Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Alastir led me to a room I’d never been in before on the other side of the keep from the banquet hall. I knew Casteel was likely inside, simply given that the doors were guarded. The moment the doors swung open, the musty scent that hit me sparked joy in my heart.

Books.

Rows and rows of books.

I walked forward in a daze, barely aware of Alastir speaking, and completely unaware of anything else but the possibilities awaiting behind the thick and narrow, multicolored spines. I moved forward as if compelled—

An arm snagged me around the waist. I swallowed a squeak of surprise as I was pulled down. For the second time, I found myself in Casteel’s lap.

So focused on the books, I hadn’t even seen him sitting on the settee I’d walked past. I twisted toward him, ignoring the jump in my pulse as heavy, hooded, amber eyes met mine. “Was that necessary?”

“Always,” he replied, his arms loose around me as several men filed out of the room, their gazes trained forward as if they didn’t dare look in my direction.

The door clicked shut, leaving only Kieran behind, sitting in an armchair with his feet propped up on a cedar chest. I started to pull free of Casteel. I didn’t make it very far.

His arms tightened. “How was your talk with Alastir?”

“It was okay,” I said, immediately thinking of the woman Casteel had been engaged to. Shea. I wanted to ask about her. I wanted to know what’d happened. I wanted to know why he’d never mentioned her, even though I understood there had been no reason for him to bring her up with me. We’d once been friends. Or at least I’d believed so. Though that was also when I’d thought we could be more. But that was before I learned the truth. And even though we’d entered into this arrangement, I wasn’t…well, I wasn’t important to him in the way where he would share secrets.

But is that true? A voice whispered in the back of my mind. Casteel had shared with me what had been done to him while he’d been the Ascended’s prisoner. He hadn’t opened up with Alastir, the father of his once fiancée. What, if anything, did that mean? Either way, discussing the woman he’d once planned to marry for no other reason but that he loved her felt too…intimate. Like it was something true lovers would do.

And that was not us.

Alastir would have to pin his hopes on someone else.

“Just okay?” One dark brow rose.

An inexplicable heaviness settled in my chest as I nodded.

“He should be more detailed in his questioning,” Kieran commented. “Should we be worried that Alastir is going to attempt to whisk you off?”

I shot him an arch look. “Why would you think that?”

“Because we both know what kind of man Alastir is,” Casteel said, drawing my attention back to him. “He’s probably worried that you’re being forced into this marriage and likely offered you his aid in escape.”

“You offered me a choice last night. If I didn’t agree to the marriage, you wouldn’t force me. We came to an agreement,” I reminded him. “If I accepted Alastir’s offer, would I be sitting here?”

“I suppose not.” He watched me through half-lowered lashes. “Or, you could be waiting for when I least expect it. Though just so you know, I always expect you to do the unexpected.”

My brows knitted. “You sound paranoid.”

“As if I don’t have a reason?”

“I’m offended that you think I’d go back on my word. I agreed, Your Highness.” I smiled when I saw his jaw flex. “Alastir did offer his aid. I turned it down.”

A moment passed. “Then I apologize for being paranoid, Princess.”

I snorted. “Sure, you do.”

“Now I’m offended that you doubt my sincerity.”

I rolled my eyes. “I do have questions for you. Ones more important than what Alastir and I discussed.”

“You have questions?” Mock surprise filled Kieran’s tone. “I’m utterly shocked.”

“I’m an open book,” Casteel replied. “What would you like to know?”

An open book? Unlikely. “What plans does your father have?”

Casteel leaned into the cream-hued settee, looking impossibly at ease. “My father has many plans, Poppy.” His gaze drifted over my face. In the back of my mind, I realized that he hadn’t once called me Poppy while in front of Alastir. “But if they include you, those plans will swiftly become nothing but figments of the imagination.”

“It sounded like I was what made your activities fruitful.”

