“Have your parents arrived, Gray?” Alaric inquired, inclining his head towards his friend.

  “Yes,” he grumbled, his expression displaying his displeasure at the fact.

  Kerensa choked on a laugh.

  “You haven’t seen them yet?” Alaric raised a brow.

  Gray sighed heavily. “Eloisa keeps telling me I won’t be able to avoid them forever. I’m still hoping I can drag it out until they leave for Anulia again.”

  Alaric chortled, “Good luck in that endeavour, my friend.”

  Gray rolled his eyes at both Alaric and Kerensa, who was now grinning mockingly at him.

  “Cousin!” The shout came from ahead of them, and Gray’s head snapped up at the voice.

  Alaric looked over to see Florian Zarin swaggering his way to them. He was clad in the deep orange colours of House Zarin, almost flaunting them in the company of Gray.

  Alaric glanced at Gray and remarked that his face had gone red with anger, green eyes narrowed. “Can I help you, Florian?” he ground out.

  Florian stopped before their little group, his russet gaze sweeping over his cousin and Alaric before landing on Kerensa. He tightened his hold on her arm as Florian studied her from head to toe. Alaric stepped ever so slightly in front of her, causing a smirk to curve Florian’s thin lips. That’s when he finally deigned to acknowledge him, sweeping into a bow. “Your Highness,” he drawled dramatically. “Your Lady, I presume?” He gestured to Kerensa.

  “Indeed, Florian,” Alaric said, voice clipped.

  “I’ll try to keep my hands to myself then,” Florian affirmed slyly.

  How generous of you to indulge us, Alaric thought to himself, frowning.

  Florian turned to Gray. “It is unfortunate that you haven’t been able to find time to visit your family in the city. Your… position keeps you busy, hm?” His words reeked of disdain.

  Gray stood a little taller. “Serving our king is an honourable duty, cousin. My first concern will always be that of the Crown Prince’s safety, of which it is my job to ensure.”

  “I would never deny the credibility of your duty, as you say. I only wish you would have thought of your duty to our family and House first,” Florian enunciated diligently, the corners of his mouth tugging down.

  “It worked out well for you in the end, though, didn’t it, cousin?” Gray spat.

  Florian smiled viciously. “Indisputably, it did. And I believe all my thanks is owed to you, dear cousin.” He looked each of them over before adding, “As fun as this was, I regret to say I have somewhere to be at this time.” He bowed his golden head to Alaric, shooting a wink in Kerensa’s direction. She grimaced harshly in return, and Alaric had to fight the grin that threatened at her obvious rejection.

  Florian strolled past them, and they all let out a collective breath.

  “That’s your cousin?” Kerensa exclaimed in Gray’s direction. He nodded solemnly and she whistled. “That’s got to be rough.”

  “Try growing up with him always lurking around,” Gray guffawed. “He’s a nightmare.”

  Alaric nodded and looked at Kerensa. “Florian was always one to ingratiate himself with nobles, and frequently the one who spoiled our fun,” he explained, reaching over to nudge Gray’s shoulder.

  Gray laughed. “One time, we had snatched plates of armour from the barracks and were in the midst of fitting into the pieces when Florian found us and immediately began lecturing us, specifically me, on gods knew what. And then this one,”—he jabbed his thumb at Alaric—“started banging on the metal plates as loud as he could, drowning Florian out. Of course, I join in, and the sound became so deafening that Florian had no choice but to cover his ears and run out, screaming like a little girl.” Both Gray and Alaric erupted in laughter at the memory.

  Once Alaric was able to regain his composure, he recounted, “One of our favourite games as kids was hide and seek, and we made up many versions of it—mostly just between the two of us, though Ambria was able to partake on occasion, too. There was this one adaptation we invented with the goal of surprising and frightening a noble. A common target, of course,” he went on, grinning widely, “was Florian. The number of times we were able to trick him… Oh, it was glorious revenge for all the times he ruined our other antics.”

