Page 16 of Secrets of Avalon
Kellan’s strong fingers close gently around my hand. There’s a tingle of something similar to static electricity and the tattoo jumps from his hand to mine. It slides along my skin, up my arm then back down, settling into place around my wrist like a bracelet.
I stare at my wrist, then back at Kellan. "That's it? No fireworks, no dramatic light show?"
The corners of his mouth curve up. “That is all, Domina. The bond will allow me to monitor and keep you safe. It will let me know when you are in distress and need my help if we are ever separated. I will give my dying breath to keep you safe.”
I don’t respond. I’m still processing. The way he just explained it, I’ve just let a dragon-dude put a magickal lo-jack on my wrist. And he just pledged some kind of medieval vow to protect me until he dies.
No one's going to try to kill you for protecting me, are they?" I ask, suddenly very worried for his well-being. Have I just signed this guy's death warrant?
“It is quite possible,” Queen Nimue says, her voice somber and very certain.
Well fuck.
Episode 3
CHAPTER 7
Duty's Chains, Destiny's Call
Hawke Stormblood
By the time I leave Camelot, night has draped its cloak over the land, shrouding my journey to Vandimoor—the largest of all Fae cities on Avalon, and my home just a couple hours from the castle.
The ride is uneventful, no signs of distress from fellow travelers and no sign of the beast that hunts along the road and has been stalking our city over the last few months.
I hand my horse over to a stable boy and venture into the solace of my mother’s gardens, my steps guided by the familiar well worn stone path. The gardens, veiled in moonlight, are a silvery realm of peace after the chaos of my day. The sweet fragrance of night-blooming jasmine permeates the air like a ghostly whisper. These gardens are filled with memories of childhood laughter and my mother’s tender smiles. But the gravity of my impending kingship and other worries, like the woman in my vision, dampens the joy I usually enjoy by walking through here.
My heart races. My jaw clenches. I fight the internal battle growing inside me. The vision of the woman, her face etched with fear and desperation, haunts me, her pleas tug at my soul, calling me. I need her. It’s become a silent scream in the face of the duties that loom ahead. Need her. Need her. Need her.
There’s also the weight of my impending coronation. It presses on me like a tangible force, gnawing with sharp teeth, a relentless reminder of my deepest fear–the feral nature lurking within, threatening to break free.
My hands tremble slightly. I make a fist and take a deep breath. The thought of failing my people, of succumbing to the darkness… there is no worse outcome in my mind than in becoming king, I become the monster I fear most.
The Changing of the Guard ceremony looms near. In just two days, Camelot will slip from my grasp, falling under the complete control of the Upir.
In five days my father relinquishes his crown and the weight of the Fae kingdom will rest on my shoulders. Whatever is going on with me in my head needs to be put right.
And quickly.
I straighten up, squaring my shoulders. The fear remains, but so does my resolve. I am Hawke Stormblood, heir to the bloodline that created Camelot itself. Rising to this challenge isn't just an option—it's the only path forward.
I make my way through the rest of the gardens up to the private family door into the palace. The quiet of night is replaced by the low hum of activity. Servants glide through the grand corridors. The rich history of our people, captured in portraits and tapestries, looks down at me. Their silent judgment, whether real or imagined, is a heavy cloak around my shoulders.
The flickering torches on the walls cast a warm glow on the ancient stone, creating a dance of light and shadow that plays upon the intricate carvings and statues lining this hallway.
The scent of burning pine from the hearths mingles with the faint aroma of jasmine trailing in from the gardens.
I pass clusters of advisors and nobles, their hushed conversations put my mind on alert. They recognize me, the heir apparent. They give respectful nods, but they don’t trust me yet, not really. It will take time to earn their respect and loyalty.
The sound of a quill scratching on parchment seeps through the heavy oak door of my father's study. I push it open and enter, each step heavy with the weight of the conversation to come.
The striking room, with its high ceilings and shelves lined with ancient books my family saved when we fled Earth, envelops me in a sense of purpose and destiny. His study holds important history. This is where the future of the Fae people has been shaped for the last two millennia.
This is the room where I will eventually plan how the Fae will finally return to Earth after so many centuries in exile… if I can keep my mind from shattering into a thousand pieces.
One step at a time. One problem at a time. One solution at a time.
"Hawke," he says, my name carrying the full weight of his authority in that single, loaded utterance.