Chapter 2

Ceven

CEVEN RAN A hand through his hair, tousling the knotted brown strands. He needed a shower after running around the castle all night. “There’s no way that this is a coincidence.”

Sprawled across the white loveseat with his arms crossed behind his head was Ceven’s friend Barto. His gold pants and unbuttoned tunic shimmered in the light of the fire, making even more of a statement here, inside Ceven’s single bedroom suite, than it had at the welcome ball that ended mere hours ago. Barto flicked his black furred ears sideways, but kept his eyes closed. His slender tail twitched back and forth and told Ceven that his friend was far from sleep. That made two of them.

“If you say that one more time, I’ll start to think you’re going crazy,” Barto murmured from the couch, eyes still closed.

Ceven shot the Rathan a furious look, and Rasha, Barto’s bodyguard, shifted closer to her charge. His own bodyguards, Xilo and Tarry, had split up. Xilo kept watch outside the suite, while Tarry was out looking for any sign of Evangeline. Or Lord Ryker. Both had been missing since the ball.

It can’t be a coincidence.

The suite was quiet aside from the crackling fire, Rasha’s leather padded steps not even registering as she glided across the marble. One sharp, furred ear prodded out from a set of tight braids. Ceven had always wondered if she had been born without a tail or if it had met a fate like her left ear, which had been removed in the line of battle, but he didn’t dare ask. During his two-year stay in Atiaca with Barto, he’d quickly learned his friend got himself into more trouble than he knew what to do with, and Rasha was one of the few people who could handle him—and the tough situations that came with accompanying Atiaca’s emissary. One of those situations being now.

“I figured you’d be more concerned, considering she’s currently of interest to you as well.” Ceven scowled into the fire, the flames licking and devouring the wood with the occasional ember escaping the granite fireplace.

His jab struck a chord, and Barto sat up, matching his scowl. “You know it’s not like that. I don’t wish the girl any ill-will, but this is beyond my control. Beyond yours.”

When his friend had first told him that their empress wanted custody of Evangeline, Ceven had dismissed it. There was no way Evangeline was guilty of anything, let alone the missing persons in both of their countries. But what hurt him more was that Barto wasn’t on his side for this—no, if Ceven was being honest with himself, it was the devotion Barto had towards his empress and country. All Ceven ever did was hate the king and this kingdom that he would never inherit, that his older brother, Sehn, was bound to rule in the next few years.

“I never took you for a coward,” he said. It was cheap, and the farthest thing from the fierce warrior that lounged in front of him, but Ceven didn’t know what else to say, what else to do. All he could envision in his head was Evangeline’s shy smile. Her beautiful blue-and-green eyes squinting up at him whenever he teased her, before they widened in terror, her lips contorting into a scream as she was—

Gods, if anyone hurt her, he swore he was going to kill them.

The Rathan’s yellow eyes dilated, his sharp words echoing Ceven’s previous ire. “It’s called loyalty. And at least I have more concern about Peredia going into a full-blown war than its own prince.” Rasha moved closer to the couch, and Ceven didn’t miss the look in her dark gaze. It said to be careful. As if he wasn’t two steps away from begging them to just call this whole thing off and return home—and he might’ve done just that, but his stubbornness, the only thing he had in common with the rest of his royal family, prevented him from saying the words.

Ceven crossed his arms, wrinkling the black material of his shirt. “You’re being dramatic. She’s just a girl. This wouldn’t cause the empress to do anything against us. Besides, Lord Ryker won’t give Evangeline up.” In fact, Ryker would be the only one to care besides himself. Nobody here would bat an eye if Empress Zelene decided to steal Evangeline away to Atiaca, as she was only one human girl. The king would even be glad—or maybe disappointed he wasn’t the one to dismiss her. Ceven knew how much Evangeline’s presence, the first human amongst the Aerian court (at Ryker’s behest), dug beneath the king’s skin. “The man keeps a sharper eye on her than you when you’re with your sisters.” And no one knew why the king’s advisor had such an interest in an ordinary human. Granted, Ceven’s thoughts on Evangeline were far from ordinary.

“Evangeline is the closest thing we have to clues on this, Ceven.”

“So she shares a mark with the other missing persons. That doesn’t mean she’s behind everything.”

“I’m not saying that—”

“No, you just mean to take her to be tried as a suspect, with no other evidence.”

