32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

I t didn't take a prophet to see what vile plan Loren had concocted, and Madan wasn't about to allow it to come to fruition. He would have to act first, forcing the hands of the soldiers on his grounds and, in doing so, risk inciting a war.

As though Loren had not already done so by invoking the militaristic rule over Valenul. The General may be despicable, but he hadn't climbed into such a powerful position without a sharp mind.

When Madan had first returned to Monsumbra, he'd quickly grown accustomed to falling asleep next to Whelan and made the decision to never stay so long from his partner ever again. That the wretched crimson-clad soldiers now roaming the grounds kept him from his love only served to infuriate him. He'd ruin them.

If anyone believed Azriel to be the more dangerous of the two of them, they hadn't seen what Madan was capable of. Growing up as the only pure-blooded vampire in Auhla forced him to be ruthless. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have made it very far, even with the Crowe watching over him.

So, as Brutis announced the approach of Madan's small rescue party, his heart didn't flutter with anticipation. His hand didn't shake with nerves about whether or not he'd survive. He knew what the outcome would be. He knew that, against a company of Loren's soldiers, he'd always come out on top.

After all, Madan had been part of the raiding parties for centuries. He'd cut down as many of his own as the dhemons now coming to provide him the aid he so desperately needed. And he'd do it all again without hesitation.

"Grandmother!" Madan shouted from the foyer as he strapped on hard, leather armor he hadn't worn since his nights raiding vampire villages. It fit just as well as the last time he'd put it on all those years ago, but fastening each piece became a chore with only one hand. He did what he could, using his teeth to tighten the straps. "It's time!"

The servants had long since been sent away. No innocents needed to be caught in the middle of what was to come. They'd done him a great service as it was by providing him with their care. He'd never forgive himself if they perished because of his plans.

After all, he may have killed many an innocent vampire in raids, but that doesn't mean he wanted to continue such brutality. He'd changed. Drastically.

"I am coming," Margot said as she stepped into view, her lithe body dressed as he'd instructed with trousers, high riding boots, a thick tunic, and a cloak. She carried a small bag of spare clothes. Nothing else could come.

Thousands of years of living at the Caldwell Estate had come to an abrupt end. It'd taken quite some time to convince his grandmother to leave the manor. She'd become accustomed to its rooms and luxuries, and it'd been her home for longer than Madan could even comprehend. Along with her age, she'd had a number of reasons to never leave the place.

He only needed one to ensure she left when it was time: the final adventure.

" We're ready ." Brutis's voice slid through Madan's mind gently. " Give us the word ."

The understatement of the century. The dragon had been ready to raze the entire building when the lockdown began. It'd taken Madan all of his mental fortitude to keep the beast contained. He had to ensure he didn't have to drag Margot from a burning manor and that all the servants were clear of the estate.

Stopping before him, Margot huffed at the sloppy application of Madan's armor. She set her bag at his feet and fussed over the straps. Only when she was satisfied that they weren't moving did she step back and say, "Be safe."

Madan smiled, his heart warm. "Lhuka will take care of you."

"I still do not understand why you cannot escort me to your…dragon." Margot had been interested yet skeptical when he'd come clean about Brutis and the others. The prospect of flying didn't seem to frighten her. "I do not want you fighting like this."

He ignored her pointed look at his arm. In truth, he hadn't been able to train as often as he'd liked since the amputation. His visit to Algorath had been more than anything else. Though the counterbalance would be off, he remained confident in his skills. "I'll be fine. Stay with Lhuka, and I'll be back with you in no time."

The old Caersan heaved a sigh, patted his cheek, then picked up her bag and started for the dining room with its massive doors leading to the garden. She'd remain there until Lhuka arrived to take her to their encampment.

As Margot disappeared, Madan went in the opposite direction—as far from her as he could, given the layout of the manor—to the front doors. He sucked in long, deep breaths as he walked, slowing his thundering heart. It'd been so long since he'd fought against vampires; their speed and unyielding energy made such battles difficult, particularly when trained as those outside were bound to be. Loren wasn't foolish enough to station any green soldiers as his wardens.

