42. Callum

forty-two

Callum

After dinner, we're summoned to a small council room to wait for King Cor'than to join us. Our guards thankfully stay in the corridor because the room is small, much more intimate than the Great Hall where we last conversed with him. Every moment in this place is like experiencing Déjà vu, as if I've been here before in a dream half remembered.

Bobble and Mira half stumble into the room, the scent of alcohol wafting from their skin. My jaw tightens at the sight of her arm slung around his neck, his around her waist.

"Fun night?" Sunder grunts out, but I can't tell if he's angry or not.

"Most fun I've had in a long time." Mira gives him a wink, but not the sly, sexy kind. It's the wide open mouth and slow, awkward half-her-face-is-scrunched-up kind, and it pulls a small chuckle from my chest despite myself.

A fire brings warmth to the room, the flickering light casting dancing shadows along a wall of portraits. Sunder pauses in front of one, his shoulder immediately slumping as he peers into a somber portrait of a girl with sad eyes.

At the center of the room is a large round table. The wood grain is polished to shine even in the dim light. Lush red rugs coat the floor and dampen all footfalls.

"It's so cozy in here," Mira says taking in the stonework around the window. My thoughts exactly, I want to say. But I don't. Not here. Not in front of the others. Exposing myself, my thoughts, in front of them feels wrong. I can't take my eyes off the way Bobble runs a hand up her back in such a casual gesture.

I doubt I'll ever get used to this.

I plop down into one of the chairs at the table, making an effort to uncross my arms. Mira and Bobble exchange a glance. Something unreadable passes between them.

"We walked through the city today," Mira hedges, eyes darting to Sunder's back, where he finally turns from the portrait to take a seat.

She looks to Bobble as if entreating him for help. "A long walk."

I almost laugh at how unhelpful he is, either not understanding what she needs from him or not knowing how to help. His blank stare falls on his hands, now pressed gently against the tabletop.

Sunder, as always, can only be bothered to grunt at them. "It was really fun, actually. The people didn't really know what to make of me and Bobble, of course. Some were nice, others not so much. But that's been the case everywhere we go. They seemed… happy."

Sunder sits up straighter now, listening finally. "These are good people. Hardworking. They know how to put on a brave face."

Mira nods, taking a measured seat next to him and grabbing his hand on top of the table. My stomach knots and I avert my gaze.

"They have a parliament here, you know? Nobles even have the power to remove the king if they want."

Sunder face twists in a scowl. "I doubt he'd comply if they chose to exercise that supposed right."

Bobble shrugs with some noncommittal words, slinking into his chair. The three of them exchange looks like they've created their own language between them. How can I ever compete with that? With the amount of time she's had alone with each of them?

I should probably just leave them to it. They clearly make her happy. When she looks at Bobble she practically glows. A sigh escapes my chest as dark thoughts percolate and brew inside me.

"What's with the storm cloud over here?" Sunder asks, pulling me out of my reverie. Only then do I realize he's talking about me. The lines around his eyes crinkle into a grimace as we make eye contact. I want to pounce, tap into our ancestral beasts and rip his throat out.

I've never had these kinds of primal urges before, the animalistic and violent edge. Books, reading, study. Those things are calm, easy. Talking to these people, especially Sunder, is taxing to the small shred of patience I now wear.

My fist slams into the table. Mira and Bobble both jump with surprise, but I don't care. "Why is everything out of your mouth so vile?"

Sunder snarls, displaying his sharp canines in a clear threat. His chestnut eyes smolder with contained rage. "I speak my mind, unlike some."

My heart twists with bitter jealousy and hatred. "Maybe that's the problem," I shoot back, pouring all my frustrations into the words. "Your mind isn't always the best place to draw speech from."

The tense silence between Sunder and me hangs heavily in the room, charged with anger and resentment. I can practically feel the sparks flying between us. Mira is the one who breaks it. Her voice, when it comes, is soft but firm. "Do we have to do this right now? I'm so tired of you guys fighting. We're on the same side here."

Her eyes flick between Sunder and me, pleading for calm. Sunder clenches his jaw, looking just as frustrated as I feel.

"Fine," he grumbles out, crossing his muscular arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. He gives me a sidelong glare, but stays silent.

I rub my temples, trying to ward off the impending headache. My gaze drifts to Mira, who is now perched at the edge of her seat, tension etched into the fine lines of her face. All the fun energy drains from her posture, and a twist of guilt spins inside me. I didn't mean to ruin her good mood.

"Mira…" I start, but my voice trails off. She's already turning to me, hazel eyes brimming with a mix of hope and exasperation. Her lips form a thin line, her eyebrows furrowing together in a clear sign of her annoyance. Yet, there's a softness to her that wrecks me every time. Finally, I just shake my head, as if to say never mind, retreating back into my dark thoughts.

She opens her mouth to respond as the door to the study finally opens.

King Cor'than, in all his regal attire, steps into the room with four guards flanking him. Without a word, he takes a seat at the table while two guards stand behind him. The other two station themselves on opposing corners of the room.

"As you know, I sent some scouts to verify the parts of your story that we can. Two of them have returned already with news, but we're going to wait for more to corroborate the story before any actions are taken."

No preamble or small talk. His posture is formal and poised. His eyes are like piercing icicles, searching each of ours for a reaction. Neither Sunder nor I offer any, but we share a look of understanding. We are on the same side, no matter how we feel about each other.

"The tales of your experience," the word seems to stick to the roof of his mouth like a taste he'd rather forget, "at Yurghen's little hideout seems to have spread to some nearby towns through escaped servants."

