Page 2 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

Flynn murmurs something before sending his magic right into the guard with the bow, forcing the man’s back to slam into the ground. Chaos erupts, and suddenly, even more guards appear from the trees, swords in their hands. But I recognize the opportunity, so I turn and clamp my mouth down on the hand holding the rope. The blond guard screams, and it rings loudly in my ears.

Run. Run. Run. I search through the guards for Rhea and find her right in front of the Spell. Her green eyes meet mine as she struggles against Flynn, stretching her hands out towards me.

My chest vibrates with a growl as I dart towards them, only to come to an abrupt stop, pain flaring across my throat. A different guard holds my rope in one hand, while his companion draws the sword attached to his hip. Together, they prowl towards me, and a deeper sound stirs in my chest. The one holding the sword circles me, his arm lifting high in the air.

Run. Run. Run. I can taste the odor of their sweat as I pant, my eyes darting from the guards to the Spell. The sword swings, and I dart out of the way. My motion pulls the rope taut and places it directly in the sword’s path. The rope severs. Free. Paws scrambling in the dirt, I run towards the Spell—towards Rhea—while Flynn pulls her through to the other side as arrows fly.

I push myself faster, running towards her outstretched arms when the hairs along my back rise once again. Rhea falls to her knees, Flynn landing behind her to avoid an arrow. I slip on leaves, slowing down for a moment. Men shout behind me, their heartbeats competing with the sound of my own. Run. Run. Run. I meet Rhea’s eyes, tears streaking down her face, and then fire erupts at my hip, sending me crashing into the ground.

My head whips back as I snap my teeth at the pain, then yelp when my snout bumps into the wooden shaft sticking out from my body. I watch blood trickle over my leg, my limbs still trying to get me away from what is hurting as magic blooms behind my ribs. Get up, it says. But when I try, my back leg gives out, and my head slams onto the ground.

“No!” Rhea’s roar is unmistakable, even above the clashing of metal as the guards in their golden armor flood towards me.

Go, I tell her in my mind as my heart races, as too many voices scream in my ears and too many scents sting my nose. It’s overwhelming. Hands reach for me and boots kick up dirt as warmth seeps from my wound.

My mother’s voice echoes in my ear. It’s like closing one book and opening a new one, Siyala. Something is happening. Something familiar.

“What’s it doing?” a man asks, his voice distorted. His heart racing. Many hearts racing.

Run. Run. Run.

“Put it out of its misery,” someone else answers. Fingers digging at my neck. My back.

That warmth moves up my spine, and I finally know what it is. No. Not here. Not now. The men above me gasp, and then everything goes dark.

Chapter One: Xander

One week later

I squeeze my eyes against the hot water that pelts my face, letting it wash over me like it might wipe away all of my sins. But those stains mark deeper than skin, deeper than bone and marrow. They’ve corrupted my very soul, twisting my actions from things I once believed were justifiable in the name of the collective good to something darker. Something truer. Dropping my chin, I blink against the heat as my fingers flex at my sides.

Yes, I had bore witness to unspeakable things, used my own hands to dole out punishments that were indefensible. I had been whatever was expected of me, and I will continue to do so for as long as I need. For as long as we need.

Sighing, I push my hair away from my forehead, water slipping from the strands and trailing over the uneven skin of my back. Shutting the shower off, I wrap a towel around my waist and step out, my feet slapping against the cold tile as I walk to the counter and brace my hand along its stone edge. In the mirror that hangs above it, I trace the outline of my features in the reflection and search for anything that reminds me of my mother. I find that I bear too much resemblance to the man who sired me. Similarities hiding in the curve of my jaw and the shape of my nose. The slope of my shoulders and the tightness that settles on my lips. My gaze bounces to the dark hair that falls on either side of my face, and I relax a little. Her hair was the same color—a rich onyx that rivaled the night sky.

