Page 11 of Where We Belong

“Give the Princess a welcome. A little introduction to what we do here when you do not cooperate.” Theron drawls. The short man is standing with one foot out of the doorway like he’s ready to run when the smoke holding me in place starts to tighten. This isn’t funny anymore. “Wait,” I gasp, rocking back and forth in a useless effort to break free. My clothes hiss as heat surges over my skin.

“How did he hide you?” Theron circles me. Vale grumbles nervously in some kind of protest, but it’s ignored. Don’t let him ignore you, fucking do something.

“No one hid me,” I say between stifled cries. I glance down at my legs, and wish I hadn’t. Red welts bubble on my thighs where the smoke has burned through my leggings.

“What is his plan? Has he put things in place with your governments to contain us if we are freed? What of the courts?”

“Huh?”

“What do you know about the ritual?”

“What ritual? I don’t fucking know anything, please.” I plead, pain bursting through me.

“A little more, Captain.”

A guttural noise escapes my twisted lips as another tendril coils around my throat. The room blurs through my stinging lashes. Heat collects under my jaw, dripping into my collarbones like molten metal.

“Theron, we do not know what her blood will do. Stop immediately.”

“Please,” I croak, barely managing the words. “I—I don’t know anything, I swear!” They eye the trail of blood cautiously as it trickles between my breasts. The Captain takes a step. It’s something like thunder, and everything in the room stops. The smoke loosens ever so slightly, turning lukewarm. Vale scrambles through his robes like a rat sensing fire.

“Vale,” Theron warns, his hand moving slowly towards his waist.

“It—it must be wearing off. I have another dose, here—” Vales beady eyes dart up towards the Captain every other second.

The Captain takes another heavy step in my direction, but it’s like he’s stuck in tar. Small blue flames flicker around his boots, and his breath starts to drag. Something jolts through my chest when my eyes meet his. They are a beautiful, bright hazel, burning with life and fury. I find myself leaning forwards, towards him, my restrained hands are trying to reach for him. Then a rush of static crackles violently beneath my skin. Magic. My gorgeous, wonderful magic. I reach for it, apologising and promising I’ll never curse it again. It seeps through my shoulders and towards my elbow.

“Vale.” Theron barks, his knuckles bloodless on the handle of the sword he has pressed against Kaed’s neck. “What is taking—”

Vale hurls a small glass vial across the room. My magic is at my wrist when Theron catches it and pops the lid. He holds the open bottle under the Kaed’s nose and his eyes, those eyes that had seen me, dull like a hot rod in cool water.

“Release her,” Theron commands, his voice cracking as he wipes sweat from his forehead with his thumb. “Go back to your chair. Resist the bond. Do not kiss her. Do not speak.”

My body crumples as Vale mutters something under his breath, and the spark of life that came to save me scarpers back up my arm and into its hiding place.

“Let us give her some time to decide whether or not she wants to be helpful.”

Over my sobs, I barely hear their footsteps trail out of the room and the doors close. The last thing I remember before I pass out is the creaking chair before my kidnapper takes his seat, and his blank eyes boring into mine.

Chapter 15

Aiden

Yes, I will trip and fall and fumble,

but that does not make my end,

Tired is a woeful understatement. It has been a week since my half-sister was first found, only to be lost again. The palace has become a drawn crossbow, servant and sovereign alike awaiting release. Volker stand guard with doubled vigilance, whispers drift through the corridors, and anxious eyes watch the arena as though the Chasm itself will suddenly open of its own accord, freeing us instantly. Those abominations guarding our skies have taken more Volker in the last seven days than they have in the last year. Patrols have doubled and parents are to keep their young ones home after the Core dims.

The King’s poor eating and relentless pacing through the corridors mark every night he burns away. In the span of days, he seems to have aged by decades. He convenes councils at all hours, demanding reports and tactical discussions. It is common knowledge that he blames himself for my father’s exile, his death, and the supposed death of his niece. Now, with this fragile sliver of hope dangling before him, life has taken its cruel revenge. My father was once in line for the throne. He commanded attention. He won hearts and minds. The realm sighed when the crown passed instead to my uncle. He was too soft. Uninspiring. And he would never produce an heir. Since his appointment, he had shown nothing but kindness and mercy, but it only fuels whispers that the myth of our bloodline is just that. A story crafted to keep power in one family’s hands.

The peace treaty signing was over almost as quickly as it began. Cinder Cliffs did not even bother turning up, and it ended with each territory claiming they needed more time to consider the conditions, given the new information brought to light. Apparently, centuries of political leadership still cannot produce a room full of decisive people. The doubt in that room was palpable; though eventually, there was some sense of gratitude that my uncle was being transparent. Unlike when Kaed’s kidnapping was buried by the palace, a cover-up that ignited the civil war in the first place. The ceasefire, thankfully, holds. But trust in my uncle still weakens despite the goodwill gestures and gifts he bestows upon the leaders.

Nykholas, Lili, Tobian, and Leander succeeded in unearthing the alchemist who sold some of the ingredients in the elixir enslaving their Captain. Yet the discovery proved fruitless. He would not give up the name of his buyer. My uncle dismissed my proposed punishment, continuing his unfortunate habit of valuing mercy over efficiency. Choosing instead to set the Volker upon the brewery as shadows. Such a duty would have once fallen to the Captain, but Theron insisted he take the task. Yet another futile attempt to climb the ranks.

I have tried to keep the focus from myself, yet irritation and something perilously close to jealousy have me pinned to a wall. Two murderers, Kaed and my half-sister, devour every ounce of our attention. I know well the danger of leaving them in the hands of the rebels, I do. And yet, the bitterness of knowing my uncle would burn the land to ash if it meant saving them chips away at me. I have only ever loved one with such abandon.

Nykholas and Leander stride into the war room, their arms laden with parchments. Wary eyes survey Leander while he distributes his share to the far end of the table and finds himself stuck to a shadowed corner. Head down, hands behind his back, his broad, scarred chest peeking out from under the collar of his chainmail. Trained under my grandfather’s brutal regime and the last living Master of the Art of Pain, he is an expert in dragging out death until the victim begs their gods for it. When my uncle took the throne and cast out the old ways, he did not cast Leander out. He repurposed and polished him into something the land could stomach.