But the Caersan roaming the grounds didn't have dragons, nor did they know of Brutis or any of the others. They'd never left survivors on the raids in which dragons were involved. Trying to control their fire was next to impossible, no matter the intention. Once let loose, the flames only extinguished when there was nothing left to burn and killed without prejudice. Anyone in its path, vampire or dhemon, would perish.

Involving the dragons meant the very manor he stood in risked crumbling to ash. The millennia of history within the walls could be destroyed—and maybe it needed to be. Maybe what Valenul needed was to be razed in order to create something new. Such ideals meant stoking the war without a true army to back it up.

Dragons, after all, could be killed like any other living being. Their armor-like scales only withstood so much, and Madan had seen the weapons in the Valenul army's arsenal. Trebuchets and ballistas alike could devastate a dragon in mid-flight.

By the time he stood in the foyer, he'd ceased considering the possibilities outside his control. Such thoughts weren't helpful when he needed to focus on what lay before him.

Madan opened the front door. The air was cooler than it'd been the past few nights and brought his attention to every place his armor didn't protect him. Moonlight flooded the front drive—more than enough illumination to brighten the entire yard like midday—where no less than two dozen soldiers stood in formation, watching as Colonel Vedrick Thorne climbed the front steps.

Madan froze. Each of them shifted uncomfortably, expressions grave. Did they know his plans?

"Lord Governor Caldwell," the Colonel said without offering so much as an inclination of his head, let alone a full bow. "Come with me."

Madan stared. "Excuse me?"

This didn't add up. They never stood in formation. They wandered the grounds in pairs, expected to remain in their designated areas. Either they sussed out his plans…or something else was amiss.

" Brutis …" His heart picked up its pace. The task he'd been given was to draw as many soldiers to the front of the manor as possible by wreaking havoc, clearing a path for Margot to escape safely. " Something's wrong ."

Brutis took flight, the rush sweeping through Madan like a breeze only he could feel. They'd be with him in mere minutes. He only hoped there'd still be someone for them to rescue. His fingers twitched toward the sword at his hip.

Two pairs of hands grabbed his upper arms tight, pinning them to his sides before forcing him down the steps. As they moved, Vedrick said, "By order of King Loren Gard, you are hereby sentenced to death for treason and fraternizing with the enemy."

King Loren Gard? Treason? Death ?

" We ' re coming, Little One ." Brutis's ire rose through the vinculum tying them together. A phantom heat built in Madan's chest as the dragon seethed, fire stoked.

Madan writhed in the grips, doing everything in his power to free himself from their hold. Another soldier pulled his sword from its sheath as one holding him kicked the back of his knees, forcing his legs to buckle. He landed hard on his knees in the gravel drive.

"What evidence?" Madan demanded. If he could keep them talking…

The Colonel shook his head. "You know as well as I, your cousin's very existence is enough."

Again, Madan surged against the restraint on him. He twisted his only hand to grapple for anything he could get a grip on. The Caersan soldiers' hold only tightened on the armor, the only thing keeping him from bruising or possibly even breaking.

"He isn't even my cousin ," Madan snapped, scrambling to get his feet under him.

The Colonel drew a massive broadsword—the type used for one purpose: beheading. "Hold him steady."

Another soldier hurried forward and dug his fingers into Madan's hair. Madan tried to yank his head back to no avail and was instead forced to look at the gravel. To watch Vedrick's boots as he approached and positioned himself to the side.

Blood thundered in Madan's ears. Vedrick said something. A proclamation, perhaps. The final words often said before executions. The same words that Loren would've said before all of Laeton if Azriel hadn't been sent to Algorath.

Now they were said to him. About him. As the final thing he'd ever hear in this life.

A scream built up in his head. He was going to die, and Whelan would be alone. He'd seen what happened to dhemons with broken bonds. He'd seen what became of those who were once nothing more than soft-hearted victims.

