“Halt!” a male's voice calls out from behind us, and we all instinctively glance over our shoulder just as those same guards now march after us with determination.
Deimos' father stands up. He's not being apprehended, he is brushing down his coat and sneering in our direction.
“Take her!” he growls. “She is an assassin! She killed King Tibout!” Seconds later, he darts down a corridor.
What the fuck?
“No!” I recoil. “That's not true.”
When Deimos nudges me aside to take a protective step in front of me, I stumble against the mage, both of us teetering while the fairy in the cage goes crazy. Ramond pushes the cage with the fairy into my arms and turns to face the onslaught. Already I can feel the prickle of magic in the air.
The guards slam into Deimos and Ramond, the momentum sending them all crashing against the white doors, creating a tremendous boom. Who the hell are these guards to attack a prince?
A massive man in uniform cracks his neck, straightens his clothes, and saunters toward me with the promise of retribution.
Oh, fuck!
Chapter 18
Ahren
A thunderous boom escapes from behind the doors leading into the main hall, cutting off Luther from his ridiculous singing. A ritual he insists that comes from historic books. I'm not sure if I want to laugh or kick his ass for making a fool of himself in front of everyone.
He sounds like a dying animal. At least the noise has given us a reprieve.
But when the boom doesn't come again, Luther howls another rendition, standing in the middle of the passage that divides the guests into two groups.
Mother glares at me, shaking her head, her perfectly styled white hair bouncing over her shoulders. I hate to see that amount of distress twisting her expression, especially in front of our guests.
"What is he doing?" she hisses.
I know he’s stalling, but I can't even begin to understand why. My new bride still hasn't arrived, which I'm guessing is also due to Luther's influence in trying to delay the inevitable.
The great hall is elaborately decorated for the grand wedding of the century. Floral arrangements adorn the white walls, golden vines curl around the marble pillars, while the perfectly white rug that runs down the length of the room is bunched up under Luther where he keeps shuffling about like a madman.
The council members sitting to my right are furious, shifting about, while the guests are more shocked than entertained. The sunlight pouring in from the windows clearly shows every disgruntled face... mostly those from the bride's family.
"This madness is enough," Mother groans in my ear. "End this now before we become the laughingstock of the realm."
I clear my throat, stand from the throne, and march over to my brother, who's swinging his hands wildly in song about getting drunk before a wedding. He's even coaxed one of his guards to participate with him, who keeps beat by clapping.
We have a great band of talented musicians in the corner who can do nothing but stare on in bewilderment.
Stepping down from the platform where my bride will join me—if she ever arrives—I approach my brother.
He senses me and turns to meet my gaze. The look he gives me is one of pleading for me to back off. In his eyes, I see how hard this must be for him, how he is pushing through this, not for himself… So that means it’s for Guendolyn.
Of course that’s what this is about. What the hell are they up to? I’m torn, because I want to humor Luther another moment longer to find out where it’s going, but the tension in the room is about to explode.
Abruptly, the two doors into the hall burst open, one of them breaking off its hinges, wood splintering everywhere.
Someone screams as two bloodied and bruised guards roll into the room, coming to a stop at the line where the seats begin. They don’t move.
The crowd breaks into hysteria, several women yelling with shock.
Deimos strolls into the hall with a bloody lip, his double-breasted doublet ripped at his throat. He's not even dressed in wedding attire. One of the mages he knows, Ramond, joins him, also looking roughed-up with messed up hair, a bruise under his eye, and his necklace sitting over his shoulder.
Behind them enters Guendolyn, carrying a large cage with a fairy fluttering around crazily inside. She looks around sheepish, scanning the enormous room filled with people. When I look outside the room and into the hallway, I find more guards laying on the floor, bloodied and unmoving. Why would the guards fight with Deimos?
I move forward, my heart banging in my ears, waiting for this to somehow make sense. Is this another joke to delay the wedding even further? Fury collects in my chest. This wedding is hard enough as it is; I just need to get it over with. This foolishness ends now.
"What the hell is going on?” I demand.
“Is this no longer a wedding, but a freak carnival?" one of the older council members calls out from behind me.
I stiffen as guards from the room close in on either side of Guendolyn and the mage, then I spot my father slipping into the room, sliding in behind the crowd like he’s running late.
“Deimos, what the hell are you doing?” I call out, confused and frustrated. I don't fucking want to marry a stranger, but the throne must be mine to save our family.
My brothers know this.
“Ahren,” Deimos begins and Luther steps aside. It seems his part in this ridiculous charade is over. “Before the marriage commences, crucial information has come to light.” He wipes the blood from his lip. “King Tibout has a child who is the actual rightful heir to the throne.”
The whole room falls silent, and I'm not sure I heard him right. I tense, leaning forward slightly. “What are you saying, brother?” I snarl. What is he doing?
I