Barto growled. “Look, I’m not here to argue with you. You know I will have to go to the king with this information soon, and even he will see the importance of this, Ryker or not. As your friend, I told you first, but I won’t betray my empress, Ceven.”

They stared at each other, and a dangerous undercurrent shifted in the air.

Barto was the first to break eye contact, sighing as he sank back into the couch. Ceven’s gaze returned to the fire, the only source of warmth in the room. The cold, overly formal room that he hardly used.

Do you ever get tired of staring at all this purple? Evangeline had said to him one night in this suite. Ceven had never thought much of it, only caring about what sat behind the display glass he had hanging on the walls or in shelves throughout the suite. Some encrusted swords with gems only found in the northern hemisphere, others bows with attached scopes made from refined glass imported from Ostin Lon.

My mother had this room designed for me, he’d told her. Beatrix’s favorite color was purple, and while the room served as a comforting reminder of his mother, with the embroidered curtains, frilled bed linens, and purple-trimmed table coverings, it told nothing of who the true owner was. As if this had never been his home at all.

Ceven massaged his eyes, exhausted. All night he and Barto had searched the castle top to bottom, and there was no sign of Evangeline or Lord Ryker anywhere. The king didn’t seem concerned that his advisor had disappeared, which only worried Ceven more. It made him think the king knew where Lord Ryker was, despite his nonchalance when he’d asked him earlier in the night.

When he glanced up, Barto was looking at him, a crease burrowing between his bushy brows.

“I promise no harm will come to her. If she’s not found guilty, I will personally make sure she returns to Peredia safely,” he said, the crease deepening.

Ceven sighed. He was tired of fighting, especially with a man who had always been on his side for the past two years. “We both know you can’t guarantee that. The empress will have her put on trial. The decision is up to the people, and if they deem her guilty, no one can save her. Even if she’s innocent, and I know she is.”

Barto was quiet for a moment before he whispered, “Do you?”

Ceven’s jaw clenched. “You can’t seriously think some small, defenseless girl is capable of kidnapping hundreds of people. Come on, I know you’re not that stupid.”

 “She isn’t defenseless if she’s walking around with glamours and working with Casters.” Rasha’s words were soft like the brush of metal. The fire reflected off the chains of the necklace nestled against her midnight skin, the frostlite stone a creamy white, showing the absence of magic. Her brown eyes held a predatory gaze.

Barto cast her a look, as if in warning. Ceven wasn’t aware of how deep their suspicions had gone until now.

“I like Evangeline, I really do,” he added when Ceven gave him a pointed look. “But you have to admit that her actions haven’t screamed innocence.”

Ceven pushed off the wall to prowl the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his brown trousers. After the ball, he had stripped off the ill-fitting three-piece suit and traded it for his normal casual wear—loose-fitting trousers tucked into boots with a single buttoned top. His hand instinctually rested at his hip, inches away from his sword forged of Atiacan steel.

 Barto gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m not blaming you. I know you were just as surprised to find her in a glamour in the middle of an Aerian ball. But she has been awfully close with that Caster, Avana, even going against Ryker and traveling with her beyond the wall. It seems she has more determination and guts than you give her credit for. Which isn’t a bad thing, but we don’t know the reasons behind it.”

To say Ceven had been surprised to find Evangeline in a glamour looking like a red-headed Caster, was a severe understatement. If her fake dress hadn’t gone through his leg when she had run into him, he never would have known she was in a disguise—at least not right away. Still . . . “Evangeline’s not like that.”

Barto stared at him. “You haven’t seen her in two years. People change, Ceven.”

A knock at the door interrupted them, and the tension in the room rose another notch.

“Come in,” Ceven said, his hand tightening on the sword strapped to his side.

Tarry strode through the front foyer, his black ringed armor meshed around a broad frame, the golden wings seared over his breast encased in stars, indicating the presence of a Royal Guard.

He paused before Ceven, standing just to his shoulders. His lips pressed into a thin line. “I saw no sign of either of them, Your Highness.”

Ceven slammed his fist into the back of the sofa. There was a crack, and the fabric strained.

“But there is someone who knows where Evangeline is,” Tarry finished, his eyes flicking to Barto and Rasha, whose heads whipped around to the room’s entryway. Ceven frowned and followed their gazes to the doorway. A silent shadow stood in its frame.

“Hello again, brother,” Prince Sehn LuRogue purred.