Chapter 6

CHAPTERSIX

As expected,Ilona is curled up in an oversized chair in the library by the time I get there. One hand holds a book propped open on the armrest, while the other hand raises a mug of tea to her lips.

“How many does this one have? Eight hundred?”

“Nine hundred forty-four actually,” she says, grinning at the thick book.

I chuckle to myself before plopping down on a chair near hers, a small side table and lamp between us, and launch into a recap of the parlor visit.

Rows and rows of bookshelves line the space, and it’s comforting—like hanging out with old friends. The library has the same white marble floors as the rest of the palace, but the worn rugs and colorful spines decorating the shelves make this room more welcoming. More alive.

A few comfortable chairs are scattered throughout the space. Our favorites are the two chairs across from the main doors, beneath the windows. During the daytime there’s plenty of natural light. Now, though, the velvet drapes are drawn, giving it an aura of seclusion.

Another winning feature is that it’s almost always empty. Other than a few servants who scuttle about in the mornings dusting, cleaning, and organizing, no one really comes in here besides Ilona and me.

Something about the scent of paper and ink calms the soul.

“And what the hell do they mean, he’s mine?” I ask Ilona after I relay the events of the evening to her.

“At the risk of sounding patronizing, I think you should’ve stuck around to find out.” She yawns.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m playing a game that everyone is in on but me.” I sigh as Ilona hands me her tea, and I take a swig. It’s lukewarm, lemony with a hint of mint. “A game I don’t care to play.”

“At least Queen Enira rarely involves you.”

“Unless she needs to use me for something. Which is why this meeting is bothering me.”

“Well, they said they’re going to be here for a while?”

Nodding, I take another sip of her tea before placing it on the mahogany table between us. “Considering they journeyed goddess knows how far across the Insipid Sea, I’m not surprised.”

“The queen is probably so pleased.” She snorts a laugh, covering her mouth with her palm, and I laugh with her.

“You should have seen her face when she saw my hair! Oh, it was hysterical.” I pick at the velvety fabric covering the armrest. “She’s going to have words for me. You know how much she loved my hair.”

“I’m proud of you for making a decision for yourself. As much as we fear her, she is your mother. She loves you…in her own controlling way. That ought to mean something.”

“Invoking her wrath is not my favorite pastime.”

“Then let it go. Worrying is worthless. Even if it’s bound to happen, there’s no sense in prematurely living it out in your head, putting yourself through the situation twice.”

“Great advice. Is that from your brick of a book there?” I point at the hardcover she’s hovering over.

She slams it shut, showing me the illegible, warn-out cover. “This old thing? No, it’s Hakran Rediscovered: Island Folklore. It’s about the original goddess and there’s lots of lore on the lesser gods and goddesses. It talks about how we used to worship them big time. I wonder what happened.”

“Who knows.” Though we’ve all heard some variation of the tales, not many of the islanders are religious. It’s common to give generic thanks to the goddess, but no one truly worships her. At least not like they supposedly used to.

“And apparently there were a lot more lesser gods and goddesses than we thought. They were tasked with ruling over various aspects of humanity, such as love, deception, war, luck, death, and so many others.”

“I think that’s bogus. If there were truly that many gods and goddesses, where’d they all go? And why haven’t we heard more about them? Seems like silly stories to me.”

Ilona bites her nails as she thinks. “Good questions. I’ll probably look for more books on them and the origins of magic next.” Her face lights up. “Oh, and there’s a Paramour Falls lore that is quite beautiful. I had a dream about the falls…” Her voice takes on a wistful tone as she trails off.

“Fascinating,” I say. “And where’s my read for the evening?”

Grinning, she reaches beside her and pulls a much thinner book from between the chair’s cushions.

“Tonight we have, Her Warrior of Passion, chosen by yours truly.” The twinkle in her eye tells me it’s going to be a good one. Clearing her throat, she begins reading the synopsis in a sultry voice. “Esmerelda spent every day fearing for her life—her safety—until the powerful, fearless Gideon crossed over her threshold and into her heart—”

“Are you sure you don’t want to read this instead?” I tease, snagging the book from her hands. She doubles over in laughter without putting up a fight. It’s brave of her to snicker at my reads, considering she’s the one who picks them out. One might even think she chooses books she’s secretly interested in, just so I’ll tell her the juicy details. She’s always quite curious about the plot. And by “plot” I mean the sexy scenes. Every time I finish a book, she demands I recap the good parts—and there’s no laughter then.