  “I have to imagine that this place was absolute chaos when the two of you joined forces,” Kerensa commented with light exasperation.

  The two of them traded turns rehashing the ridiculous escapades they’d committed to Kerensa, until soon enough she was howling right along with them.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Today was the day.

  Alaric wrung his hands outside the great hall filled with nobles of the highest class. He was resplendent in a white tunic embroidered in green and light gray slacks lined with pale purple. He’d wished to forgo the crown, but his father had insisted.

  The king was in there already, seated at the front, no doubt. Where he would be able to ensure no deceit came into play.

  But Alaric was left with nothing up his sleeves.

  He heard the fanfare pick up, cueing his entrance. Letting out a deep breath, he looked up to pray to any gods listening before he promenaded down the aisle that was set up between rows of guests, distinctly aware of the hundreds of eyes on him. He took another breath and tried to ease the tension in his shoulders, the attention familiar to him, though different this time. It didn’t take long for his strides to bring him to the altar set up on a raised dais. Climbing the steps, he turned back to the doors that were swung open at the end of the hall, folding his hands behind his back to hide their trembling.

  In the blink of an eye, she appeared, stealing his breath at a moment’s notice.

  Kerensa’s dress was alarmingly white, befitting the bride of a prince. The skirt swelled outwards, the bodice was strapless, and everything was covered in a layer of white lace. Her hair was arranged in an elegant braid that trailed all the way down her spine, and on top of her head lay a modest silver and pearl coronet that held her extensive veil in place.

  Traditionally, the mother and father would walk the bride down the aisle. Kerensa walked alone.

  Alaric had never seen her more terrified.

  She inched down the aisle, and Alaric knew she was mustering up as much grace and poise that she could in front of the court witnesses. The veil that followed in her wake stretched more than a dozen feet. He met her at the base of the raised platform, extending his hand to help her up the steps. For once, she accepted his assistance gratefully.

  “You know, I’m less nervous now that you’re here,” he leaned in to murmur in her ear.

  She honored him with one of those dazzling smiles she so rarely wore. “Me too.”

  He led her up to the altar. “And have I mentioned how stunning you look?”

  “You look very charming yourself, Prince.”

  When they reached the notary, he motioned for them to face each other and take one another’s hands, then invited the onlookers to take their seats. “We offer thanks to those who have come to bear witness to the union of High House Bernthal and the Empire of Cebrev within the Na'labesc family through these individuals, Prince Alaric Bernthal and Lady Kerensa Na'labesc,” the notary said, opening his arms to encompass the room. He babbled on a while longer about purity and the gods’ blessings, but Alaric found his attention rapt by the woman in front of him.

  To think that they’d met only three months ago. He still saw the fire in her copper eyes that had been there that first day even though so much had changed between them since. Against all odds, they’d each come to rely on the other in such a way that couldn’t be broken easily. He cared about her in a way he’d never thought he would have been able to with anyone.

  Noticing something glinting on her collarbone, he glanced down to see that she still carried the necklace that replicated the Ravyn Shield around her neck.

  Alaric dialed back into the notary’s ceremony. “Now, you will each take vows to each other. Repeat after me, Your Highness.” The notary cleared his throat. “I, Prince Alaric Bernthal, take you, Lady Kerensa Na'labesc, to be my wife. I vow from this day forth to cherish you, to protect you, and to maintain you, for better or for worse, until death does us part.”

  Kerensa squeezed his fingers, a small, understanding smile gracing her lips. The words flowed from his mouth as he looked deep into her eyes, making sure that she knew he was making those promises to keep them. “… for better or for worse, until death does us part,” he finished.

  “And now you, milady,” the notary spoke, angling to Kerensa. “I, Lady Kerensa Na'labesc, take you, Prince Alaric Bernthal, to be my husband. I vow from this day forth to comfort you, to obey you, and to support you, for better or for worse, until death does us part.”

  Alaric saw the glint of hesitation that graced her face. He squeezed her fingers in encouragement and lenient sympathy. She pledged the vows out loud, never breaking his stare. He watched the sparks in her gaze snuff out with every word.