Whelan was neither soft-hearted nor a victim. He was a blade in the night. A storm poised to rip through any who stood in his way. With Madan dead, he'd lose himself entirely.

Madan braced himself for the blow. He had no other choice but to wait for the inevitable with his neck stretched out before the broadsword's edge. The sword lifted, its silhouette shifting across the gravel. Madan shut his eyes and sucked in a breath.

Hot liquid sprayed across his face. The pain didn't register. Had Vedrick missed his mark?

Then, the fingers in his hair released. Someone shoved him to the ground. Chaos erupted in the song of blades sliding free, screams of defiance, and a thunderous roar from a dhemon Madan need not see to know.

Opening his eyes, Madan found soldiers surging around him, weapons drawn. A boot slammed into the back of his head, and everything went black for a long moment before slowly refocusing.

Madan peeled himself off the gravel to find the Colonel's body splayed beside him. His head lay several feet away, eyes still wide with surprise. Beyond, Whelan nearly cleaved another soldier in half, his beautiful face twisted with rage.

He shoved to his feet, the world spinning, and pivoted in search of his sword. Any sword he could wield single-handedly. The broadsword would prove too much even for his vampiric strength. Instead, he scooped up a smaller blade and charged forward. The soldiers may be quick, but so was he, and he cut down the nearest Caersan before they even realized he was standing.

The next soldiers he engaged were ready. They moved with sleek precision, swords flashing like lightning in the moonlight. Another fell to his blade, blood spraying across his face as he sliced open their jugular, but each swing of his sword felt strange. Awkward. Out of sync with his body. Odd how much missing half a limb impacted his movements and impeded his skills. Every swing, parry, and jab, once perfectly counterbalanced, felt clunky.

Yet as the third soldier fell at his feet, Madan began shifting his weight, throwing his non-dominant shoulder back farther than what once felt necessary and slid into a more familiar rhythm.

Until, of course, two soldiers closed in on him in unison. There'd been a time he would've pulled out a second sword or even a dagger to fend off multiple attackers. Now his blunt limb could do nothing save for block using the thick bracer he'd strapped to it.

Madan stepped back to bring all three soldiers into his line of sight. Unlike dhemons, he didn't have the brute strength to take the fight to the ground and win. He had to stay on his feet and use his wits and speed. But those meant nothing when he didn't have a way to make use of them.

More soldiers surged forward, further separating him and Whelan. They encircled him, no matter how far back Madan retreated. Blades drawn and fueled by anger, they shifted forward step by step, closing in slowly. There was no outcome in which he'd survive if they got close enough.

Madan's heart slammed into his ribs. He'd never been trapped like this before. There'd never been a time during their raids that he'd been alone long enough to be overwhelmed in such a way. Whether it'd been Azriel or Whelan, there'd always been someone who had his back, and with Whelan trapped behind a wall of soldiers, he was more alone than he had ever felt before.

He should've given the word sooner. Should've told them to take flight long before he'd gone outside. But they'd been coming for him, too. No amount of avoidance would've kept them from enacting Loren's plan.

Well, he'd succeeded in one thing: distracting them long enough for Lhuka to safely evacuate Margot. More crimson-clad soldiers raced from the back of the manor, shouting for even more to join and eliminate the threats. To eliminate him, and worse, Whelan .

But Madan wouldn't let them get to Whelan. He chose a target and lunged. They twisted to avoid his attack, and rather than let them create space, he hooked his short arm around the soldier's neck and stepped up onto the exposed hip. As he swung onto the Caersan's back, another soldier stepped forward—met by Madan's blade. Then he sank his fangs into the side of the soldier's throat, tearing through the tendons and muscles like a dhemon.

" You're as dramatic as your brother ." Brutis landed on top of three soldiers who hadn't seen the shadow swooping in overhead. His massive claws crushed them into the dirt before he let out an ear-shattering roar.

At once, the soldiers disengaged Madan. They shouted. Screamed. One even wet his pants as he scrambled back from the dragon's massive jaws.