“Don’t worry about my father,” Casteel said, lifting his hand from my hip. He drew his thumb across my lower lip, causing an unwanted flutter in my chest. “He has bigger concerns right now than you.”

My eyes narrowed as I caught his wrist. “Like the lack of land issue?” I pulled his hand away.

His eyes deepened to a warm amber. “I’m sure that is taking up much of his time, but he won’t risk damaging his relationship with me to take any action against you.”

I wanted to believe that. Getting back to Ian depended on me staying alive and in one piece. Being a part of the King’s plan probably wouldn’t bode well for me remaining whole and hearty.

Especially given that the scheme probably included sending me back to the capital of Solis in pieces.

“I think you forgot to tell me something,” I told him.

His brows rose. “I’m going to need more detail than that.”

“Why? Because there’s a lot of things you haven’t told me?”

“A man must have his secrets. Isn’t that part of the allure?”

Struggling for patience, I tried to count to ten. I made it to three. “Your secrets are the exact opposite of alluring. If there was an anti-allure potion, it would be exactly that.”

“Damn,” he murmured, eyes gleaming.

“Are you expected to become King upon your return?” I demanded. “Is that what’s expected of you?”

The amusement faded from his eyes. “One of them. A King and Queen can only rule Atlantia for four hundred years. It’s designed that way so change can occur. If a child of theirs doesn’t assume the throne, then anyone can come forward and challenge for it. My parents’ reign has extended beyond the timeframe. And because they don’t believe Malik will return, they feel it is time for me to take on the role.”

“Has anyone challenged the throne?”

“As far as I know, no.”

But how would he know since he hadn’t been home in years? “Did you not think it would be a good idea to tell me?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh, my gods,” I started.

“Mainly because I knew it would freak you out,” he added.

“Like right now,” Kieran murmured.

“No one asked for your two cents,” I snapped, and the wolven chuckled. I turned my glare back on Casteel. “Whether or not it would freak me out, I needed to know that—”

“It changes nothing,” he cut in. “Just because my parents believe it is time for me to take the throne doesn’t mean I have to or will. They cannot force me. My brother is the true heir to the Atlantian throne. Not me. And he will take his seat once I free him.”

Pressing my lips together, I glanced at Kieran to gauge his reaction to what Casteel had said, but he stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. I doubted my senses would tell me anything more, but I knew that Casteel fully intended to save his brother. He didn’t want to be King, even if it was past the time for a new one to be crowned. With that said, becoming Queen was not something I had to worry about. I started to stand.

Casteel’s arm tightened. “Where are you going? I was so very comfortable with you in my lap.”

“I’m sure you were, but there’s no audience.”

“What about me?” Kieran asked. “I’m still here.”

“You don’t count.”

“Ouch,” he murmured.

“But we’re not in private, Princess. Wasn’t that the deal you made? In public, you wouldn’t fight me?”

My eyes narrowed. “There is no one else in this room. The doors are closed, and the deal we made didn’t include sitting in your lap.”

“I know.” He sucked his plump lower lip between his teeth, exposing the edges of his fangs. “But I really enjoy it.”

Muscles curled low in my stomach, and I really didn’t care for how my body responded to his heated stare, and the glimpse of those fangs. It answered with a heady flush that I could only hope wasn’t as visible as it felt. It also called forth a sharp, intense throbbing that settled in an area that made me want to squeeze my legs together. And I really hated the knowledge that he knew exactly how I responded to him. I let go of his wrist. “I don’t care if you enjoy it.”

“Lies,” he murmured, tucking back my hair. “You enjoyed it, too.”

“But do you know what I enjoyed more?” I leaned in, seeing the surprise flare in his eyes that quickly gave way to heat.

That lazy, half-hooded gaze returned. “I have a few ideas.”

“I enjoyed throwing the knife at you and making you bleed,” I said, jerking my head back from his touch. This time when I stood, he didn’t stop me.

Casteel laughed, lowering his hand to the arm of the chair. “That was one of my ideas.”