  “And to seal this union,” the notary declared, stepping aside, “a shared kiss between these beloved.”

  Alaric felt his heart pick up speed. Calm down. She’d kissed him before—surely this was no different.

  They leaned in.

  He heard the whistle of wind and saw the gleam of silver flying for Kerensa before anyone else. He yanked her against his body just before the dagger whizzed past, slicing through her braid instead of her neck, and thudding into the heart of the notary.

  For a moment, the world stopped breathing, and the only thing that mattered was Kerensa encircled in his arms, two hearts pounding in synchronization. That moment ended when suddenly all the windows in the great hall shattered at once.

  Alaric dropped to the floor, pulling Kerensa’s small body underneath his own. Bits of glass rained down around them like snow, slowly coming to a halt. Alaric looked up to observe the scene, trying to discern an enemy.

  What he saw was chaos. Courtiers were screaming and shoving past each other to exit the hall. The king was nowhere to be seen, most likely already having been evacuated from the scene. Guards all around the room were battling attackers cloaked in varying shades of dark colours who swarmed in through the broken windows.

  Bodies fell much like the glass just seconds ago, guards and nobles alike strewn about. He turned his head to the altar and identified the dead body of the notary, the dagger still protruding from his heart.

  “Alaric,” came Kerensa’s small voice from under him, “what’s going on?”

  “Farrador Castle is under attack. The offenders are cloaked, so I can’t see much. We have to get out of here, though,” he told her quietly, though loud enough so she could hear over the clash of metal.

  “Let me up,” she requested. He obliged, crouching so as not to draw much attention their way.

  Kerensa scanned the hall, studying the struggle between attackers and defenders with a sharp eye. He saw realization dawn on her face, one hand drifting to her throat. She twisted back to him. “It’s the—ALARIC!” Her scream tangled with his cry of agony as an arrow struck him in the chest, just inches below his heart. The force of the blow knocked him back against the crumbling altar, and he sank to his knees, his body supported by the wall.

  Kerensa scrambled to his side, fingers hesitating over the arrow shaft. “If I pull it out, there will be too much blood,” she stammered. Alaric groaned in response, the pain blurring his vision momentarily. She pressed her hands on the wound around the arrow, attempting to stanch the blood leaking from his chest as much as possible.

  “Your… dress…” Alaric choked out between panting breaths. A pool of blood was forming around them—his blood—and Kerensa’s no-longer-white gown was drenched in it.

  “Your life is more important than a stupid dress,” she snapped at him. “Don’t worry, I hate this thing anyway.”

  Slowly, the blood ebbed its flow and his breathing evened out bit by bit.

  Kerensa looked around again. She took his hands and placed them over his wound, applying steady pressure. “Keep them there.” She then took the Ravyn Shield looped around her neck and lifted it over her head. Kerensa fastened the chain around Alaric’s neck. “Never take this off,” she said, tapping the jewelry. “Don’t show it to anyone. Keep it safe.” The piece began to glow, resting against his chest.

  He grabbed her arm with less than his usual strength. “What are you doing?” he rushed out.

  “It’s me they’re after. I have to stop this.”

  “Who is after you?”

  “Witches.”

  “What?” He looked at her incredulously.

  “That night I was found in my room with a knife wound? It was a witch. She came in from my balcony and tried to take the necklace.” She pointed to the pendant that glowed near his collarbone. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but there was a huge flash of light, then she stabbed me and left. She warned me that they’d come. Her sisters.” Kerensa gestured to the great hall in disarray.

  Alaric’s eyes widened. “This is the real one then. The Ravyn Shield forged by Rianna.”

  She nodded, face dismal.

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  Her chin tucked downward as she avoided his gaze. “I thought the less you knew, the safer you’d be,” she admitted quietly.

  “What about your safety?” he countered, tilting her head up with a finger.