“Oh goddess. I could never.” Pink blossoms on her cheeks.

“You act like it’s immoral, Ilona. Me recapping the fun bits is no different than you reading it yourself.” I hand the book back to her. “Here. Read it yourself for once. It’s much better when I’m not butchering the plot,” I say, giving her a sly smile. I know I’ve won the battle when she hesitantly accepts the book and settles into the chair. “I’ll find something else.”

Leaving her to start the book in peace, I head to the romance aisle, and grab a random book without reading the synopsis.

I curl up in the chair next to Ilona, and we share the remains of tea while silently indulging in our stories. Although Ilona is often adamant about how much she dislikes romance novels, she seems to be enjoying it.

Pages slice through the air as we read. I love moments like these, when I can simply exist without being forced into someone else’s box. Everything else is on pause, and I have no responsibilities or pressures. I’m not the vessel, not a princess, not even a daughter. Just a girl reading a story.

We read until our eyelids get heavy, then decide it’s time for bed.

“I might hold onto this until I’m finished. It’s quite good actually,” Ilona says. She brushes ginger curls out of her face and bites her lip bashfully.

“Before you get too comfortable, I propose we have our chat with Cedrik.” Shooting her a knowing look, I grab my own book and follow her out of the library.

We pass two guards by the door—faceless, nameless sentries standing in silence. They offer a polite nod as we pass. Taking a right, Ilona and I scurry through the main wing toward the servant’s wing where Cedrik resides.

The night is peaceful, quiet. The minty scent of soap fills the air, informing me the hallway was recently scrubbed by one of our hardworking servants. Although Mother has many faults, she does pay the servants handsomely. Most of the palace workers live on the grounds in the servants’ wing—some with their families—without cost. If she were truly cruel enough to use her myndox power for personal gain or cruel manipulation, wouldn’t she simply persuade the servants to do her bidding without pay or reward?

Perhaps I was too quick to believe the gossip about Mother when I saw her use her ability on Cedrik. Even if her power is stronger than I initially thought, it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s using it for greed, does it? She was protecting me by influencing Cedrik to forget his princess is the vessel. That’s all.

Maybe Ilona was right, but not in the way we initially thought.

Once we talk to Cedrik, we’ll see if Mother’s manipulation stuck—if she’s capable of more than I thought she was. That will at least give us confirmation on one thing. Then I can decide to either let it go and trust her or investigate Ilona’s theory. Because if Mother has truly succumbed to the darker side of her power, what’s stopping her from using it against us?

I’d rather stop it before it gets that far.

We arrive at Cedrik’s door in the servant’s wing, but no one answers when we knock.

“He must be tending someone,” Ilona says, giving me a worried look.

“Yes, or Mother killed him.”

Ilona gasps. “Don’t say that.”

“You’re the one who put these conspiracy theories in my head, Ilona. I’m suspicious of my own mother thanks to you.”

I really hope she didn’t kill the healer. I’m quite fond of him.

A few more guards walk by, their heads swiveling in our direction as they pass.

“There are an awful lot of sentries in here tonight,” Ilona whispers to me.

Glancing around the wing, I take in the extra bodies. Instead of the usual two or three, there are six patrolling tonight… and it’s only the servants’ wing. There were double that many in the main wing when we left the library.

Something is definitely off.

“The Vannyks are visiting, remember?” Of course Mother has extra guards in the palace. We have royal visitors from the continent.

“Do you think they’re from Stellaris too?” She nods toward a few of the guards down the hall. “They’re so…big.” Our guards are undoubtedly strong, but they’re lean and tall. The guards here tonight are thicker, more powerfully built.

“It’s possible,” I say. “Leave it to Mother to dress Stellari guards in Hakranian uniforms. What’s the point of that?”

“She probably doesn’t like their faces,” she says. We almost never see the faces of our own guards, as Mother has them wear a protective headpiece that obscures their features. It’s partly for armor, but mostly to keep them looking uniform.

I stifle a laugh. “She probably wanted them to match the other guards. Goddess forbid anything disrupts her aesthetics.” I can easily see Mother doing that, especially considering she implements dress codes at all of her events—everything other than the bacchanals, that is. She even avoids the library because she considers it an eyesore with all the mismatched books and cluttered shelves.

A young servant girl passes us, and I call out to her.

“Have you seen the man who lives here?” I ask, pointing to the door.