Cor'than takes a deep breath before setting his thin crown atop the table and running his hands down his face in a decidedly informal gesture, his shoulders falling like wilted flowers as he lets out a heavy sigh.

"Master Yurghen was once a very prominent part of royal society in generations past, as you may remember." He glances at Sunder.

Interesting.

So I guess he truly believes who we are. Sunder reveals nothing, his face remaining impassive.

Cor'than lets out a guffaw. "No, of course you don't. Never did pay attention to the history lessons. Too busy looking for duels with smaller kids who you could stomp into the ground."

Sunder leans forward, eyes narrowing, but thankfully keeps his mouth shut. I don't miss the way his knuckles turn white on the edge of the table. Cor'than rolls his eyes with a sigh. "He was a well-respected advisor of types to all the royal families in all the kingdoms of Illuemera. He would guide the youths in finding their bonded mate, to consolidate the power of the High Fae blood and all that nonsense."

"What happened to him?" Mira asks, genuinely curious.

Cor'than gives a half shrug. "I only know rumors of rumors, as this was all well before my time. The common themes of the story suggest his wife, who was not his mate, fell ill. After her death, he became a recluse, throwing himself into his studies and occasionally returning to court to rave about soul magic and forcibly binding souls to new bodies like a lunatic. He was exiled, but perhaps they should have paid more attention to his threats."

"So you believe us then? About what he's planning?" her voice is eager but earnest.

He peers at her over his long nose like an elder about to chide a rude child. "My dear, I don't know what to believe at this point. Scouts are searching for evidence of his supposed following. For now, all I can do is wait."

Later, as I wander down the opulent hallway toward the room I requested to myself, the bustling crowd of people never ceases. Servants, guards, nobles, and everyone in between seem to buzz about the palace like a beehive readying itself for war. Perhaps that's what is happening.

I take a seat in the grand foyer on a small iron bench to see if I can identify a pattern of their comings and goings. I'm so engrossed with the task that I catch her scent before I notice that Mira has taken the seat next to me.

"I thought you went to bed hours ago," I say with confusion, losing track of my count of servants wearing the red royal sigil entering a specific door beneath the main staircase.

"I couldn't sleep," Mira admits. Her eyes are on her hands, twisted together in her lap.

I watch as she pulls at the skin beside her thumbs, frowns and then forces herself to stop. When she looks up, those hazel eyes of hers are soft. They've always been soft, gentle in a way that's hard to describe. Like how the sky looks after a storm, when the gray clouds part to reveal rays of sunlight breaking through.

Smiling, I try to lighten the mood. "Insomnia club, huh? We should get jackets."

Her laughter is a victory. "Maybe," she agrees, settling back against the bench with a sigh. "What are you doing out here?"

"Counting," I answer honestly, pointing towards the door I'd been watching.

Her eyes widen with a hint of excitement. "Do you think it's something important? Something we should check out?"

Sometimes, because I'm quiet, I think people assume I'm thinking great, deep thoughts full of philosophical musing. And sometimes I am. But sometimes I just doing something stupid. Like counting people. Mira listens to both types of thoughts with interest and without judgement. It's one of the things I really love about her. I can just be myself.

"Could be." I shrug. "Or it could be the royal pantry. So what's keeping you up? Surely those two could wear you out enough."

I mean it as a joke, but the bitterness in my voice twists into something combative and hideous. Immediately, I hate myself for it and groan internally. She seems to stiffen at my words, looking away and chewing on her bottom lip. I can tell that my jab hit a little too close to home, and instead of the laughter I had hoped for, her face is a mask of hurt.

She looks at me, a frown marring her brow. "Why do you always do that?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just-"

Broken. Hideous. Unworthy. Jealous.

"It's okay, Callum," she reassures me, but I can see the shadow of hurt behind her gaze. "I know you're worried about everything."

That's one way of putting it, I guess. Worried about everything. It's a light way of describing the torrent of feelings that threaten to engulf me every time I look at her. Every time Sunder or Bobble touches her affectionately or whisper sweet words in her ear. The silence between us becomes a chasm. I scramble to find the right words to bridge it, but they escape me. So instead, I simply grab her hand in mine.

Our fingers intertwine like vines, our hands fitting together like puzzle pieces, as if they were always meant to be united. A contented sigh falls between us as we enjoy the quiet moment together, despite the scurrying chaos around us.

"There's another human in the city. Bobble and I are trying to find her while we wait for Cor'than to make up his mind about helping us."

"So that's where you two went today." She gives me a sidelong glance. "I saw you leaving the grounds."

I don't tell her that they walked past me without noticing or the deep rejection I've been feeling. No need to make her feel worse than she already does. My stupid tone does enough of that for me. Mira's fingers squeeze mine gently, and for a moment I let myself live in the simple warmth of that touch. "I'm glad you're here."

Her words pull at something deep within me. A longing so desperate it steals my breath away. And for a second, I want nothing more than to reassure her. To tell her that, despite everything, all of my twisted feelings and fears, I would never leave her.

"I'll always be here, even if you don't need me," I promise with a whisper.

Her eyes flicker with something I can't decipher, surprise or sadness, I'm not sure. "I think you underestimate how much I need you," she admits. Her voice is a faint whisper, echoing my own. She tugs at my hand, pulling me from my thoughts and to my feet.

"Should we check out that door?" she asks, pointing at the door beneath the staircase with a mischievous grin splitting her cheeks.

I grin back, ready to be shooed out of the royal kitchen with her, but I'm happy as long as she's happy.