“You two are more convincing now than you were during the whole time with Alastir,” Kieran commented. “And if you can’t convince Alastir that you’re so in love with each other that he’s forgotten his decades-long search for his brother, and you have forgiven his plans to ransom you, then there is no way you’ll convince the King. And especially not your mother.”

Unfortunately, Kieran had a point. “Alastir doesn’t believe us. He didn’t say that outright, but I could that tell he has serious doubts. He probably thinks I’m infatuated with you, and you’re just using me.”

A slow grin spread across Casteel’s face, barely halting when he saw the look I gave him. His eyes still glimmered. “We’ll just have to try harder then, won’t we?”

I folded my arms. “How can anyone really believe us when I asked if you were out of your mind just a few nights ago?”

“A lot can happen in a few nights, Poppy. Especially with me.”

“Your arrogance never ceases to amaze me,” I muttered.

Casteel ignored that. “I think he will believe us. We have time to convince him, but now I’m sure I need to reassure him before he leaves to check the roads.” Casteel rose.

“Reassure him of what?”

“He can be…sensitive. Therefore, I need to reassure him that I won’t have him killed before we leave here,” he replied, and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “Would you like to stay in here for a while? There’s a lot of books. None as interesting as Miss Willa’s diary, though.”

That damn diary.

“I would like to stay here,” I said.

Casteel glanced at Kieran, who said, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Do you all really think I’m in that much danger? Word of our engagement must have spread through the keep by now.”

“I’m not taking any chances with you.” Casteel moved forward, touching my cheek just below the scar. “Thank you.”

“For what?” The touch of his fingertips was light, but a shiver still rolled through me.

“For choosing me.”

I spent the rest of the day in the library, taking a late lunch of soup by the crackling fireplace as I thumbed through the dusty pages of short tales meant for children, and old records of those who’d once lived in New Haven. As I moved from row to row, I didn’t think about what Alastir had told me or what awaited me once we left the keep. I lost myself to the freedom of being able to read any book I wanted. What I’d been allowed to read in Masadonia had been restricted to historical texts, and while Tawny often snuck far more interesting novels for me to enjoy, it was never enough.

Kieran was a quiet presence in the room, having picked up one of the books I’d discarded. I suspected that he was pleased with his task, only because I was too busy to ask him any questions.

It wasn’t until after I’d finished the bowl of stewed vegetables and scoured all the shelves, except for the bottom row behind a large oak desk, that I found a text of particular interest. It was a thin novel, bound in gold-dyed leather, halfway hidden behind the numerous, thick records, the gold smothered in dirt. I pulled it out, coughing as a cloud of dust plumed.

“Please don’t die,” Kieran commented from where he sat. “Casteel would be most displeased.”

Ignoring him, I wiped off the cover as I carried the book to the desk. I cracked it open, flipping through blank parchment faded to a dull yellow. I stopped when I saw the date. The gold-bound book was another set of records, but one far older than the rest. It was dated at least eight hundred years ago.

Turning the pages, I read through birth and death dates, occupations and house numbers, quickly noting that these records were very different. The span of years between the dates of birth and death caught my attention.

Hundreds of years.

These were records of the Atlantians who’d once lived in New Haven. The worn armchair creaked as I sat in it. Many of the names were illegible, the ink too faded, as were occupations. Some were easier to decipher. Baker. Stable Master. Blacksmith. Healer. Scholar. It was strange to see these common skills listed beside dates that suggested they’d lived ten or more mortal lifespans. But I supposed that when Atlantia ruled over the kingdom, many of them lived very ordinary long lives. There were occupations and words unfamiliar to me, ones I saw repeated under the column that listed jobs, and words often in parentheses near the names that I could read.

“What is a wivern?” I asked, unsure if I’d pronounced it correctly.

“What?” Kieran looked up from the book that rested in his lap.

“I found records from when Atlantians lived here,” I told him. “The word wivern appears frequently.”

