Page 90 of Elysian

“The way is safe,” Liadan said. I drew upright, blinking the sleep from my eyes rapidly.

“Let me down,” I croaked, straightening my legs.

Cassiel crouched and released my legs. I used his shoulders for balance. My hip pinched, and I stretched my leg out. Cassiel caught my leg, his palm spanning the side of my thigh as he squeezed the spot. I groaned; the relief was instantaneous.

My gaze clashed with Morak’s. The creases on his face had deepened with unmistakable shock. He watched us like we were specimens.

Archer approached with Liadan. “We agreed that His Highness should be hidden.”

Archer grunted and crossed his arms. They all watched each other as if they would begin brawling.

I cleared my throat. “And what does that entail?”

“Archer has to touch Lord Draven,” Liadan said quickly.

Cassiel’s lip curled into distaste.

“I do not want to touch you either.” Archer’s expression cooled.

“Gentlemen,” Liadan assuaged. “We cannot bring danger with us.”

“He will do as you ask,” I interjected and pushed my elbow into Cassiel’s side. I met his eyes pointedly, attempting to convey that he had struck a bargain. If I were to wed him in order to have his cooperation, then he must do it.

His mouth thinned, and he stiffly jerked his chin down into a slight nod. He stuck his arm out from under his cloak and rolled the sleeve up.

I turned back around and nodded. A heavy weight fell over my shoulders, and fur tickled my cheeks. It smelled of leather and ink. I looked over my shoulder at Cassiel, but the thick fur at the collar blocked my sight.

“It will drag,” I said as I collected and bunched the bottom of the cloak at my midsection.

“Follow me, Lady Draven.” Liadan stepped forward while Archer stood beside Morak. He reached a hand out for Cassiel. Archer grabbed both men’s wrists. The image of them rippled, then they all disappeared.

Liadan cleared his throat, and I refocused, following after him through the last portion of the treeline. We came out from near a pond. An owl hooted from behind us. A stone-paved path made it easier to weave through. I peeked over my shoulder to find the space empty. When I turned back around, Liadan was some distance away. I hurried over the stones that wound around the pond and branched off toward the village.

At the village’s entrance, there were a few more trees scattered throughout. Straw bales lined the sides of the pond’s exit. The stone pathway became a more structured road that broke in two directions. Darkness covered the village.

I followed Liadan down the path. We crossed gated estates. Past the iron bars, amulets hung framing the door of Elite homes. As we walked deeper through the streets, estates turned into smaller dwellings. Straw roofing and thick salt lines ran along the front of the houses. The disparity between the Elite, including those that had connections to them, versus those that had little to their name was evident.

Eventually we trekked over a path that had been less cared for. Dirt and broken bits of stone littered the surroundings. The sparse trees thickened, the craggy branches poking outward.

We strode through an iron gate that was left slightly ajar. As soon as we were through, it opened onto a dwelling much nicer than the others we had seen. The walls were made of brick, and the structure spread wider. Thin, dry vines climbed up the sides of the home.

The door opened and out peeked a head with pale hair. “Hurry it up.” Her hissed words reached us.

I quickened my stride inside, and the floorboards resonated underfoot. My slipper caught on a raised edge. I flew forward, unfamiliar faces flying by as I stumbled. A grip on my shoulder straightened me. I peered up at Cassiel. The front door slammed shut.

“Is that His Highness?” The softly spoken words sliced through the silence.

I whirled to find Archer and Morak wavering into view. Four other individuals stared. A young boy, towheaded and gawking. The woman who had hurried us inside grasped a man for dear life. And lastly, another man.

“Duke Deveaux,” Cassiel mused, cocking his head.

His eyes widened for an instant, filling with panic.

A Duke? I could not believe it. The Southern Duke of Sycarious worked with the Resistance. A man who had every privilege possible put that in jeopardy. He cut a striking figure in his tailored suit. They had all waited as if they had known we would be arriving.

Tension lined the Duke’s shoulders. All the blood had fled his sun-weathered face.

“Your Highness,” he bowed forward, the thin line of his mouth pinched. I had yet to meet an Elite with morals.