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"Your father seems like a reasonable man. Perhaps you can make a deal with him?" I suggest. "Agree to get married by this time next year, but you have a say in who you marry."
"You clearly don't know how arranged marriages work, Kitarni." Nyx stretches his legs and cracks his neck as Atlas stomps back from his nightly scouting session and plops down on a log across the bonfire from me. "Uncle Soren isn't going to agree to that."
"Ignore him, Ronan." I flash Nyx a dirty look to which he lifts his hands as if questioning what he did wrong. "It's worth it to ask."
"He's going to say no, by the way," Nyx says, drawing a frown from me.
"That's encouraging," I scoff.
"Why give the man false hope?" He swats his hand around aimlessly.
"Just because you aren't being forced into an arranged marriage doesn't give you the right to be an ass about it."
"I'm always an ass," he returns. "Why are you so steamed about it now? It's not like you have to go through with marrying Bastian. You can marry whoever you want now. Welcome to the club."
"It's not that simple," I spit back, my bottom lip quivering.
Nyx's mouth drops and anger flashes in his hazel eyes. "Seven hells, Kitarni! You aren't considering still marrying him?"
I can almost sense Atlas suck in a breath. "Last I checked," I grit my teeth, "I'm still the heir to the Midorian Throne. If not Bastian, I'll just be married off to someone else."
"After everything you've been through, learned about yourself and about them, you would willingly go back?" Atlas' voice feels like a slap from across the fire and garners my undivided attention.
"It's my duty. It's what is expected of me, Atlas."
He scoffs, shaking his head, breaking eye contact with me. "That's fucking insane."
"Watch your tone," I bark.
"If you go back, you will fall into the same hollow shell of what they created you to be." His eyes are ferocious and strike fear into me. "You'll be a prisoner in your own home, ostracized for your magic. You'll be a queen with no crown and a husband will rule in your stead. Is that what you want? For the sake of fulfilling some warped sense of responsibility to a people who don't accept you as you are?"
"And what would you suggest I do?" I jump to my feet and raise my voice. "Pledge my life and allegiance to your king? Stay in Tronovia and forget everything else I've ever known? What do you want me to – "
He hops up, matching my body language and demands, "Stay with me." Everyone, including myself, is taken aback, and he quickly corrects himself. "Stay with us. You have a home in Tronovia, if you want it. You know that."
"Atlas…" The rest of what I'm about to say dies on the tip of my tongue. My gaze darts from him to something that moved just beyond him in the trees. I narrow my eyes, trying to make out if I'm seeing something that warrants me being on my guard. The tiny hairs on my arms stand on end, and I know something is wrong. "Atlas," I whisper, eyes wide.
He immediately understands my hushed plea. With the flick of his wrists, two shadowy swords appear in his hands, and he turns in the direction I'm staring. Once he arms himself, the others follow suit.
Quietly, we wait. I'm tempted to throw a shield over the entire group, but if I play that card too early, whoever is out there might not show themselves.
Several agonizing minutes pass and no one has moved a muscle or so much as whispered anything. I'm beginning to think I was imaging the entire thing, but then something stirs again in the tree line. This time, it comes toward us. I squint, trying to get a better look.
The creature emerges and the moonlight beams down on it, revealing its wolf-like body. I know for a fact that it's not a wolf, but something more sinister. The closer it slinks, I am able to see patches of fur missing and brutal scars marring its skinny, albeit enormous, body. It doesn't look like a strong beast, but from the sharp claws and agile frame, I'm sure it's quick and vicious.
"What is it?" I whisper loud enough for Ronan standing beside me to hear.
"Hellhound," is all he says in response when we catch sight of its red eyes, and that's all I need to know.
Thank the Stars that Professor Riggs was more than happy to share all his knowledge with me about the lore of mythological creatures, because I don't need to bother anyone with dozens of questions. Hellhounds are scraggly wolf-like creatures that hail from the Underworld. Drogon used them to track down his enemies.
"Vesper," I mutter to myself. It's possible she's here, but it's more plausible she dispatched these hellhounds to track me down in the event I left Tronovia.
Where there is one hellhound, there will most certainly be more. But it's not the hellhounds you should fear, it's their masters. Riggs' lectures flood my mind. We've seen one hellhound, but my hands tremble at the thought of seeing one of their owners.
I thought Soul Eaters were frightening, but they're nothing compared to the Ongok. Scrawny bodies, with unnaturally long arms and bony fingers, the Ongok's facial features are undetectable behind the stag skeleton head they use for masks with antlers stretching like tree branches high above them. They walk with zero motivation yet attack in swift fury. They are some of the ghoulish creatures I was hoping Riggs had been exaggerating about, but I'm starting to realize his tales and research are indeed accurate when the master of the hellhound inching closer to us appears.
I stiffen. The rough sketches of this demonic duo don't nearly do them justice at how truly monstrous they are.
