Page 66 of A Touch of Shadows

Her father was old, her mother dead and her kingdom waiting for Queen Aeryn to have an heir. The Aurum needed her line. She had duties. Each time she took the vows of a new Paladin, the flames burning behind her, the light filling her, she knew people worried that she might be the last. The royal blood of Asteroth passed only through the female line. The Aurum awakened only when a queen sat on the throne, ignoring even its chosen Paladins and the maidens who tended it. Without her, there was no one.

It was only on the night of the wedding she realised she had made a terrible mistake. Her handsome prince became a beast the moment the vows were exchanged. There was no true love between them. He was of the line of Sidon, used to ruling, born to subjugate witches to the service of the Nox. And that was all she was to him. Another witch. Another uppity woman who didn’t know her place. He didn’t mean to be a consort, he told her. He had been born to be a king, but for the accident of being second born, and that was what he would be in this relationship. If she knew what was good for her she would make sure never to cross him, never to disobey him and never, ever to look at another.

Of course she told him what he could do with his demands. She told him in no uncertain terms, defiant and furious.

Evander hit her. No one had ever hit her before, not like that. She’d learned to fight, and in the training ground things happened. But this was different. The humiliation was so much worse. As she struggled up from the floor of their bridal chamber, still in her wedding finery, he opened his breeches, pulled out his dick and told her to get her mouth to work.

When she recoiled he had grabbed her by the throat and?—

The door had burst open and Roland had saved her. Roland, who had always been there, always so kind to her, her Roland who she had cast aside. He saw her at her worst, degraded and pathetic, and his only thought was to rescue her.

He’d drawn his sword and advanced on the prince.

‘Kill me and you invite war,’ Evander had snarled. ‘My people will fall on you like a tidal wave and destroy everything you hold dear.’ And he was right. Because he was still a prince and he was under her protection. If Roland killed him, if she allowed that, there would be war and so many people would die.

Perhaps it was what Evander wanted, she thought later. Perhaps that had always been his plan.

‘Don’t, Roland,’ she’d said. ‘He’s not worth it.’

Roland had carried her to safety. He’d cared for her. And she had finally realised what love meant, what it looked like in the real world. She finally knew he loved her in every action, with every movement, and that, like the fool she was, she had taken him for granted.

Later, much later, she’d stood in the chamber of the Aurum with blood covering the marble. Evander lay lifeless before her, having taken his own life to summon the Nox. As his empty eyes stared in triumph at the darkness bearing down on her, Elodie had known only one thing. She didn’t do this to save herself, or her people, or even her kingdom. She did it to save Roland.

It was like she summoned him. Because he always came when she needed him. He always had. And always would.

‘Elodie?’

The door had stood open and Roland ran towards her. She could feel the air shivering. The shadowy figure formed of dark magic rose from the shadows and the blood, twisting, transforming, seeking out the thing that would defeat Elodie, her greatest fear, her greatest weakness, and she summoned all the power at her command, draining the Aurum to defeat it. It would kill him. It would kill them all.

Elodie flung out her hand, and with it a force of magic, not at the Nox, but at Roland. She hurled him back from the door and felt his look of shock and betrayal like she was being stabbed in the heart.

So be it, she thought, and slammed the door between them. He was safe and that was all that mattered. Her Roland was safe.

Elodie had given herself up to destiny with a smile on her face.

But destiny had other ideas.

HERANDAL’S THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF SIDON

Princes of the line of Sidon have always been sworn to the service of the Nox. Some say it is written on their hearts, that it flows in their veins with their royal blood. It is said that spilling blood royal of Sidon will summon the Nox’s incarnate form, a dark goddess in her full power.

In each generation one will die, sometimes willingly, sometimes not.

Even disincarnate, the Nox is always hungry. And the princes will always obey.

CHAPTER 38

ELODIE

The notebook was worrying. It reeked of dark magic. The pages seethed with it.

From the moment she had grabbed it from Wren in the bedroom, from the moment her fingers had touched the leather cover, it had reached out to her. Elodie could feel it tucked away in the pouch she carried at her belt, little threads of magic probing her consciousness, trying to see how it might use her. Oh, it shied back from her the moment it realised who and what she was, when it noticed her noticing it, but the energy was still there. Still looking for a crack, seeking out a weakness.

The sentience attached to it chilled her. It recognised her and she recognised it, somehow. Like a ghost, or a memory. Like hearing a voice from the past. She would have lit the damned thing on fire there and then, except she knew it would take more than natural flames to destroy it.

They stopped to rest soon after midday, filling the canteen with water from the stream and sitting in the shade. Elodie had almost gathered enough strength to work the travelling spell again. She’d decided on the southern mountains. She could picture the place perfectly, a lake surrounded by high crags, desolate and isolated. Somewhere they could start again. The problem was, every time she felt almost strong enough, that power drained away. Not entirely but enough to stop her casting the next travel spell. Perhaps she was just exhausted. She had done too much in a short time. But there was still so much to do.

Wren still wasn’t talking to her above what was necessary. Which was fine. She’d raised Wren on her own. She had seen every adolescent tantrum the girl was capable of, which had been not so very dissimilar to every toddler tantrum, truth be told. More words, no doubt, much more swearing. Letting her spend time in that wretched village had always been a mistake but she’d read that children needed the company of other children and so it had seemed a good idea at the time. She had never had that herself, apart from Roland. So she should have known better. Besides, Wren had never been like other children.