Madan released the soldier's corpse and used the distraction to cut down four more soldiers. Across the drive, Whelan did the same. The Caersans didn't even see the attacks coming, so focused on Brutis they were. A half dozen died by their swords…and then the dragon snapped into action.

Brutis swiped out with a foreclaw, smacking a soldier into two of his comrades. Another turned to run away but was met by the spiked end of a tail, throwing him back to where he crumpled, broken, in the drive. Again and again, the Caersans screamed and tried to escape, only to be met by Madan's sword, Whelan's blade, or Brutis's arm-length teeth.

" Get to Margot ," Madan told him as he ripped the sword free from a soldier's chest. The last of the soldiers who'd tried to behead him in the front of the manor. " Keep her safe ."

The dragon huffed, plumes of smoke rolling from his nostrils as he stretched his wings again and launched from the ground in search of his grandmother. As the great beast soared around the manor, the soldiers began to regain some semblance of sanity. They regrouped, and several loaded their crossbows, aimed, and shot at the massive membranous wings.

Several bolts hit home. Madan felt Brutis's pain leech down their connection before he shut himself off. Neither of them could afford to be distracted by the other. With more soldiers rushing from the guard houses and calling for even more to join them, the grounds were flooding with crimson.

The soldiers fleeing Brutis's sudden appearance reeled back from the forest edge, retreating in a vain attempt to save themselves. More dhemons rushed from between the trees, cutting down any vampires in their way. They moved in silence, cobalt complexion and dark clothing maintaining their camouflage with the night. Only the Caersans called to one another, warning the others of the latest arrivals.

Madan stalked forward, cutting down a soldier with a crossbow aimed at Brutis before taking a bolt to the side. He grunted in pain, but the armor had done its job and kept the sharp head of the artillery from burying itself too deep. The arbalist reloaded his weapon and lifted it toward him again—then promptly lost his head.

As the soldier's body crumpled, Whelan kicked it to the side, his ruby eyes alight with fury as he took in the bolt. Madan yanked it free. Where his brother or a dhemon may leave such a thing in place, his body would work to correct the injury faster than either of them. Keeping it there would only slow down his healing process.

"Lhuka?" Madan asked, turning to another soldier at the same time Whelan took out another pair.

The dhemon grunted while yanking his short sword back. "With your grandmother."

Another roar echoed from the back of the manor. Madan opened himself up to the dragon, and a rush of pain and rage swept through him so hard, he nearly doubled over. His heart kicked up its pace in a panic, and before he could say anything else to his partner, Madan took off for the back of the manor. Something was wrong.

Whelan didn't ask questions. Instead, he turned and stayed on his heels, facing off with any soldiers that dared get in their way. Each sweep of Madan's sword reminded him of his own shortcomings, particularly when Whelan was forced to abandon one soldier to prevent another from getting to Madan on his weaker side.

"Don't stop," Whelan growled when Madan slowed to bring his sword arm around.

He cursed under his breath, then pushed forward. The manor was entirely too large, and he'd only made it halfway around before finding himself blocked by a wall of soldiers. Another rush of pain surged through him as Brutis took another hit.

That was when a handful of dhemons he recognized only from his dragon's mind launched into view, led by a woman with horns just long enough to signify adulthood. Her lip lifted in a sneer at the Caersans, sharp teeth glinting.

"Who are you?" Madan asked in the dhemon language, positioning himself beside her to face off against the soldiers.

She didn't so much as glance at him. "Cinisja. The Prince sent me here."

The first soldiers rushed forward in a blur of movement. Madan's Caersan eyes tracked them with ease, but Cinisja's widened with shock. She took a blow to the side as she side-stepped and brought her elbow down to the back of the soldier's head. The vampire stumbled, caught by surprise at her incredible strength, and she buried her blade into his back.

Madan dropped low as the soldier nearest swung, avoiding the blade by a hair's breadth, and kicked the Caersan's legs out from under him. The vampire sprawled. Madan kicked again, then brought the sword down into the man's neck.