Kieran drew his legs off the chest and rose, placing his book where his feet were. He came to stand by my shoulder. “Where?”

“See?” I tapped a finger below the faded black ink. “There are words I don’t recognize. Like here.” I drew my finger down. “Ceeren.”

“Hell.” Kieran leaned forward, turning the pages back to the title page. “It’s Atlantian records.”

I arched a brow. “That’s what I said.”

“I’m surprised this remained here all these years.” He flipped back to the page I’d been looking at.

“It was behind a couple of other records and covered in dust. It must’ve been forgotten.”

“Definitely forgotten. The Ascended destroyed any and all records of the Atlantians who once lived here. No matter how inconsequential as a census.”

“So, what does wivern mean?”

“A wivern was an Atlantian bloodline that was killed off during the war,” he explained. “They too were of two worlds, mortal and animal.”

“Like the wolven and changelings?”

He nodded. “Except the wivern could take the form of cats larger than those that roam the caves in the Wastelands. Here. Draken?” His arm brushed mine as he moved closer to point out a place farther down the page.

Air hissed out of Kieran’s clenched teeth as he jerked back his arm. I turned, finding him standing several feet from me.

I lifted my brows, thinking that was a bit of an overreaction to his arm touching mine. “You okay?”

He stared at me, eyes wider than I’d ever seen before, but bright in an unnatural way. “You didn’t feel that?”

“You touched my arm. That’s all I felt.” I watched him rub his arm. “What did you feel?”

“A shock,” he said. “Like being struck by lightning.”

“Have you’ve been struck by lightning before?”

“No. It’s a figure of speech.” He glanced at the door before those too-bright eyes settled on me. “You really didn’t feel that?”

I shook my head. “Maybe it was like that static charge you get when dragging your feet over the carpet.” A faint smile tugged at my lips. “I used to do that all the time to Ian.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me.” Kieran lowered his hand. “The Prince is coming.”

I opened my mouth, but the door opened a heartbeat later. Was Kieran’s hearing that good?

Casteel strode in, his hair swept back from his face, and it was like all the air had been sucked out, and the library suddenly became three sizes smaller. It was simply him, his mere presence immediately taking over the space.

He glanced between Kieran and me. “You two look like you’re having fun.”

Based on the way Kieran still looked as if he’d seen a spirit, I doubted it.

“I found a book of records from when the Atlantians lived here.” I picked up the book.

“Sounds real fun,” Casteel drawled.

“Perfect timing.” Kieran’s expression smoothed out. “Your fiancée has questions.”

The way he said the word fiancée made me want to throw the book at his head.

“Perhaps I have answers.” Casteel leaned against the desk. “And, yes, before you ask, you’re free to do as you please.”

“Thank the gods,” Kieran muttered, peeling himself away from the built-in bookshelves. He started toward the door. “Is all good with Alastir?”

Casteel nodded. “He and several of the men left to check the roads.”

“Good.” Kieran turned. “Have fun.”

I watched him close the door. “He’s acting weird.”

“Is that so?”

“He got a static shock from his arm brushing mine, and he behaved as if I’d done it on purpose.”

“You know how some electrical wiring can short out? Emit sparks or charges of energy?” When I nodded, he said, “Wolven can lose control over their forms if they come into contact with electricity, even at harmless levels. Sometimes, during a particularly bad lightning storm, they are often affected by it.”

“Oh. Well, then.” I paused. “He’s still weird.”

Casteel laughed, and the sound was deep and real and nice. “So, what did you have questions about?”

I looked up at him and wished I hadn’t. The words he spoke before leaving to speak with Alastir came back to me. Thank you for choosing me. I didn’t choose him, though. Not really.

Stomach fluttering nonetheless, I dragged my attention back to the book. “I found these words I didn’t understand. Kieran was just explaining that the wivern could shift into large cats, and he was about to tell me what a draken is.”

