Page 28 of A Reign of Malice
“I want a raise,”she pants through our connection, breathless but triumphant.“That was damn close, but I think I’m in the clear.”
My heart slams against my ribs as I pause at the tree line.“What happened?”
“I got the shirt and hadn’t quite made it to my room when he came around the corner. Instead of slipping inside and ignoring him, since he’d already seen me, I cracked my door open, dropped the shirt behind me, and kicked it away, acting like I was just leaving to find you.”
Gods, I don’t know what I’d do without her.
Her voice sharpens.“He told me you were out for a run and that he was picking out your clothes for dinner. Then he said I’m to steam each item, shine your shoes until they glimmer like the gods damned stars, and make sure you’re the picture of perfection’ by sunset. How did we never see this side of him before?”
“Because he didn’t want us to,”I grumble.“Now, he has the upper hand. Or at least he thinks he does. I’m going to take this hour to run, but we’re not waiting any more, Clara. As soon as I’m back, we’re going to that hallway again.”
“During the middle of the day?”I can hear her disagreement, but I don’t care anymore.
“Aeson said he’ll be unavailable this afternoon, and if someone wants to question what their future queen is doing inhercastle, I wish them luck.”
Clara laughs.“Oh, I hope they do.”
I call my wolf forward, and it doesn’t take much before my bones are breaking and reforming into my animal half.“You and me both.”
With claws extended, my wolf takes off into the forest, a howl building from deep within her. She’s mourning all the things we’ve lost and what we might not find when we get through the runes. I don’t try to spin anything in a positive light—because she has a right to her own emotions, but also because I fear the same things.
If our mate isn’t the good guy, if he’s a monster who’s been rightfully locked away and we’re left with Aeson…
What the hell are we going to do then?
Less than two hours later,I return to my room, lungs burning and hair wild from the wind. Freedom clings to me like dew, but it evaporates the moment I see the gowns spread across my bed.
Three of them. Each one a deep purple, almost black, with intricate silver embroidery. The color of Venaris, of Aeson’s reign.
His mark.
I spin around and leave without a second glance.
I’d almost forgotten the nightmare I was returning to. But Aeson, ever the calculating bastard, never misses an opportunity to remind me.
I never should’ve signed that contract.
The memory of that night burns brighter with each step I take toward Clara’s room. I’d told myself to wait—to give it a moon cycle, to think with my head, not my heart. But then came the dream…
The one filled with strong hands, whispered promises, and piercing blue eyes.
Only now, with clarity realized by time, I understand the truth:
The man in the basement—the one shackled and broken—is the mirror image of Aeson.
Was my dream not of the king, but of the prisoner?
Hope flares, bright and treacherous, but I shove it down. Fated mate or not, I can’t let myself believe in fairytales. Not until I have answers.
I need to stand before this man eye-to-eye. To hear his story, to weigh the truth in his words, not through the hazy veil of whatever it is I’m doing without knowing how.
Clara meets me at her door, looking every bit the warrior advisor I’ve always trusted. Her blonde hair is pinned back, her black slacks crisp, and her emerald blouse—Alcaris green—glows like a beacon against the drab stone walls.
The color of home. Of hope.
“Ready?” she asks, already locking the door behind her.
I nod then frown. “Where’s the…key?”
