Page 41 of A Fate Unwoven
Unable to come up with a reasonable excuse to deny him, and deciding she’d make less of a mess rummaging through her chamberswithoutmud caking her skin, Lena relented. “Fine.”
“Of course. Ioseph will remain outside should you require anything. Finæn, Maia, come with me.”
“Where are you taking them?”
Either Lena’s fear was clearly written on her face or the prince had felt it through their bond, because he said, “There’s no need to be afraid.” The too-charming smile he gave was no doubt meant to reassure her, but instead it just made her want to punch him in the face. “I’ll show Finæn to the barracks and take Maia to the royal healer, as I promised. They’ll be safe.” Before any of them could argue, the prince bowed low at the waist in a show of respect that caught her off guard. “Good night, Lady Lenora.”
The title made Lena’s stomach churn. Dimas waited a moment longer, as if hoping for a response. When she gave none, he simply rose to his full height and turned away from her, his cloak billowing behind him in an unseen wind.
Maia gave her a small, reassuring smile before trailing after the prince. Finæn followed after him a heartbeat later, and as he disappearedinto the shadows once more, Lena had the sudden urge to call out to him. To ask him to stay.
His steps faltered, as if he, too, was hoping she would.
Lena held back the words. It was her feelings for Finæn that had allowed him to so easily manipulate her. She would not give in to them again.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
Without another word, Lena turned her back on Finæn and entered the Fateweaver’s chambers.
EIGHTEEN
DIMAS
The palace of Novobyrg felt the same as it had when his Fateweaver was not there.
Dimas had expected it to feel different, somehow. Had expectedhimselfto feel different. Stronger, perhaps, or at least more capable. But as he stood in the large throne room, all Dimas felt was the same aching sense of failure he always had.
Lenora was here. She had agreed to take her place as his Fateweaver. Had even seemed to be thawing to him as they’d journeyed across the empire he now ruled. Yet there had been moments when Dimas had felt the faint brush of Lenora’s emotions, of her anger and her fear, which made him wonder if she would ever truly accept her role at his side.
Dimas eyed the stained glass windows along the walls, each one featuring a depiction of a past emperor and his Fateweaver. Soon his father and Lady Sefwyn would be immortalized here, the memory of them captured in glass for centuries to come. It was a custom as old as the first emperor himself, meant to ensure those who built Wyrecia were never forgotten.
There was only one emperor missing.
Odryk Ehmar.
Emperor of the Furybringer.
Dimas shivered. How many years had he feared a similar end for himself? How many times had he sat in this very room, the watchful eyes of his ancestors a stark reminder of all he had to lose.
Dark spots appeared at the edges of his vision. He clenched his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. He needn’t fear that outcome any longer; he had found his Fateweaver, had brought her back to the palace, and once he discovered the motives of theHæstaand put an end to them, there would be nothing stopping his and Lenora’s bond from becoming the divine thing it was always meant to have been.
But first, he had to lay his father and Lady Sefwyn to rest.
Three sets of footsteps clicked against the stone ground, signaling the arrival of the most trusted members of Emperor Vesric Ehmar’s inner court. The prince tore his gaze away from the too-bright colors of the windows, the anxiety in his chest spiking at the sight of his uncle. This close, the similarities between Roston Ehmar and the late emperor were impossible to ignore: he had the same strong nose, the same blue eyes and dark hair. But where his father’s face had been smooth, Roston’s was weathered, and there was a small scar on his bottom lip that betrayed his military background. Where Vesric’s hardness had been hidden beneath a lifetime of luxury, Roston’s was on display for everyone to see.
“Uncle,” Dimas greeted, bowing his head in respect.
Roston returned the gesture. “Your Majesty. It is good to see you back in one piece. I’m … so sorry about your father.”
Dimas’s throat tightened. He’d barely been back a few hours, and already the effort it took to talk about his father’s death had him wanting to crawl into his bed and never come out. Every time he thought about it, a strange, numb-like sensation flooded through his body, and his mind went completely and utterly blank.
He didn’t know how to feel about his father’s passing, and so it seemed he’d decided to feel nothing at all.
“Thank you. And thank you for keeping it from the public whilst I was gone.”
They’d decided on a cover story before Dimas had left for the Wilds. As far as the people of Wyrecia were concerned, their emperor and his Fateweaver were undertaking holy isolation, whilst Dimas was dealing with the heretic problem in the west. With both the emperor and his heir indisposed, the regent was responsible for any decisions relating to the throne.
