Chapter 29

Ceven

TROY AND THE eight other Royal Guards barricaded Ceven on all sides. The carpeted rugs muffled their boots, but the shifting of all that metal was hard not to hear. Then again, they weren’t the assassins and spies of the kingdom that Ceven knew the king employed by the dozens. These men didn’t need stealth on their side to destroy their enemies.

Tarry stayed behind, even if every muscle in him said otherwise. The man nursed an injured wing and had almost died from the wound in his side that hadn’t healed yet, but still he had raised his sword at the small army of Royal Guards without hesitation. It wasn’t the unsheathing of nine blades at his throat that made him stand down, but Ceven’s repeated suggestion of not getting himself killed, so that he could help him later.

As expected, they deprived Ceven of his thin blade made of Atiacan steel with the practical leather hilt. He had wanted the one with the gold-encrusted hilt, emboldened with sapphire and emerald, when they passed the blacksmith stand at the bazaar in Kazuumar, capital city of Atiaca, but for practicality he had gone for the leather one.

They also took a parrying dagger from him, as well as the knife in his boot. One more rested in the hidden pocket of his pants. It made him not feel so insecure, but still wouldn’t help him much against nine trained Aerians that have devoted their lives to protecting the king.

Ceven stretched his neck, the joint groaning in pain from the crappy cot he slept on down in the holding room. “Kirk, I thought I recognized you,” he said to the Aerian next to Troy. His wings were a similar color, a Gods-awful yellow, but his long, fiery-red beard gave him away. “Still haven’t trimmed the beard yet. Surprised someone hasn’t chopped it off in battle.”

Kirk grunted, which was as much of a response as he was going to get. Ceven remembered the older Aerian being a lot more amiable during his years of training with him and a few other Royal Guards. Ceven scanned the surrounding heads and wings. Some familiar faces. “And Leon, I thought you hated working with swords.” His gaze dropped to the twin blades hooked to his sides. “Guess people change in a couple of years.”

Leon didn’t even give him a grunt like Kirk. Ceven knew they wouldn’t side with him over a direct order of the king, not like Tarry and Xilo. But it didn’t hurt to remind them he used to be their ally. Had trained beside them for years.

This morning, instead of meeting in the king’s suite or Sehn’s new study in the circle room, they entered the throne room. Ceven had gotten used to the polished white marble speckled with black, the wide sweeping windows that speared to the tops of the massive ceiling. The room was the same size as the castle’s famous glass room but used far less frequently. It may have been a place of significant decision-making back when the former king had been alive, whom Ceven had once thought to be his grandfather. Now, it was a waste of space, only serving for the occasional execution “of the utmost magnitude” and meetings when Calais wanted to show off the castle to newcomers.

Calais lounged on top of the raised platform with purple rugs spilling down its stairs like expensive wine down the cheeks of intoxicated nobles. One gold, embroidered pant leg crossed the other, the beige fabric a fine compliment to the pale blue jacket that was fastened by one gold piece. At that point, it would make more sense to have the whole thing open. Then everyone would get a much better view of all the gold chains that hung from his neck. Ceven may have a fine appreciation for jewelry, but he preferred it to be protected behind glass. If he wore every piece he found worthy, he would be useless in combat—and laughed off the field by Barto and other Atiacans. He wondered if Barto and the others had heard the news of his capture?

“Didn’t expect us to meet again so soon.” Ceven forced a smile. Sea watery hells, all the old Aerian had to do was look at him to make Ceven feel he was that twelve-year-old boy again, facing his father’s hatred for the first time.   

“Silence, traitor.” Calais uncrossed his legs, looming closer. Maybe his eyesight was failing him and he needed a better glimpse.

Traitor today. Not bastard son, or snake, or worthless waste of space, he thought with enough snark that Barto would be proud. The only redeemable thing about his situation was that he could focus on the gold-encrusted throne instead of his false father.