“Ah, this is an old book.” He leaned over, scanning the pages. The scent of woodsmoke mixed with his scent. “A draken was a powerful bloodline, one able to sprout wings as wide as a horse, and talons as sharp as a blade. They could fly. Some could even breathe fire.”

My chin snapped up, and I stared at him. “Like…like a dragon?”

Casteel nodded.

“I thought dragons were myths.” I remembered reading stories about them in the books I’d borrowed from the city’s library. Some even had drawings of the frightening beasts.

“Every myth is rooted in some fact,” he answered.

“If there were draken who could fly and breathe fire, how in the world could the Ascended even gain the upper hand against Atlantia?” I asked.

“Because the draken were basically gone before the first vampry was even made.” He picked up a strand of my hair and started to twist it around his finger. “If they had been there, nothing would remain of the Ascended but scorched earth.”

I shivered. “What do you mean by basically gone.”

“Well, my very curious Princess, legends state that many of the draken didn’t die. That they slumber with the gods or protect their resting places.”

“Are the legends true?”

He unraveled the strand of hair. “That, I cannot answer. I’ve never seen a draken, which is a shame. Would have loved to see one.”

“So would I,” I admitted, imagining that a draken would be a fierce but majestic sight.

Casteel was looking over the page as he spun my hair around his finger once more. “The ceeren were here? Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Why?” I snatched away my hair, pulling it free from his hand.

He pouted. “Because there is no sea or large body of water nearby. Ceeren were also of two worlds, part mortal and—”

“Water folk?” I whispered, heart lurching.

“I imagine some may have called them such. They would grow fins—not like a lamaea—” He grinned, and a hint of the dimple appeared. “Their fins were in the right places, but their bloodline also faded out before the war.”

Was it a coincidence that Ian had written a story about two children befriending some water folk? I’d thought it nothing more than a figment of his imagination. But maybe he had discovered the ceeren.

“How did they die?”

“There’s a lot of debate surrounding that one. Some of the older Atlantians say it’s because they fell into a depression once Saion went to sleep, losing their will to live. Others believe that through generations of intermingling with other bloodlines, there simply were no pure ceeren left.”

“I hope it was the latter,” I said, even though that was a weird thing to hope for. “Them dying off because of a god going to sleep is far too sad.”

“That it is.” Casteel turned the page. “You should find this interesting.” He dropped his finger to the middle of the page. “Senturion.”

I refocused. “What is that?”

“A general term for multiple, old bloodlines who were warriors born and not trained.” He placed his hand beside mine. “There were dozens at one time, each line marked by their own special talents that made them dangerous to face in combat. Many of the warrior lines died out hundreds of years before the Ascended.”

“How?”

“All kingdoms are built from blood. Atlantia is no different,” he explained. “The war that ended most of the warrior lines started with an uprising of elemental against the ruling line.”

Remembering what Kieran had told me, I said, “The…the deities?”

“Someone has been talking with you.”

“Kieran told me about some of them, but I don’t understand. He made it sound like the deities held unquestionable authority—that they were the children of the gods and created the elementals.”

“I’m sure Kieran would say that.” He snorted. “But, yes, they created the elementals and most of the warrior lines, but there always comes a time when the creation seeks to rise above the creator. The elementals and several of the other lines orchestrated a massacre, managing to kill several deities, which I imagine wasn’t entirely easy. A few of the warrior lines sided with the elementals, and some with the deities. The war didn’t last as long as it did with the Ascended, but it was far more destructive. In the end, nearly all the deities had been slain, entire bloodlines were gone, and a deity still maintained the throne until he was finally cast aside and killed—this time for reasons that went beyond my ancestors deciding they were better fit to rule.”

“And what was that?”

“I’ve already told you why, once before.” He inclined his head when I glanced up at him. “He created the first vampry.”

“King Malec? He was a deity?”

Casteel nodded.