“Princess.” She bows her head, eyes wide in shock. “Cedrik? Ye-yes. He’s tending to a wound in the stables, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” I tell her before shooting Ilona a pleased smile and continuing down the hall. “If she didn’t kill him, then she’s confident of her hold on his mind.” I’d still like to find him to confirm that, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.

Shortly after, we arrive at Ilona’s door in the royal wing and say our goodnights. Parting ways, I cross the hallway to my own room. Thankfully, Mother’s rooms are at the far end of the hall—nearest the main wing. She and I are as far away as we can possibly be from one another in this wing. Empty guest rooms fill the space in between. Though, with the Vannyks here, those rooms are likely in use.

Many guards line the corridor, another indicator of our visiting royals, and the man at my door isn’t one I recognize. With wide shoulders and a tapered waist, he wouldn’t be easy to forget. And those thighs…definitely thicker and more powerful than what I’m used to seeing.

Trying not to openly ogle—or “admire,” as I prefer to say—the guard’s physique, I draw my gaze up to his honey-colored eyes. There’s a fine layer of stubble on his tan jaw. Even in full Hakranian gear, there’s no doubthe’s Stellari. I would remember someone like this guarding my door.

These men are definitely easy on the eyes.

Stellaris is growing on me. Perhaps I should visit the mainland soon.

“And who are you, new guy?” I ask in a seductive voice, stepping up to the guard. It’s been a while since I’ve had a man between my thighs, and I’ll admit, I’ve settled for much less enticing guards than this one. “I could use some company this evening.”

My smile is sly, leaving no room for him to question my intention.

The guard’s eyes shift over me in a slow assessment. He has no staff—elemental or plain—and I wonder if that’s a sign Mother doesn’t trust him. When I train with Jamell in the morning, I’ll ask him what he knows about the new guards.

“I’m talking to you,” I say, my voice taking on an edge. Just a few inches separate us now, but he remains silent. I don’t miss the way his lips twitch. “All right then. I’ll take care of myself.”

As I close the door, a hand flashes out to catch it, and the guard enters, a smirk on his face. Shutting the door behind him, he glances around my teal and gold room, as if committing it to memory.

“Lush,” he says with approval.

“I didn’t invite you in to talk decor,” I say, though it pleases me he likes the space. With a four-poster bed large enough to fit five, a shimmering chandelier, and matching drapes and sheets, it’s definitely lavish. I love how rich the gold feels and how the blue-green shades balance it, keeping it vibrant.

He reaches up to take his headgear off, but I stop him.

“No. We’ll be quick,” I say, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him across the room to my bed.

“What if I want to take my time?” he asks in a husky voice.

Clearly he’s not from here, or he’d know the drill.

It’s not a secret that both my mother and I enjoy our guards from time to time. She has the same few on her permanent rotation, giving me peace of mind that we at least don’t share the same man.

“This is about pleasure, nothing more. The quicker, the better.”

“But good things come with time,” he says, winking at me.

“Lucky for me I’m not a good thing, so I’ll come fast.” He snickers at my reply as I push him down on the bed. Straddling his legs, I begin working his belt off. He grabs my hands, stopping me, before flipping me over in one quick movement. Grasping both my wrists in one of his, he pins them down above my head.

“What the hell is wrong with—” His lips crash into mine, silencing me. Instinctually, I kiss him back, moaning at how good his mouth fits with mine. He deepens the kiss, letting our tongues dance. His intoxicating scent—something vaguely familiar—fills my nose, disarming me further.

Goddess save me, this man can kiss.

I squirm beneath him, bucking my hips and begging for friction.

When he breaks the kiss, we both breathe heavily, our lips glistening with moisture. The oxygen gives me a much needed moment of clarity, and I turn my head, denying his lips as he leans back in for more.

“Get. The fuck. Off me,” I demand in a dark tone. As phenomenal as that kiss was, I don’t take kindly to a man trying to shut me up with his lips. I prefer to be in control, and I never kiss the men I bring to my bed. “Try that again and I’ll bite your lip until you bleed.”

Without hesitation, he stands. Reaching down to readjust himself, he shoots me an amused look. “You could ask nicely, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Sandalwood.

That’swhat that scent is.

“Motherfucker,” I say. “Take that off.” I point to his headgear, and he grins.

“You’re vulgar for a princess. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Moving quickly, I snag the piece covering his face, swearing when it reveals exactly who I didn’t want to see.

Dashiel Dargan.

