Page 78 of Essence of the Throne

My hands tighten on the reins. “That was different. That was personal, and I did not care about his claim of treason.”

“Then are my feelings not personal as well?”

I don’t have an answer for that. I’d believe the same if I were in his position. Especially now, knowing that the Accord is involved. The balance of the realms isn’t just some abstract concept that can be brushed off. It’s the foundation of our realms, being torn apart piece by piece—so much so that it’s now affecting the essence inside of people. That’s a lot of burden to carry. Something squeezes in the center of my chest.

The sun is low on the horizon when we finally catch sight of Valoria. Even from this distance, I can see the changes…the city itself seems subdued, with fewer people in the streets than usual. The atmosphere is ominous. Foreboding.

“It feels worse here,” Caspian whispers as we ride through the streets. “How can it be so much worse after just two days?”

I guide the horses toward the stables just inside the castle grounds, avoiding the main gates where we might be noticed by more people than I’d like.

“We will stop him,” I answer, helping him dismount. His legs are more steady this time, though still tired and would be anything but helpful if we went exploring right now. “But first, you will eat and sleep. You’re no good to anyone like this.”

He starts to protest, but I pinch his lips, releasing when he smirks. “Fine. But only for a few hours. Then we will inspect the tunnels.”

I nod with acquiescence, though I have no intention of letting him join me when I enter the tunnels tonight. I need to go alone.

We walk through the back halls of the castle, keeping from the largest crowds. These areas remind me of the treasury that Thalion so kindly invited me to, though the memory is fleeting as my focus shifts to the packs slung over my shoulder. I should take them to my room before heading out; there’s still the matter of the strange device tucked inside one of them.

“Your room or mine?” Caspian asks when we reach our wing. I’m unsure of why the thought of this beingourwing is troubling.

“Yours is closer.” Fully functional again thanks to the staff, and less likely to be monitored, I don’t add. The king is a cunning bastard.

Once inside his room, Caspian all but collapses onto his bed. I watch as he pulls off his boots and shirt with less strain than I expected, though there’s still fatigue clinging to him. At least he showered before we left Meridian; he looks more rested than he did earlier, moving with ease as he replaces his clothing.

“You should eat something,” I repeat my earlier demand, tossing one of the packs onto a chair in the corner.

“I will,” he mutters, lying back for a moment before forcing himself to sit up again. He gestures toward the door. “I’ll grab some food while you shower.”

I nod as he exits, the faint sound of his footfalls echoing down the hall. My gaze lingers on the bag in the corner. I should unpack the damn thing, but exhaustion demands I leave it for later. The golden handles of Caspian’s desk remind me of the griffin egg I have tucked away. And its mother. The sight of her is still vivid in my mind—how unapologetic and powerful she was. Perhaps that’s why I like her so much, regardless that she attempted to murder me. Though I have a feeling she wouldn’t dare do such a thing again, which raises the question: how the fuck did she know we were in trouble and where to find us? I’m riddled with the same confusion I was when she allowed me to live. Strange creature.

I push the thoughts aside and walk through my room to the shower, letting the scalding water soothe the tension in my shoulders. By the time I step out, wrapped in a towel, my mind is quieter, though the griffin still lingers somewhere in the background. I pause at the sight of Caspian sitting at my desk, a tray of food before him.

“I don’t recall inviting you in.” My tone is dry as I narrow my eyes at him.

He glances up with that infuriating smirk. “We both know you would’ve warded the door if you didn’t want me here.”

Damn him for being right. I move to my wardrobe, acutely aware of his eyes on me as I grab a large shirt. “How are you feeling?” I inquire, breaking away from the thoughts in my head. I unceremoniously drop my towel and tug the shirt over my head.

“Better.” His voice is closer now. “Though I can’t stop thinking about Gavriel.” I pivot to find him just a few feet away, his face drawn. “When I saw you like that after the griffin attacked you, bleeding out…” He fidgets with his hands, casting his gaze downward. “And it was because of him? The person I’d trusted the most, who I thought was my friend? I knew he wasn’t particularly fond of you, but I didn’t think he would try to have you killed, Ariella. And by a fucking griffin, no less.”

I take a step closer, unable to help myself. “You cannot blame yourself for his choices.” When did I become such a wise, gentle being? My instincts tell me to revolt—to shove the prince from my room and demand that he stay away.

But I won’t. I was not lying as I was screaming to his dead body that I would stop fighting this if he just came back to me.

The Angel could have asked me for anything in exchange for his life, and I would have granted it. There would not bea singleperson or city safe from me if that was the Angel’s price.

So when the prince closes the distance between us, brushing the tips of his fingers up the exposed skin of my arm, I don’t fight it. I sink into the increasing rhythm of my heart and allow the pressure in my abdomen to subsist.

His next words are nothing more than a whisper. “How are you not raging about what he did?”

“Because what Gavriel did is nothing compared to everything else done to me in my life.” I shrug.

Pain flashes across his face. “I’m sorry. Iwish—”

“Don’t.” I hold a finger to his mouth, suddenly needing to drown in those soft lips. “What’s done is done.”

He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that sends warmth coursing through the attached limb and up my neck. His other hand grips my waist, pulling me forward until I’m flush against the hard lines of his chest.

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