Good gods, that meant that Casteel’s mother had been married to a deity? “Had he been alive since the beginning? Or was he a descendent of the line?”

“He was the child of two ancient deities.”

I gave a shake of my head, feeling as if my brain would implode. That didn’t stop me from asking more questions. “What kind of talents did these warriors have?”

The dimple deepened as he said, “Some were able to use the earth in battle—summon the wind or rain. They were of the primordial line. Others could call upon the souls of those who were slain by the one they fought. The one listed near the top?” His pinky brushed mine, sending a shock of energy I hadn’t felt when one had passed to Kieran. “Pryo? They could summon fire for their blades. Underneath that is one of the cimmerian line?”

His pinky slid over mine as I stared at the word written in ink too faded for my eyes. I nodded.

“They could call upon the night, blocking out the sun and leaving their foe blind to their movements.”

“All of that…all of that sounds too fantastical,” I admitted as his finger traced the line of mine, sending a wave of awareness through me.

“It would, but so are wolven to a lot of mortals.” He had a point there. “And I imagine so are empaths.”

“Empaths?”

“A warrior bloodline that died off shortly after the war, but these were even more unique, Poppy. The ones everyone dreaded to face in battle.” His fingers slid over mine, and I looked up at him. “They were favored by the deities, as they were the only ones who could do what the empaths could—read the emotions of others and then turn that into a weapon, amplifying pain or fear. Sending an army running before a sword was even lifted.”

My breath caught.

“This is the bloodline I believe you’re descended from, Poppy. Or at least what I’ve been thinking.” His hand returned to the desk. “Empath warriors. It’s the only one that makes sense. A few could’ve been lost in Solis, unable to return to Atlantia at the end of the war and therefore presumed dead. One of them at some point could’ve met a mortal, years and years later, or the child of two of them did, creating either the first generation that gave birth to you or—”

“Or one of my parents was…was an empath warrior.” Stunned, I was unable to move. “Did they have a certain eye color? Because I don’t have gold or hazel eyes.”

“No. Yours are the color of an Atlantian spring—of dew-kissed leaves.”

I blinked.

Casteel looked away, clearing his throat. “Anyway, the warrior bloodlines had no specific distinguishing traits.”

Then my mother or father could’ve been one, or the child of them. “Is it possible that Queen Ileana or King Jalara were so close to them and had not known?”

“It is possible. But they would have known what the Ascended were if they were an empath warrior.” Bracing his weight on his hand, Casteel dipped his head so we were almost at eye level. “So, I think they were first-generation. And like you, didn’t understand why they couldn’t sense emotions from the Ascended.”

“But I can’t use it as a weapon or anything like that.”

“The abilities change once mortal blood is introduced.” His gaze flickered over my face.”

“How did they die?” I asked, and then immediately realized the answer. “They couldn’t use their abilities against the Ascended, could they?”

“Either because they couldn’t sense emotion or didn’t know how to. They were still exceptional fighters. It would explain your almost natural talent with weapons.” His voice softened. “Bolder and braver than any of the other lines.”

My gaze fell to the faded ink. Empath warriors. Could it be that I was descended from a bloodline so powerful they could take out an army before a battle even began? One favored by the children of the gods? Could it be that I was a part of this bloodline? It sounded right. It felt like a final puzzle piece being found. It felt right. The corners of my lips tipped up, and I smiled.

“Beautiful,” Casteel whispered.

Startled, my eyes flew to his. The moment our gazes connected, I couldn’t look away. His head was so close to mine, his mouth even closer—close enough that if I tilted my head and leaned in an inch or two, our lips would touch. My heart started pounding. Did I want that? Did I not want that? I didn’t move to put space between us. My eyes began to drift closed—

Casteel moved back, his head turning to the door. He slid off the desk just as a fist sounded. “Come in.”

Naill entered, hand on his sword. “One of the watchers signaled that we have company, coming from the western roads.”

“Who?” Casteel demanded.

“The Ascended.”

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