  Her bottom lip quivered, and he watched his thumb land there, soothing the tremor in an instant. “No one’s ever cared about my safety.”

  Suddenly, three cloaked witches appeared behind Kerensa, grabbing her by the arms and lifted her to her feet.

  “Kerensa!” Alaric reached out, gripping her hand with everything he had left.

  Tears were streaming down her face. “Ric, let go.”

  “No! I won’t let them take you.” He shook his head vehemently, desperation getting the better of him. “I can’t lose you.”

  “Too late, princeling.” One of the witches threw back her hood, revealing long brown hair and an angular face. “We promise to leave her mostly unharmed. She’ll at least be in one piece when you see her again.” The witch winked at him, cackling.

  Terror for Kerensa crashed into him, wave after wave. No, no, no, no, no. I can’t let this happen.

  “Hush him already, Circe. It’s time to get out of here,” urged the witch behind Kerensa.

  “All right, all right.” The witch named Circe knelt down beside him, reaching into her cloak. “Night, night, Your Highness.” Red dust spiralled from her palm and into his face.

  Alaric coughed as he inhaled some of the powder. Immediately, his eyes began to droop, and he felt himself slipping away into unconsciousness. “No… Kerensa…” he mumbled, grasping only air.

  He thought he heard her cry out his name before the darkness consumed him.

  Part Four

  † ~ †

  The Price of Failure

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Shards of glass fell to the ground as cloaked figures poured into the great hall. Everyone erupted into action at once, royal guards rushing forward to engage the attackers as the court nobles screamed and shuffled aggressively to the exit, shoving over anyone who got in their way.

  Mateo knelt from his place on the ground between a row of pews. He glanced to Ambria crouched next to him, purple eyes afraid. Blood leaked from a cut on her cheek.

  He took her hand, searching her face. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said shortly, blinking rapidly. Bri tugged on his hand. “Come on, we need to get out with everyone else.”

  Mateo nodded. Together, they stood, keeping a tight grip on each other’s hand. They joined the frantic flow of courtiers heading away from the ongoing battle. Bri and Mateo were pushed and shoved in the fray, their hands eventually forced apart. Ambria cast a desperate look at him as she was swept away in the crowd.

  “I’ll be right behind you!” he shouted to her over the din. He watched his wife disappear from his view, helpless to reach her.

  “ALARIC!”

  Mateo turned in the direction of the scream, towards the altar. He fought his way out of the flocking court, unsheathing the broadsword at his hip when he was finally free of the crush of bodies. Looking to the back of the room, he saw the Crown Prince and his bride huddled in a pool of blood. Mateo started to them but was confronted by one of the hooded attackers.

  They slashed with their own sword, and Mateo brought his up to block. He feigned left on the offensive and clipped their shoulder. They yelped and jumped back, hood falling to reveal feminine features.

  The enchanting aura surrounding her could only be explained by one thing. Witch.

  With renewed vigor, Mateo charged at her and swung his sword at her throat. Blue blood spurted and she collapsed to the floor, dead.

  He took in the fight happening all around him, witches against royal guards, spotting only a few familiar faces. He heard a bellow to his left, where Gray fought to make his way to Alaric and Kerensa.

  Mateo ran over and joined his battle. “I have to make it to the prince!” Gray exclaimed, clashing with a growling witch.

  “I have your back,” he assured the lieutenant, engaging an approaching Ravyn. The witch dodged the swing of his sword, lunging to clip Mateo’s unprotected left side. He twisted out of the way just in time, the witch’s longsword slicing only air. The Ravyn was thrown off balance for the span of a second before she managed to regain her footing. An arrow whizzed by to his right, narrowly missing Mateo’s head. He felt the burn of pain as the tip of the arrow grazed his ear, warmth dripping down the side of his head.

  Ambria is going to kill me.

  The witch Mateo had been battling sprung for him again, but Gray interjected her attack, shoving her off kilter before he drove his sword through her heart. Blue and red blood intertwined as it trickled to the porcelain floor of the great hall.