Page 27 of Bound to the Shadow Queen
I let the silence stretch out between us as I considered his words.
My gaze dropped to my ring for what felt like the hundredth time today, the snowflake of diamonds glittering coldly in the firelight. I traced it with a fingertip, feeling the faint thrum beneath my skin.
Kaelen’s voice dragged me from my thoughts. “The Frostgrave King killed my parents.”
Like me, he was transfixed on my ring.
I swallowed and nodded, unsurprised. Draven had slain so many that day, parents and children, siblings and friends. Unseelie warriors left standing like statues on the battlefield, breath frozen in their lungs, weapons forever raised.
“That’s why my brother was so angry earlier,” he continued after a beat. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories. Winter started this war, then when we defended ourselves…whatever power he has, the soldiers didn’t have a chance. I wanted you to understand that now, so you didn’t feel lied to later. This isn’t about vengeance for me, but I can’t pretend that I wasn’t surprised to see you so protective of the monster you were chained to.”
The words struck hard, sharper than he could possibly understand. I saw vivid memories—dreams of the battlefield. Blood everywhere. Frozen tombs. Heard Draven’s defeated tone all over again in my head.
I won the war, and it only cost me my kingdom.
Then again, Kaelen wasn’t wrong. Whatever remorse Draven felt over the battle had nothing at all to do with the loss of Unseelie lives. Still, it wasn’t as though the Unseelie had a single moral high ground left to stand on.
Irritation flared inside my chest, stronger than it should have been. “And the Unseelie are paragons of mercy, are they?”
I shook my head bitterly. “You talk about chains while your people drag Seelie prisoners into the Wilds. Children, even. You break them, sell them, and call it justice because they were born on the wrong side of a border. On the other side of battle lines.”
Kaelen’s expression hardened. He leaned in, lowering his voice until it cut beneath the fire’s crackle.
“You think I don’t know? That I agree with any of that?” His jaw tightened, something raw flashing in his eyes. “The treatment of Seelie here in the Wilds is nothing but filth masquerading as tradition. A misguided and disgusting attemptat vengeance directed at the least deserving. It’s a poison that has keptourpeople divided for too long.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the conviction in his tone.
When he continued, his voice was steadier, and bore the cadence of a male who believed in every word he spoke.
“You were…taken as a child, and you’ve been gone a long time, but there is more to the Skaldwings than you seem to remember. We can change it. Together. Uniting the clans isn’t just about surviving Winter’s fall, it’s about tearing out the rot at the roots. Ending what should have ended long ago, so that one day, we might finally have a chance for peace. So that our children aren’t grieving us on a frozen battlefield carved entirely out of hate.”
I let his words wash over me, nearly as subduing as whatever mana he had. It was a future I had never considered, let alone that I could help it along.
But he was also wrong.
He hadn’t seen Winter’s monsters. If they got too powerful for Draven’s entire kingdom, what were the chances that the Unseelie could stop them? And whatever else he said, I was beginning to think perhaps he did deal in delusions if he thought I would ever be accepted by the masses.
I blinked again, only this time, shards of frost rained down in my vision. For a single, fleeting moment, I saw my sister, smooth skin covered in drops of crimson as she cowered from an icy spray.
I sucked in a breath, clutching my cup tighter. Was the stress getting to me?
Or was my sister in danger? Again…
“Apologies,” Kaelen’s voice was far away. “I hadn’t meant to get quite so heated. I’m afraid my convictions get away with me.”
My pulse thundered as the vision cleared. It took me several heartbeats to focus on Kaelen’s features, twisted in concern. Zerina, too, was surveying me with narrowed eyes.
I shook my head.
“No, I—” Another image slammed into me before the words could form.
Alaric.
His face was contorted in agony, blood slicking his jaw where it dripped from split lips. And his wings—those proud, dark wings—were shredded, bones jutting at unnatural angles.
Bile rose in my throat as I watched in horror as he screamed. Icy shackles glowed at his wrists, searing his skin until his skin was mottled with frostbite. His body convulsed as icy shards pierced his flesh, driving deeper with every ragged breath.
And over it all, a voice. A deep, resonant, and achingly familiar voice, crueler than I had ever heard it before.