“Sehn told me of your despicable deeds. Your interference in the west wing and harboring a prime suspect.” For once, Calais didn’t sneer at him. Maybe he was bored with this already, eager to remove Ceven from his sight.

“Harboring a suspect?”

“Silence!” His roar shook the ground. Or maybe that was what it felt like to Ceven. Never once had King Calais raised his voice at him when he was a kid. But now, ever since Calais had found out no familial ties bound them, Ceven was used to nothing but scorn and shouting from him while he gave Sehn the soft criticism and proud compliments. “Don’t act stupid. You may not be my son, but I’ve raised you as one with the finest tutors. This was a poor move on your part. To think you would give up what little opportunity you had to be something greater, to make me proud. And you squandered it on a human.” The word left his mouth like he’d tasted spoiled milk.

“Let’s be real, Father, you’d never be proud of me.”

To his surprise, King Calais didn’t slap him or kick him in the ribs right there. Maybe he really was done with him.

“I always knew she would be the death of you. Like mother, like son. Siding with the weak makes you weak.” He stared off, beyond Ceven and the surrounding Royal Guards that hadn’t moved from their blockade around him. As if he’d attack the king. Well, they wouldn’t be too off the mark. “Tell me, was she worth it? Worth killing Ryker over?”

Ceven had learned to hide his expression when he was around nobles. And especially the king and Sehn. So, he tampered down the confusion that tried to raise his brows and concentrated on being like the statues around the castle. Like Tarry and Xilo.

Sehn had laid Ryker’s death at Ceven’s door, but if Evangeline was involved, it made sense for the king to think it had been Ceven who killed his advisor to protect Evangeline, whom they both knew had beaten and mistreated her. It made it seem as if Ceven had finally reached a breaking point with all of it. That was much more plausible than a human killing a Nyte.

“I’d do it again,” Ceven lied with a smile. Either way, he was going to be sent to the dungeons. At least he could clear Evangeline’s name. By now they should be about ready to leave Castle Peak, and with this turn of events, they would be safe from the king’s attempt at a vengeful retaliation.

Calais shook his head and pursed his lips in disappointment. He was as good an actor as Sehn was, who had turned manipulating the masses into an art form. It was obvious where he got it from.

“I should’ve known, the day I found out your mother’s secret, that you’d be a burden on this kingdom, on this family. Like him, you’re a despicable, conniving liar whose only real strength was hiding behind others.”

Ceven frowned. He knows who my real father is?

“A pathetic passerby who was easily discarded, no real value than for a brief pleasurable blip in time,” he continued.

Ceven debated holding his tongue, but blast it. If he was going down, might as well make a show of it. “But pleasurable enough that Beatrix chose him over you.”

King Calais had no self-control this time as he hurled a fist at Ceven. Ceven ducked but couldn’t escape the roundhouse kick to his ribs. He sucked in air, which catapulted painfully off each rib inside his chest.

“I loved her. . . . I loved her so much,” the king whispered, more to himself.

To Calais’s credit, Ceven knew it was true. Everyone did. The king had never taken any mistresses during his marriage with Queen Beatrix. He had doted on her, expanded the main hall’s garden for her since she loved it so much. It was no secret that the merciless king had been besotted with the beautiful Aerian. But the feeling wasn’t mutual. That public fact humiliated him and destroyed the love he’d once had for his wife.

“Every day I look at you, it’s a reminder of her betrayal. Of her filthy, disgusting betrayal!” Red stained his pale cheeks, and Ceven blinked, making sure he was seeing right. King Calais never showed this kind of emotion. His anger Ceven was familiar with, usually veiled behind a cold mask and callous words, like their meeting in Sehn’s suite. The king’s temper was arguably the only thing the two had in common, but this . . . Ceven had felt the same way when he found out Evangeline was working with another.