A sharp, hot pain whisked across his face as the tip of another soldier's blade ran from hairline to jaw, narrowly missing his eye. Any closer and no amount of vampire healing would've saved his sight on that side. As though he needed any more weaknesses. The same soldier shifted his weight and lunged, stretching the sword out toward Madan's gut. He jumped back with a hiss before smacking the blade away with his own and mimicking the move so fast, the soldier wasn't so lucky.

" Brutis !" He leapt over the dying vampire and cut his way through two more soldiers before again sprinting toward the back of the manor. A burst of light signaled Brutis's first use of fire since the start of the fight. " What happened ?"

The dragon shoved images into Madan's mind. A soldier had dug a spear beneath Brutis's scales from behind, piercing him in the flank. Another had thrown a chain around his neck and hauled his head to the ground where others could hack away at his face.

Then Lhuka had arrived with Jakhov. The former relieved two such soldiers of their heads while the latter freed Brutis from the chain.

"Stay with me," Lhuka had said in the dhemon language, pulling a dagger from the dragon's soft nostril flesh. The tattoos across his nose glinted with blood from the kills he'd made on his way to the manor. "We'll get out of here."

Madan rounded the corner of the manor and hurdled a low stone wall into the gardens where they stood at the far end. Trees and bushes lit the space, alight with dragonfire that ate its way closer and closer to the manor's outer walls. Jakhov moved with more speed than the other dhemons, compensating for his smaller size. He tore through the soldiers like they were nothing more than practice dummies.

He slowed long enough to take down another soldier and prevent a second from getting to Lhuka as he sprinted to the manor. " Get ready ."

Brutis rumbled as he snapped his jaws shut around two soldiers. " Your plan is wretched ."

They'd argued again and again about bringing more dragons to the Caldwell Estate. Brutis had wanted them all to join the fray. Madan kept them monitoring the perimeter. Such a fight on the grounds would likely draw the attention of other dhemons—Ehrun's dhemons. They'd use their distracted state to go after the clutch or even attack right there at the estate. By keeping the other dragons away, they'd continue preventing Ehrun from getting any more for his cavalry and hold the line they needed to escape.

" You can thank me later ." Finally beside his dragon, Madan yanked the spear from Brutis's flank, then rushed to his wings where he pulled bolts free. " Now get them out of here ."

Lhuka reappeared, carrying Margot like a child in his arms as the flames leapt to the wood panels around the manor's windows. The ancient vampire had her arms wrapped around his neck, a mixture of annoyance and admiration on her face. She'd liked Lhuka from their first introduction, more so than any of the other dhemons.

Upon their approach, Brutis bent low, allowing Lhuka to slide Margot onto his back before mounting behind her. The dhemon hadn't brought his own bondheart, and Madan's grandmother only agreed to ride Brutis. Once in position, the massive beast stood, swept his tail to knock a handful of soldiers to the ground, and then—more gently than Madan had ever seen him—took flight.

Within a few heartbeats, they disappeared over the treeline in the direction of the eastern mountains. Madan watched them go for as far as he could see, then refocused on the fray before him. Jakhov cursed him over his shoulder, holding off the soldiers vying for his death.

It wasn't long after Margot's departure on Brutis that every soldier at the Caldwell Estate had fallen, and the flames left by the dragon licked their way into the manor. Crimson uniforms littered the grounds, spotted here and there by a dhemon who'd succumbed to their injuries. But there was only one for whom Madan searched.

He picked his way back in the direction he'd come. His heart clenched at the sight of every dhemon sprawled in the grass, blood soaking into the soil. Heat grew at his back at the same pace that ice leaked into his gut—faster and faster as the seconds ticked by. He'd left Whelan alone. How could he have left him alone? Brutis would've been fine. Lhuka and Jakhov would've been fine. They hadn't needed him to get Margot out.

Whelan needed him. And he'd left him.

It wasn't the first time Madan had felt such shame and guilt. It wasn't the first time he'd been separated from his partner, whether on purpose or due to their enemies. But this was the first time they'd faced off against so many well-trained soldiers. He'd never seen so many fallen dhemons, some of whom he knew to be more than capable of holding their own against vampires.