“Your mother warned me about how active the position is. Though I hadn’t imagined it happening so quickly.”

“You snake!” I screech. “How dare you!”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Before you throw around accusations of assault again, don’t forget you’re the one who invited me in here. Demanded, really. If anything, I’m the one who feels assaulted.”

“You’re not cute.”

“You’re infuriating,” he growls, his eyes flashing with heat.

My lips tighten, fighting a grin at his annoyance. A piece of me is elated that I’ve gotten under his skin as much as he’s gotten under mine. “You didn’t seem to think so a moment ago when your tongue was in my mouth.”

“You weren’t talking then.”

Grabbing a pillow from my bed, I chuck it at him. He laughs as it brushes his shoulder on the way past. When he sees me picking up the empty glass carafe next to my bed, aiming it to throw at him next, he stops laughing.

“Tell me why the hell you’re here. In Hakran—in my room—trying to weasel your way into my bed.”

“Hakran requested additional guards, and Stellaris provided them.” He shrugs. “I do what I’m told.”

It reassures me that he really is a guard and isn’t just pretending to be one to sneak into my room. I should’ve known based on his physique. Judging by the way he flipped me over and pinned me down, I’d say he’s definitely skilled at what he does.

“What deal was made?” I ask. There’s no way the Vannyks brought over an entire army for Mother to use at no cost. And even if Mother’s magic is stronger now, there’s no way her manipulation could reach across the sea. She couldn’t have manipulated them to come to her. The Vannyks came here on their own, willingly.

“That’s a question for your mother or King Emman. I’m not privy to the detailed politics between our countries.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re harassing me and sneaking into my room.”

He grins. “Do you always invite men to your bed, then treat them like dirt? No wonder they don’t come back for more.”

“They don’t return because I don’t want them to.” My heart pounds with rage as I realize he knows more about me than he should. “How the hell would you know?”

“Queen Enira appointed me as your personal guard. Like I said, she gave me a full rundown of the job description.”

“You’re saying my Mother assigned me a permanent guard, not even one from my own country, and informed him of my sex life,” I say in a flat voice. “Do tell, oh great Dashiel Dargan, why did she choose you? What makes you special?”

He ignores my mocking tone, replying in a surprisingly serious manner. “I was Prince Zale’s guard. I’m skilled in combat, weaponry, and sailing, among other things. Beside King Emman’s own guard, I’m the best from Stellaris. We train all our lives and stay for life, unlike your guards, which constantly rotate out. Most of your men aren’t even trained properly at all. They’re just an illusion of an army. And the few who are? Your mother can’t spare them.”

“Men and women,” I correct.

“What?”

“Our guard is made of men and women, unlike your barbaric country.”

“What are you—that’s your takeaway?” His brows scrunch together as he gives me a quizzical look. “We have men and women in our guard too. It’s just a term.”

Okay, clearly my information about Stellaris isn’t accurate. Out of all the things running through my mind, my misinformation on their gender roles seems the least imperative though, so I let it go.

I try to consider why Mother would feel the need to bring on more guards—to assign me a permanent one. I’ve never had someone following me around, since I can destroy lives with a touch. I have no need for protection. Though, if something’s going on and Mother needs extra protection—or at least the illusion of it—it would seem fitting for her to include me in that coverage.

So what has her spooked? And what did she trade to gain an entire Stellari army?

Does she realize the man she appointed to protect me is immune to my powers? Something about the situation doesn’t sit right with me.

“Thanks for the illuminating conversation, Damien. You can go.”

“It’s Dashiel. But you know that.” He mutters something like “unbelievable” under his breath.

“I said you’re dismissed.”

“Are you always this much of a bitch?”

Coolly sliding past him, I open the door as wide as it goes. “When I don’t like someone, yes, and I especially don’t like you.” But I would like you between my legs.

I flash back to him holding me down, kissing me with fervor. There’s no denying how hot it was, and the thought of it brings back a spark of desire. If I wasn’t so stubborn, I’d gladly take him back to my bed and have my way with him. But there’s no way I’m allowing myself to look weak in front of him now.

As he strides out of the room, he flashes a saccharine smile my way.

“Think of me while you take careof yourself,” he whispers in my ear. I shudder, turning away from him and slamming the door so hard behind him that my chandelier tinkles overhead.

As much as I hate being bossed around, I can’t help but comply with his order, letting images of his warm honey-colored eyes, muscular thighs, and smug smile push me over the edge before falling into a deep sleep.