Page 98 of All the Chaos of Constellations
He turned without another word, heading for the door.
“Don’t do this,” Asher warned, his magic rippling, fueling him.
“Don’t do what? Marry Novalise Starstorm? Exploit her magic? Proceed with a witch hunt to search out a jewel capable of ruination?” He secured the gloves he wore, wrapping the leather bands snugly around his wrists. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
Damn it.
Drake knew about the starstorm magic slumbering within Novalise. If Asher didn’t stop this marriage, Drake would own not only Novalise but also her power. He would wield her like a weapon against Queen Elowyn.
“You’re using her,” Asher ground out, an accusation more than a statement.
The shadow prince lifted one shoulder, then let it fall, unconcerned about the matter. “She’s a means to an end.”
Asher exploded, the might of his wrath consuming him. His muscles trembled with rage, his blood burned with fervency. Magic coursed through his veins, the space between them thrumming with violent energy. Asher would set fire to the world if it meant sparing Novalise from the Shadowblade Assassin.
“You don’t even love her,” Asher growled.
An unnatural calm settled over Drake, his stoic expression making him appear carved from stone. His words dripped with ice when he said, “And neither do you.”
The ensuing silence was so deafening, Asher thought for sure his ears would rupture from the lack of sound.
Drake turned on his heel and left the study, his footfalls reverberating down the hall, cracking like thunder from a looming storm.
Asher remained rooted in place, his breathing remarkably calm. Clarity and understanding gripped him, anchoring him against the onslaught of realization. There were no alternatives, no courses of action that would end in victory. The truth of his destiny crept in, clouding his vision like a heavy fog rolling in from off the Chantara Sea.
Asher would either lose Novalise forever.
Or he would die.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-NINE
The ballroom of House Emberspire was nothing short of magical.
Obsidian flooring lined the room, threaded with veins of shimmering gold that wove into whorls mimicking a flame. Gilded vases were positioned near the entrances, each one overflowing with vibrant red flowers with blackened tips. Frostfire sparked in sconces crafted from ruby crystals and over their heads magic pulsed as rippling waves of fire billowed, drenching the space in a golden glow.
Though Novalise told herself she wouldn’t look, she’d seen no sign yet of Asher.
Sarelle stood beside her in a gown of navy, the hem faded lightly to silver, making it look as though she walked upon clouds of stardust. Novalise was nearly her opposite. In a dress of pale gold that bled into a deepened cobalt, the silk moved around her like liquid. Golden beads embroidered to look like constellations fell from her waist to the floor, like stars falling into the ocean.
“Anyway,” Sarelle continued, unaware Novalise was only partially listening, “as it turns out, the poor male mortalthoughthe was falling in love with a princess from a neighboring land, but she’s actually a witch. She spelled him and Queen Elowyn is not at all pleased. It’s quite the scandal and apparently, she’s considering closing the Veil permanently this time.”
“Oh.” Novalise scanned the ballroom once more, her gaze flitting over her twin sisters, Caelian and Creslyn, who were dancing in a circle, spinning and twirling with their arms raised above their heads. “How awful.”
“Novalise,” Sarelle scorned, the tone in her voice dragging Novalise from her thoughts. “Are you even listening to me? When the queen closes the Veil after this Midsummer, she might never open it again.”
“Oh!” She whirled, facing Sarelle. “That is alarming.”
Both alarming and slightly unnerving, if Novalise was being honest with herself. Only Queen Elowyn wielded the power to raise the Veil. If she closed it off completely as a means of protection, then that was one thing, but sealing it forever because of a love spell was something else altogether. No one could ever come in, no one could ever get out.
Novalise’s heart sank into the pit of her chest. Her brothers, Nyxian and Tovian, were sailing out at sea, living lives full of travel and adventure. What if they couldn’t return home?
She shook the preposterous thought from her mind. Of course Queen Elowyn would grant them entry into Aeramere. They were Starstorm fae.
Another needling thought stabbed at her.
Perhaps the queen’s impending decision to close the Veil had nothing to do with the witch and the mortal at all. Maybe it was intended as a means of self-preservation, to safeguard her realm and position them against threats from within. If she cut off communication to outlying lands, then she could focus on any mounting turmoil lurking inside Aeramere. Maybe sheknewabout the plot against her.
If such a scheme existed…