"Whelan!" He called, shocking himself with how calm he sounded. The last thing he needed was to worry anyone else that Whelan had been injured…or worse.

Gods, he couldn't even think of it.

"I'm here," Whelan called back, his voice quiet.

Madan almost vomited at the weakness in his words. He followed the response, knees buckling at the sight of him lying on his back in the grass, fist pressed against a wound to his gut. Madan's body shook, that icy cold seeping into his blood as he croaked, "How deep is it?"

The dhemon grimaced. "I'll be fine."

"I'm so sorry," Madan said, pressing his lips to Whelan's forehead. "I shouldn't have left you."

Whelan shook his head. "I've been worse off, I promise."

"We can't stay here." Madan looked up and around them. "Rusans will be here at dawn, and they'll sound the alarm. We'll be killed."

Before he could say anything else, Whelan pushed to a seated position with a groan. His fist pressed harder as though holding in his innards. "I already called to Oria. Get everyone else out."

Madan swallowed hard. Oria was likely beside herself with worry after being strictly forbidden from joining the fray. As the one with the highest level of anxiety, Oria didn't often approve of such risky plans but understood the need for her strength elsewhere.

"The others are leaving," Madan said, watching the surviving dhemons run back into the forest.

"Go," Whelan said. "You need to be with your grandmother."

He rolled his eyes and shifted behind him. Pushing his chest up against Whelan's back, Madan lay his head on the dhemon's shoulder. His mate relaxed into him. "As if I'd leave you here alone."

"I love you," Whelan said, his voice quiet.

Madan snorted. "I love you too, you idiot."

They waited together for Oria, plotting their next move against the Caersans: freeing the Lower Council of Eastwood Province. They were going to need as many vampires on their side as they could muster.

When Emillie sent a letter to Camilla following Revelie's visit, she never intended for it to reach her friend. She kept the contents of it simple after Alek's warning that everything in and out of their manor would be read thoroughly and likely replicated for Loren to review. In it, she detailed life as a married woman with careful, unnamed mentions of her new handmaid and a quick note of her father's passing.

Treason . She had written the word with a shaking hand. The letters bled together, and she dabbed her eyes to keep the tears from ruining her work further. Traitor . Reasons Loren had claimed to be enough to kill the Princeps—to disband the Council and name himself King.

She made sure to let her disdain for him show while remaining wholly compliant with the vow she had given by kneeling beside her husband. Loren would find it suspicious if she were too upbeat in her writing. Not enough emotion would likely cause him to swoop down upon the manor in order to question her.

If she never saw Loren Gard again, it would be too soon.

The nights blended together in a haze. She could not keep track of one to the next. Still, sitting down for dinner one early morning, Emillie could not find it in herself to be hungry. She stared at the food placed on the table vacantly, and it was not until Alek spoke that she even understood what she was doing.

"You have to eat," he said quietly and served her potatoes and venison. The vegetables were more scarce than usual, with the merchants from the south having fled Valenul.

Emillie dragged her gaze to him. "I am not hungry."

Alek's face fell, and he glanced over her shoulder to where she knew Kyra looked on as well. Neither of them had been able to get her to eat much of anything. She knew it pained them, but she could not stomach the very thought of food.

"It has been almost a week." His depthless eyes searched her face. "Please, Emillie. You cannot let him win."

Heat pricked her eyes, and her vision swam. "He already has."

In an instant, Kyra was there, standing beside Alek and studying her with much the same worry. Emillie looked away, unable to stand their scrutiny. She had not felt the pull of hunger for food or blood since she had found herself covered in it. Kyra had not even been permitted to hold her during the days, asking for time alone. To sleep alone. Nothing appealed to her.

"Look at me." Kyra's tone demanded obedience.

Emillie lifted her gaze but not her face.

"You told me…everything you know about your sister." Kyra gripped the back of Alek's chair. He did not waver. Instead, they stood as twin beacons in the darkness of Emillie's world. The one she loved and the one who clearly loved her, though she could not fathom why.

