Chapter 25

Chapter

Twenty-Five

MIRELLA

W e rose early and made our way to the King’s Grove while the Embervale slept. The morning sunlight was muted, its rays dulled by the shadows swarming at the castle’s edges.

“You’re certain about this?” Othor asked Andrin, his mouth tight with disapproval. His grip on his staff was just as tight, his knuckles white with the strain. We stood at the base of the Edeloak, where Othor would remain with Andrin while Rane and I attempted to travel the shadows to reach Purecliff.

Andrin gestured to the dead leaves on the ground. “Death is coming, Cousin. And the shadows sit on our doorstep. As you’ve pointed out, waiting is folly.”

Othor eyed my throat. “The bond is faint.”

I touched my neck, where Rane’s feathers intertwined with delicate vines. The sigils had caught my eye every time I passed a mirror this morning. They’d captured Rane’s attention, too. More than once, I’d looked up to find him studying me, unmistakable possessiveness glinting in his purple eyes. When the bond first settled in my chest, I’d worried it would feel like a chain. But the persistent tugging had relaxed overnight. Now, I felt Rane only when I reached for him. Far from bothersome, our connection was…reassuring.

“It’s enough,” Rane said, his eyes on Othor. “Mirella is shadow-touched. The bond will deepen on its own.”

Othor didn’t look convinced. He turned to Andrin. “A permanent bond would be better.”

Rane’s tone turned icy. “As I said, the bond is sufficient.”

Andrin raised a forestalling hand. “I trust Rane’s judgment,” he told Othor. “And this is Mirella’s choice, not ours. I won’t bind her without her consent.”

After a tense moment, Othor nodded. “Very well. Let’s proceed.”

Andrin stepped closer to me, his stern demeanor softening as he cupped my face. “You know Purecliff. Rane will follow your lead, but promise me you’ll heed his advice if he says it’s unsafe. He’s a warrior. He’ll sense danger before you can, and he’ll protect you no matter the cost.”

“I know,” I said. “We’ll be careful.”

He stroked his thumbs across my cheekbones, his expression wavering between tenderness and worry. Then he leaned in and kissed me. He took his time, stroking his tongue deep and then nipping at my lips. Magic snapped, but I barely registered the sting as heat spread through me, chased by a spark of embarrassment at doing something so intimate in front of Othor. The kiss was hardly scandalous compared to the things I’d witnessed in the Great Hall. Still, I wasn’t sure how I felt about public displays. But maybe Andrin knew something about me I didn’t, because the spark didn’t make me pull away. My nipples tightened, and a whimper built in my throat as memories of the previous night spun through my head.

When Andrin withdrew at last, my heart thundered, and desire pounded between my thighs. He brushed a knuckle over my cheek, then turned and kissed Rane with equal fervor.

My jaw dropped as desire flared higher. Rane grunted, sliding a hand through Andrin’s hair as he returned the kiss. Beside me, Othor watched with an inscrutable expression.

At last, Andrin pulled back. Hands on Rane’s shoulders, he gave Rane a stern look. “Don’t?—”

“I won’t do anything stupid,” Rane said quickly.

Exasperation flitted through Andrin’s eyes. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

Rane huffed but pressed his lips together.

Andrin gave him a pointed look. “Be careful,” he said softly, deliberately. Something unspoken passed between them, and Rane nodded.

“I will, sire,” he rasped.

We moved away from the Edeloak. Andrin and Othor stood together, silently observing as Rane took my hand.

“It’s just like I showed you before,” Rane murmured. “Hold on tight, and don’t let go. The shadows might be more unpredictable now that we’re bonded, but it should be fine if we stay connected. You’ve been to Purecliff before. You lead, and I’ll follow.”

Nerves fluttered in my stomach. I tried to keep them out of my voice as I nodded. “All right.”

He squeezed my hand. Then he faced forward. A tunnel opened in front of us like someone had punched a man-sized hole in the grove. Shadows seethed, oily darkness sliding over itself. Screams and chattering sounds chilled my blood.

Rane tightened his grip on my hand. “Let’s go,” he said, tugging me forward. We stepped from the King’s Grove into the tunnel.

Shadows whirled around us, glossy blackness spinning like a hurricane. Howls and screams rang in my ears.

Purecliff. I pictured it in my mind, recalling the castle’s long, broad passageways and familiar rooms. Rane was a steady presence at my side, his grip anchoring me. The shadows whipped around us as we advanced.

Purecliff. We needed to reach Purecliff. I clung to the thought, my gaze straight ahead.

“…enough laundry to keep me busy for a year,” a familiar voice echoed.

Aedith. Relief swept me as I turned toward the sound. To my right, the tunnel’s wall swirled, shapes emerging in the darkness. Purecliff’s kitchen came into view, its hearth looming over a wooden table where Aedith stood kneading dough. She continued muttering about clean linens as the cook bent over a pot suspended above the hearth’s crackling fire.

Heart thumping, I pulled Rane past them. More rooms emerged in the gloom. The outline of my bed appeared. Triumph surged, and I shot Rane a smile as I hurried forward. Hand in hand with Rane, I stepped through the shadows and into my bedroom.

“We did it,” I said, facing Rane.

Othor stepped from the shadows next to me, his features hard and determined. He lifted his arm. Silver flashed as he plunged it down.

“No!” Rane screamed, lunging as pain bloomed in my chest.

Staggering back, confusion swirled through me at the sight of a dagger hilt poking from my bodice. My mind slowed, my thoughts plodding and disjointed. Red poured down the front of my gown, and the taste of copper flooded my mouth.

Rane roared, grabbing Othor by the throat. “You fucking traitor!”

Othor’s sneer was vicious as he gripped Rane’s wrist. “And you’re nothing but a slave.”

“A slave who’s going to end you,” Rane snarled, slamming him into the wall.

My vision swam. Light exploded from my chest. Pain and confusion gripped me as my knees buckled, and I fell to the ground. The light swelled, brilliant and golden. Sparkling motes danced in the air. I reached for them with numb fingers, wonder spreading even as pain sank its claws into my chest.

Footsteps pounded, followed by muffled shouts.

Heat spread under my skin. My blood turned golden, flowing from me in a shimmering river. But it was spilling everywhere. The light grew brighter, its glow stinging my eyes.

“Mirella!” Rane cried, abandoning Othor and reaching for me.

Othor came off the wall with a growl, clawing at Rane’s shoulder. “It’s mine!”

The men grappled, Rane delivering an uppercut that snapped Othor’s head back.

“You won’t touch her, you asshole!” Rane shoved Othor away and came for me, only to grunt and stumble as Othor struck him from behind.

“She’s the Kree,” Othor hissed through bloodied teeth.

Rane’s eyes went wide.

The door burst open, knights spilling inside. My father’s voice boomed from somewhere behind them.

“Seize them! Don’t let them leave!”

Rane grabbed Othor and dragged him toward me. His purple eyes flashed as his hand found mine. “I’ve got you,” he gasped, pulling me up. “I won’t let go.”

Knights rushed us.

Spinning, Rane plunged us into the shadows.