Page 33 of Secrets of Avalon
I keep my face emotionless and flat. As does my father, except for the slight tic in his jaw. Beside him, my mother's silence offers its own form of strength. “It was not a matter of monitoring, King Galathar. The children were caught in a glitch. The Valkyries were sent to look for them only minutes ago.” His voice is powerful and proud and carries the sincerity of the sorrow we were all experiencing before the children appeared.
King Galathar’s eyes widen at my father’s announcement. His queen pales and puts a hand to her throat. Their children are grown, but they’re still parents and the flash of sympathetic pain across both their faces softens the encounter.
“I’m so glad we came quickly with them,” Galathar’s queen says softly. She puts a hand on her husband’s arm. “King Stormblood, I…”
My father shakes his head. “Everything is as it should be. The children are returned safely. There is no better outcome I could’ve hoped for. Welcome to Camelot. I will see you both tomorrow night at the ceremony.”
“Yes, of course,” King Galathar says, covering his wife’s hand gently with his. He gives my father a small deferential nod of the head and leads his delegation away.
The joyful atmosphere of the Hall is shattered by a loud bellowing angry shout. I turn toward the Hall of Realms entrance and fear snaps my spine straight. Fuck.
The entire high council has arrived and Julius Darkwood is leading the charge with fury etched into every fine line and wrinkle on his cruel face. He marches right up to me and plants himself like a fucking tree in my path.
“We do not appreciate being made to wait. What could possibly be detaining all of the knights from their required annual fealty swearing?”
CHAPTER 15
The Sting Of Rejection
Melinda Mayweather
Both Fenrir and Ares move to block my view of the approaching angry man and his posse of equally pissed-off followers. My heart decides now’s a great time to audition for a drum solo, pounding against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape. I open my mouth, ready to protest, but snap it shut just as quickly. They’re not just blocking my view–they’re concealing me. Sneaking a peek between them, I catch sight of the advancing figures, and every instinct I have screams danger.
My little tattoo goes into overdrive, swirling around my wrist like it’s having its own personal mosh pit. Kellan? My gaze darts across the room, landing on him. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest like he’s posing for a “Brooding Heroes Monthly” cover shoot. But his face. Wow, he looks pissed. At me? Except me being here isn’t my fault.
I take a step toward him, only to be cut off by Fenrir’s quick sidestep. Smooth moves, big guy.
“We don’t want that narcissistic noxious nightmare noticing you anytime soon.”
I slap a hand over my mouth, desperately trying not to snort-laugh.
Fenrir flashes me a grin before turning his attention back to the room. The extremely well-dressed nightmare guy, is now standing in front of Hawke and his parents. His entourage hangs back, all flowing robes and haughty glares. There’s some outwardly civil words exchanged, but the undercurrent of hostility is so thick you’d need a broadsword to cut it.
“Who is this guy?” I ask in a half-whisper. “Why is Kellan giving me the death glare?”
Fenrir’s leans in close, his eyes darting around like he’s afraid the walls have ears. “That is Julius Darkwood. He’s on the High Council. And Kellan is not mad at you—he’s pissed at us. He’s trying to shield you from their scrutiny, milady.”
A young beautiful woman approaches Darkwood’s right side. He smiles down at her like a proud papa bear, and she speaks to Hawke. Touches his arm with a familiarity that makes my stomach do a very unpleasant flip. She’s all over him like he’s the last cookie in the jar, running her hand up his bicep and to his chest.
Panic and anger smack me in the face hard and I scramble to regain control of the magick threatening to explode out of me like a shaken soda can. The guilt is suffocating, a relentless voice whispering that I’m evil and dangerous and that I don’t belong here.
“Fuck.” Fenrir groans, doubling over. Ares doesn’t say anything, but the tension in his posture tells me he’s in pain too. And it’s my fault.
Shit. Oh shit. No. No. No. I breathe deeply, trying to rein in the magick pouring out of me, like I’m a busted faucet.
A moment later Kellan is next to me. His hands, warm and grounding, hold mine, pulling me back from the edge. “Look at me, Domina.”
I meet his eyes, green and mesmerizing like he’s trying to mind trick me into calming down. And you know what? It’s working. The connection stands into place between us, stronger and easier to find this time, like the world’s most soothing Wi-Fi signal.
Everything relaxes. Fenrir and Ares both loosen up, but neither turn to look at me. If anything, they stand taller, attempting to hide Kellan behind them. Which, given his size, is like trying to hide a sequoia behind a couple of oak trees.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Kellan squeezes my hands reassuringly. He shakes his head with the conviction of a man who’s never been wrong in his life. “She should not be touching your mate, Domina. There is nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t lash out on purpose.” His words resonate, echoing in the caverns of my heart. I want to believe him. Desperately.
My mate. The term hangs in the air, heavy with meaning. Hawke, my mate–it’s a notion that feels both surreal and predestined, like finding out you’re secretly a long-lost princess. It sounds like something straight out of a fantasy novel—except I’m literally living inside one. There are dragons and fae and castles and… for the first time in my entire life, I feel like I might be in the right place.
Mate. Is this magnetic pull towards him, this need, more than just emotional? Is our connection laced with the same magick that courses through this world? A flicker of joy sparks inside me, bright and thrilling and terrifying in its intensity. For a single heartbeat, I allow myself to revel in the possibility, to bask in the glow of a connection that transcends the ordinary.