Page 83 of Essence of the Throne

I study him—this man who raised me, who taught me about duty and honor and protecting our people. There’s something wrong in his gaze now, something fractured in a way that I hadn’t noticed before. His entire being is consumed by this single-minded ideology, blind to everything else crumbling around him.

“You’re not well, father,” I placate, managing to lower my voice just enough that I hope he will listen. “Something’s happened to you. This isn’t—”

“Disappointing,” he cuts me off, straightening. “I had hoped you would see reason, but it seems the wraith’s influence runs deeper than I thought.” He strides toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “No matter. You’ll change your mind soon enough.”

“What does that mean? Father?” But he’s already gone, leaving me alone with the growing dread in my chest. "Thalion!" I scream, the effort useless.

Fuck!

I pull against the restraints again, my teeth grinding with the abysmal effort as metal scrapes my wrists raw. My essence feels strange. Muted. Whatever they injected us with must still be suppressing it, which is just my fucking luck. But through thedampening, there’s—what is that? A humming energy I’ve never felt before. Or maybe I have, but not like this. It’s familiar and strong, thrumming around one singular focus: Ariella.

I look to the window, eyeing the moon’s long shadows across my floor, mind racing. Where is he keeping her? What did he mean about me changing my mind? And perhaps most disturbing—why didn’t he know or care about the Accord when it’s clearly linked to everything happening?

I think back to when I was young, before the ever-present guards and political maneuvering. My father would take me riding and teach me about our family’s legacy of protecting the kingdom and its people. What happened to that man? When did he become this power-obsessed shell who sees nothing beyond his own ambitions?

The bindings cut deeper into my wrists as I twist them again, desperate for any give. Blood trickles down my hands, though I don't register the sting. My head spins with possibilities of where they could be keeping her, what they might be doing to her. Images of the lab flash through my thoughts…

I don’t want to admit it—I can’t—but there’s no doubt where my father has her.

I growl, letting my head fall back against the headboard. What kind of prince am I, tied up in my own bedroom while Ariella faces Angel knows what? She’d berate me for such self-pity, telling me to focus on finding a solution instead of sulking.

My laugh cuts through the unnervingly silent room at the thought of her sharp tongue and calculating eyes. When shebecame my vitality instead of a mere comfort I sought, I’m not sure. But even now, thinking of her centers me.

My eyes fall closed as a memory surfaces of our journey back from the Verdantia Forest—how she’d started opening up about her fears, not of death or pain, but of failing. She wouldn’t say more than that, but I know her. She thinks she failed Isaiah, just as I feel like I’ve failed the entire kingdom. She believes that her inability to save people from the impossible is a failure, so it’s clear that everything happening has weighed heavily on her. Especially after Meridian.

I’d shared my own doubts then, about living up to a crown I wasn’t certain I wanted anymore. She’d looked at me with those beautiful, discerning eyes and said,“Then make it into something worth wanting.”

The sound of boots in the hallway makes me jolt up, wincing at the unintentional tug of my wrists. Two sets of steps, heavy and measured—sentries changing shifts. Father must have posted them outside my door. I strain my ears, trying to catch any snippet of conversation that might hint at Ariella’s location, or my escape, though there's nothing but a maddening silence.

My eyes drift to the window again. The moon has shifted, far enough that I’m questioning things. How long have I been here? Hours? The essence-suppressing drug still muddles my strands and senses, making it difficult to gauge time. Though given that it is still dark out, Ariella and I have not been separated for very long. I flex my fingers, searching for even a hint of my aqua or kineticstrands, but there’s nothing. Just that strange new humming energy that seems to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, closing my eyes to focus. The damn toxin has to let up at some point, but it’s as if my entire well has been locked away in shackles stronger than the ones holding my body down. But the energy in my chest is calming. It feels…different from my normal essence. Warmer somehow, more alive. Like it’s trying to reach for something—

Ariella would be laughing at me right now if she saw just how much I’m struggling. She probably has three different strands that could break these bindings in seconds, if she’s not overcoming the same toxin I am. The thought of her ire almost makes me smile, despite everything.

She’s taught me much about essence and combat, yet there’s still a considerable amount I do not understand. The woman wove the fucking luminal strand in the tunnels…it took me a while to process her possession of each affinity, but now I’m certain she also has each strand. A fully universal weaver—unheard of. Except for the first weaver, who was said to have the same abilities.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ariella

Cold metal burns into my skin as I fight whatever the fuck is in my body to stay awake. I ache everywhere, my head and eyes pounding with each heartbeat. The sharp, chemical scent of the lab fills my nostrils, and my stomach twists for an entirely different reason. Groaning, my muscles protest as I shift to test the restraints along my arms and ankles. Metal clinks against metal—I’m in the Angel-damned chair. The same one that held Raine’s headless corpse.

“Finally awake, I see.” Thalion’s gravelly voice is so disgusting and unwelcome that I consider spitting at his feet solely out of spite, though I keep my face blank. “I must say, you look quite lovely strapped down like that. I wonder how you would look if I had you whipped like your father—perhaps then I could appreciate you the way my joke of a son does.”

My jaw clenches at the mention of my father. His wretched words about Caspian. I want to inquire about the prince but Thalion’s attention is currently on me, which means he’s leaving his son alone. I’d like to keep it that way.

I force my mind clear, taking measured breaths. The bastard wants a reaction. He won’t get one.

“Nothing to say, wraith? How disappointing.” His footsteps circle behind me, and a familiar anxiety crawls just under the layers of my skin. It’s disconcerting and uncomfortable as fuck. “You’ve been quite vocal about your opinions of me. Dare I say that I expected more fire.”

I focus on assessing my body instead of his taunts. My essence is gone—unreachable. I recall being pricked before passing out, so I haven’t been unconscious for long if the drug is still clouding the connection to my strands. But there’s a faint presence of my essence deep in my chest, and I can feel it shifting its way through the suppression. Clearly Thalion isn’t aware of just how powerful I am—surprising considering his obsession with sending spies to stalk and kill me.

If I’m being transparent with myself, I’m quite shocked that Gavriel appears to not have told him.

If I just keep him from injecting me again, I’m confident I can break from this chair and rip his fucking heart out before he can blink.

“You know, I’ve been watching you since the trials began.” As if that’s news to me. His voice draws closer, and suddenly my throat feels obstructed. “Such raw talent. Such potential. It would be a waste to just execute you.” His fingers brush a slip of my hair, and I fight the urge to flinch away. “No, I have much grander plans.”

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