The king leaned down, the single button straining at the movement. His icy fingers fastened to Ceven’s jaw, jerking his head up to meet his eyes. His voice lowered to whisper, even though it was pointless in the grand room, where even the crinkle of a shirt echoed. “Everyone believed I kept you alive, by my side, because of my love for her.” His thick white eyebrows faltered, his pink lips taking in a shaky breath. The cold facade dropped, and for the first time since Ceven had turned twelve, he saw the man he used to call father. “But my love for that woman died the day she spurned me. It was my love for you, Ceven, that kept me from turning you away.” The same disappointment shone in his eyes. Maybe it had never been feigned. “But like your mother, you chose another over what could be. This time you have decided your own path, and I won’t feel guilty about reminding you of your consequences.”

For one delirious moment, Ceven was compelled to claim his innocence in the face of this admission. A man he had loved had just dangled something he thought he didn’t care about in front him. Love and respect from the one Aerian he least expected. It swayed back and forth precariously in front of him like a prized jewel hooked on a gold chain.

The doors opened, and Sehn walked in. The chain pulled up, and Ceven had missed his chance to snag the jewel.

The king released him, and Ceven rubbed his jaw. Sehn walked past them, his long navy jacket brushing the floor. The buttoned collar looked to be choking him from how tightly it was clipped at his neck. It was a shame it wasn’t.

“Sehn, what are you doing here?” The king revered the oldest prince with the love and respect Ceven could’ve had. Ceven was still reeling from the Calais’s words.

Sehn smiled, not even acknowledging Ceven. “I came to make sure you were okay. If this man is devious enough to trick our once-esteemed advisor, and kill him for it, I had reason to believe he might have done the same to you.”

The familiar cruel expression was back on the king’s face. “How kind of you to care about my well-being. I may be old, Sehn, but I’m not a fool.”

Sehn’s smile grew, like a cat with a mouse trapped in its claws. The king had held this kingdom with a fierce rule for almost a century now, but it was clear where the real power now lay. And Sehn was far more cunning and underhanded than even Calais had been in his youth. He was so thirsty for power he couldn’t even wait for the king to die before taking the throne. And it was obvious his deathbed was near. Ceven would’ve never been able to avoid his father’s swings in the past.

An unexpected thought bobbed to the surface. Is killing Calais the right thing to do?

Sehn spared him a glance. If it could be called that. Ceven wished they were alone, so he could show off the new moves he’d learned fighting with the empress’s brigade in Atiaca. He’d knock Sehn down a peg or two.

His brother flicked his wrist at him and the guards. “Have him taken back to the dungeons. The traitor can rot in the dark before the king’s merciful ax will end his suffering.” Traitor. As if he wasn’t referring to his own flesh and blood.

The Royal Guard remained where they were. The king laughed, and Sehn’s chin raised a fraction higher.

“You’re not king yet, my boy.” King Calais waved his hand. “Yes, move him to the holding cell with the other one. Double the guard. I’ve trained this one well and wouldn’t want him to get the upper hand.”

Kirk and an unfamiliar face grabbed Ceven’s upper arms. They hadn’t touched him on the way here, but maybe they wanted to make a show of their loyalty by man-handling him in front of the king. Ceven swallowed his pride and let them haul him to his feet and out of the room. He thought back to when he’d stood in Sehn’s suite, the king sitting there so calmly compared to today’s encounter. He wondered if Calais had already decided then that Ceven was involved in Ryker’s murder, and if he knew how today’s events would unfold.

Maybe the king had been there to warn him, to bait him into leaving the kingdom before Calais would be forced to kill him by his own hand.

Ceven furrowed his brows. And maybe he already suspects Evangeline is the real murderer, and that’s what he meant by “kill her now.” But why mention Ryker had been working with another and that she would doom everyone? Why would the king be so afraid of one human girl?

Blast it all, Ceven was suddenly unsure of everything: if killing the king was the right move, who Evangeline really was, and if Sehn’s goals truly aligned with his.

And whether he wanted to ruin his brother’s entire plan.