Page 11 of Only Flames Remain

“Anything,” I replied honestly. Desperately.

Her returning smile sent a shiver down my spine, one that I couldn’t hide from her watchful gaze. Her smile transformed into a grin that trapped my breath in my chest.

“I was hoping you would say that.”

She took a step forward, then another. She was standing right before me now, only a breath of distance between us as I glanced up.

“What do you require of me?” I asked, trying my best to not let my voice waver. To not show any weakness before her.

“You are but a feeble human, so this task might prove impossible. But should you succeed, should you complete this task and return to Myros, I will no longer stand in your way.”

I tried to inhale, but my chest was too tight. My nails dug into the comforter beneath me as she opened her mouth once more, the hair on my arms raised. Whatever it was…it was going to be impossible. Queen Dyata would rather send me to my death then send me on a mission I might ever truly succeed in. Especially when the prize was her beloved son.

“As you may have heard, King Faris and Kallias plan to take matters into their own hands after today’s incident.” I nodded, keeping my mouth carefully sealed shut. “I can’t have that, and I imagine it isn’t what you want, either. Kallias in the path of danger. After seeing those dragons up close and personal…well, anyone would be a fool to march against them with merely a sword.”

I swallowed hard, anxiety choking me.

“Your task is this. You will cross the Saltale Sea and infiltrate the palace of Gothryn. You will seduce their bastard heir, Sorin Blackwater. You will steal his dagger, and you will murder him. Then, and only then, can you return home.”

CHAPTER 4

Sorin

That was the most fun I’d had since we had stormed into that brothel in Scaldryn to find our youngest brother, Valerian, with a woman twice his age. The expression on that sniveling Prince Kallias Ashbourne, standing at the gates of the palace with his father, King Faris, by his side—it was a face worth remembering.

Maybe they would think twice before sending Gothryn a set of terms. As if they had the upper hand in this negotiation. As if my brothers and I couldn’t bring war straight to their doorstep. Between Valerian, Emrys, and myself, we could likely defeat the entirety of King Faris’s army. With King Mavros and the rest of the Shadowed Order? Easy.

Almost too easy.

The only reason we hadn’t initiated war to begin with was because my father was already growing weak, victim to an illness even our most practiced healer couldn’t identify. He should have lived another few centuries, but it wasn’t looking promising if a cure could not be found.

Vireth fae might live long lives, but not as long as the Veytari. Vireth were lucky if we saw ten centuries, where Veytari lifespans were easily double that. It was part of the curse the god of death, Mordecai, inflicted upon us. If we didn’t drink blood, we would grow weak and die. Even with it still, our lifespan was far reduced compared to our kin in the east.

Vireth and Veytari aged physically at the same speed, the only grace Mordecai’s curse permitted. We aged to our thirties similarly to humans, then the physical aging vastly slowed for both the Vireth and Veytari, where for humans it did not.

Humans had their place in Gothryn as feeders and servants, but as time passed there were fewer and fewer of them remaining. It’s true that Vireth can survive off fae, human, and animal blood alike beneath Mordecai’s curse, but we had always craved the taste of human blood most of all.

The fact that Myros thought they could demand we marry off the first princess born to our bloodline to unite our kingdoms was preposterous. They hated Vireth as much as we hated Veytari, so what were they playing at? It was laughable that King Faris Ashbourne thought he could make any demands of us, let alone a claim against the Blackwater bloodline.

Emrys slapped me across the back as we stormed toward the throne room doors. The dark wood was nearly black with age, framed by pale carved stone that curled around them, twisting as if they were frozen flames. Delicate vine work traced the arch above the doors, two torches burning on either side. The amber light flickered over the faces of the guards as they pulled the ornate obsidian doors wide to allow us to pass through.

The Gothryn castle was cast in shadow as the sun made its slow ascent beyond the horizon. The only light to see by was the torches lining the stone corridor of the throne room. Valerian trudged behind us, his mind elsewhere. Valerian didn’t understand the importance of what we had done today. That we needed to put Myros in their place but not wage war just yet.

Not until I took the throne, at least.

The throne room stretched wide, vast cathedral ceilings carved from bleached stone and steeped in shadows. Towering columns rose in graceful arches, their surfaces etched with the Blackwater dragon crest. A long runner of deep blue and silver cut through the polished floor, drawing the eye to the arched windows beyond the two thrones that sat atop the dais.

Banners in the Blackwater navy adorned the walls, a grand chandelier overhead offering flickering candlelight. Lit pillar candles swathed the steps of the dais before the king and queen.

The hall was empty, every footstep an echo as we approached the raised dais.

Emrys’s gaze held a mischievous glint as he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He had wanted to lead the charge today, and it had been him who had set flame to Majur. Father had instructed us to merely scare them, not to attack.

I knew deep down that Emrys would never stop challenging me.

Never.

Not even when I sat on the throne.