My eyes close as I picture my mother sitting at a small table in the spare bedroom of our last home, hunched over piles of fabric and velvet ribbon with a sewing needle in hand. Her loose braid hung over her shoulder as she worked, soaking up rays from the sun that shone in from the small window behind her. She looked up at me, eyes so deeply brown that they nearly matched the black shade of her pupils. “What is your book about, my scholar?” she asked, pausing her sewing.

I sat on a small uncomfortable wooden chair. Legs crossed in front of me while my knees hung off its edges, a book splayed open on my lap. “It’s about a knight who slays a dragon and rescues the princess from its cave!”

She had laughed, looking back down as she resumed her work. “Tell me all about it.”

I force my eyes to open, letting the memory fade, and return to scrutinizing my reflection. I map out the edges of the scars that peek out on the flesh at the back of my arms and over my shoulders before they travel the expanse of my back in crisscrossing patterns. As much as I’d like to avoid seeing the man who gave these scars to me today, unfortunately, that isn’t possible. A group of King’s Guardsmen is due to arrive back at the castle any day now, either with the escaped princess in tow or an excuse that would likely make King Dolian kill another advisor. I had been ordered to clean up the aftermath of that tantrum shortly after the princess escaped.

The king has been more than irritable while waiting to see if his guards would return with her—his obsession with the princess one I only realized ran so deeply when I became one of his Trusted, granted closer access to him and curious of what the princess would be like on my first visit to the tower. Following King Dolian up the many spiraling steps, I had braced to see a woman broken by grief, one who chose to keep to herself secluded in the tower because of her parents’ deaths. It’s what we had been told by the king himself. But as we entered the tower and Princess Rhea came into view for the first time, it immediately became clear that, while she was certainly trapped within the confines of that stone structure, she was not lost to sadness. Life sparked behind those bright green eyes, the color an exact replica of the portraits painted of her mother—the former queen, Luna Maxwell.

But as quickly as I had seen the glint of spirit in her expression, it was nearly immediately snuffed out by the king. He circled her, the tension in the tower rising as he also taunted her with his words. It wasn’t so much what he said, but how he said it. How his gaze lingered a little too long and his smile grew a little too cruel. My hand had clutched the hilt of my sword, the hard metal biting into my skin as I watched the lust form over his face. For his own godsdamn niece. I had thought that was the worst of it, but then I saw him hit her. Watched him beat her until she was barely conscious, all because she ventured to say something he didn’t like. I hadn’t dared to move, even if every part of me screamed that what he was doing was wrong. But to act against the king was a death sentence at best. And if I were to act against him? He’d make me wish for death. Nearly every visit I accompanied him on ended with her on the floor and the king casually walking out of the tower and on to the next item on his agenda as if beating the princess was just an item to be checked off a list.

Then, two weeks ago, she and a guard named Flynn escaped the tower, and with their chaotic departure came what I hoped were only rumors—even if, deep down, I suspected they were true.

Three loud knocks drag me from my thoughts, sending my heart pounding behind my ribs as I cross my small room. It relaxes when I pull the door open to reveal Grayson, his hands bracketing his hips and brow lifting in question at my appearance.

“Get enough beauty sleep?” he asks, an annoying amount of mirth in his voice. I snort and step back to let him in, shutting the door and meeting his light brown eyes. Deep circles color the skin beneath them, and I take in the rigid way he crosses his arms over his chest, his golden vambraces clanking together. “You can get dressed,” he says, jerking his chin in the direction of my closet.

Already on edge, I move quickly. “Everything alright?” I ask once I’ve entered the closet, tossing my towel and grabbing my undergarments.

“We’ve gotten the newest numbers of those afflicted with the Cruel Death. The death totals are even higher than last time.”

Buttoning up my black pants, I then cinch my belt around my waist and exhale roughly. The cure for the Cruel Death has eluded our finest healers, and it’s one of the only things that King Dolian hasn’t been able to buy or bully his way into solving. Each passing week brings a higher toll of men and women claimed by the sickness that emaciates their bodies until only bones remain, and the Cruel Death does not discriminate.