stride that Theo knows all too well; it's the same walk the Siacchian adopted when they first met. The memory consumes his vision as the throne turns to a simple chair and the room changes into a Kiteran tent.

And Cathalan changes into Theo.

Luka juts his chin and raises his head. His hips sway. The motion is small enough to appear accidental but noticeable enough to draw the eye. He pauses before the Third Blessed Prince not with a smile but with a narrowing of the eyes. A challenge.

Theo's chest tightens painfully. Something creaks in his heart.

Don't look at him like that.

Please.

But just as before, Theo's thoughts go unanswered as Cathalan's lips curl into a smile, smaller than before. Private.

Purely for Luka.

They exchange a few words, barely more than a dancing of the lips. The exchange is lost to the distance, and for all that Theo tries to hear the only pieces he can make out are: remember me?

Luka cocks his head to the side. He still does not smile. With his Kiteran robes, which cling to him beautifully, making him look like some mythical creature, and the proud lift of his chest, Theo already knows Cathalan's choice, but his heart spasms all the same when Cathalan dips his chin – the tiniest sign of approval.

Theo's eyes follow Luka, desperate. But Luka is still looking back at Cathalan. No – the two are still looking at each other. Their gazes cling long, longer than Cathalan has looked at anyone.

Has Luka ever looked at me like that?

The intensity of their stares burn, and it's not surprising that Cathalan pays little mind to the remainder of his suitors. He easily sorts through the rest, sending all away except for the last one, whom he greets with a scoff and a shake of his head. "Fedryn."

It's the same man the elders had Cathalan dance with prior. Fedryn wears honey-yellow robes that highlight his tanned skin, and his eyes narrow with the greeting. A golden circlet sparkles around his brow, and it catches the candlelight as he inclines his head. He is escorted to stand next to Luka, whom he eyes suspiciously and speaks to upon meeting. Luka ignores him.

With the suitors sorted, Cathalan claps his hands and calls for even more music. A group of young men and women begin to sing in tune to the half a dozen stringed instruments, their voices soft and alluring. Cathalan extends a hand and every muscle in Theo's body tenses as he turns back to his approved suitors.

When Fedryn steps forward to accept, Theo forces himself to relax –

Only to find himself at the bars of his cage again, all but frothing at the mouth when Cathalan shakes his head and waves Luka forward. Luka approaches at a slow walk. From this angle, Theo can see the light linen of his robes only covers part of his chest and stomach, exposing tantalizing flashes of his lower back and midriff.

Luka accepts Cathalan's hand and the two dance alone on the marble, their steps as light as snowfall. Luka tucks his head beneath Cathalan's chin as they wind in snake-graceful steps, left and right, forward and back.

They look perfect together, and Theo's heart is breaking.

Theo can't say how long they sway to the eerie call of the singers and the joining pound of the drums. He can't tear his eyes away from the sight, no matter how much he wants to look away.

All he knows is that for however long the two dance, Luka doesn't look up once.