"My sister could very well be dead."

Kyra shook her head. "She survived to get back to you . Now, you need to return the favor and survive this for her ."

"I am doing all I can," Emillie breathed, the words tight in her throat. "I am trying."

"Trying is not good enough." Kyra stepped around Alek, who watched them in silent interest, and knelt beside her. Emillie flinched away. "You are the daughter of a Princeps and the wife of a Lord. You were born to do great things."

Emillie gaped, unable to summon any words against her, though her mind rebelled at the very notion of it all.

Then Kyra stood and leaned forward as though to plant a kiss on her cheek, thought better of it, and said, "Now act like it."

With that, the Rusan swept out of the room, face pale and a hand over her mouth. Why she departed so suddenly, Emillie did not know. Kyra had never left her in such a manner before.

Emillie felt no more hungry than she did prior to sitting at the table. Nevertheless, she picked up her fork and buried it into a cube of potato.

Alek's shoulders eased away from his ears. The hard lines of his face softened, and he picked up his own cutlery. "I am sorry."

She glanced at him. "For what?"

"I have not been here for you enough." His brows pinched, hand stalling as he cut a bite of venison. "I assumed with Kyra, you did not want me around."

Something twisted in Emillie's chest. The remnants of her heart, perhaps. She did not move or speak for a long moment. In truth, she had not just wanted him around…she had needed him. He was now the one constant in her life that grounded her in who she once was. Kyra had not been as present over the nights following—busy around the manor, she had claimed—yet she had done her best to piece Emillie back together in passing. She could only do so much without knowing how Emillie was meant to look. It was like fitting the pieces of a puzzle together with no image to reference. Only Alek had that image.

"She does what she can," Emillie said and finally met his gaze. "But I do not want you, Alek. I need you. I need you…"

He released his hold on the cutlery and sat back, covering his face with his hands. After a quick rub, he let them fall to his lap. "I am sorry. I will do better. When we get to Armington, things will be much easier."

Emillie gave him a sad smile. "I do not see us returning to Waer anytime soon."

After a glance at the door, Alek leaned forward almost conspiratorially and said, "We leave tomorrow. I received approval and an escort."

Her chest tightened. "What?"

"We leave at dusk," he said. "I have given the coachmen word to prepare."

She gaped at him, her mind scrambling to keep up. "When did you plan to tell me this?"

"This morning, of course." He nodded to her plate. "You really should be eating. You will need the energy for such endeavors."

Alek's sudden shift unnerved her. He kept secrets, and such things did not promote trust with her. Why would she need additional energy to travel to Armington? Yes, travel was always tricky, even for vampires, but moving west was often far safer than east. Fewer dhemons occupied the Keonis Mountains near Waer, and trade with the high fae was better because of their close proximity.

"How did you convince him to let us leave?" Emillie surveyed him, skeptical. "You do not truly wish him to be King…right?"

Alek gave her a hard, meaningful stare, then glanced at the servants around them. "He is our King now, and we will obey his commands. My loyalty has provided for us. Please, Em. Understand my position. I must take care of you."

Without looking behind her, Emillie knew he spoke words to keep the servants from slipping up and repeating anything treasonous around the soldiers outside the manor. He trusted them, and therefore she trusted them, but even the most reliable servant could make a mistake.

Emillie picked up her fork again and brought the previously-speared potato to her mouth. It tasted like ash despite knowing full well it was flavorful as ever.

How had her life turned into something so terrible? A mere week ago, she had been exultant. Between days with Kyra and Alek's kindness, there had been nothing to complain about.

Now, everything crumbled around her. Sister missing. Brother silent. Father dead. Kyra distant. Oh, how she wished Ariadne were nearby. If anyone could help her out of this descent into darkness, it would be she who had crawled from it herself.

Then again…if Ariadne could do it, so could Emillie. So she gathered the shards of her broken heart and ate her entire plate of food in silence. Alek had something planned, and she would be ready to act when he needed her to.