Page 87 of Treasured

Hand in hand, we went in search of Genevieve.

It did not take long to find the priestess. She was exiting Isvana’s temple and speaking with two other vampires when she saw us. She stopped, dipping into a low curtsy.

“Your Highnesses,” Genevieve said once I’d given her leave to rise. “I didn’t realize you’d returned.”

“We got back while everyone was asleep,” Luna answered. Her grip tightened on my hand, and a burst of apprehension came through the bond. “Tell me, Marius, is he…”

“He still sleeps,” the priestess said reassuringly.

Luna exhaled. “Thank the gods.”

Genevieve added, “Odette is hopeful that he will wake when we administer the potion tomorrow night.” She glanced at me. “Were you successful?”

I nodded. “We were.”

Momentary shock filtered through the priestess’s expression before it changed to admiration. “Alright. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to do it, but clearly, I underestimated you.”

Her lack of belief in us was a little insulting. I was the prince of this realm, after all. But this wasn’t the time to focus on that.

Genevieve raised her hand and signaled to a black-haired witch who was walking past. “Beaufort?”

He looked up immediately. “Yes, Priestess?”

“We have need of your skills if you have the time.”

“Of course.” Beaufort nodded. “Whatever you need.”

The priestess smiled. “Perfect. You’ll need a few things.” She rattled off a list, and the witch disappeared into the abbey. Turning back to us, Genevieve said, “Let’s go. It seems we have a bond to break.”

* * *

Genevieve brought us to a large storage room in the abbey’s basement. Humming under her breath, she moved confidently, rearranging boxes until the space seemed to satisfy her. Other than the storage crates, the room was completely empty. Several long rectangular windows lined the top half of two walls, letting in faint streams of yellowed moonlight.

A knock came at the door. “Come in,” the priestess called out.

Beaufort slipped inside. He carried a square, folded-up table under his arm, a box of salt, and his grimoire. He set up in the middle of the room, his movements illuminated by thin strips of moonlight.

“Please place the objects you retrieved here.” The priestess pointed to Beaufort’s table.

Luna did as she was asked, laying out the feather, the vial of blood, and the still-glowing moonstone on the surface. After a moment, she stepped back and laced her hand through mine.

I’m scared, she admitted through the bond.

I drew her against my chest. It’ll be okay.

This wouldn’t be the end. It was but one step in our journey. We would persevere through this.

A few minutes passed as Genevieve and Beaufort conferred in the corner. Several times, the witch looked at us, his gaze assessing. Of the four of us, he looked the oldest. If he’d been mortal, I would have put him at six or seven decades of life. For a witch, though, he could have seen twice as many centuries as me. Like many others in the Four Kingdoms, witches Matured when they reached their twenties.

I kept my eyes on him. I did not know him, and though the Second Order of Isvana’s Chosen had shown themselves trustworthy, I would never let my guard down again.

“You should sit down, Prince,” Beaufort said eventually. “Severing the bond will not be easy on your body.”

“Thank you, but I’ll stand.”

His brow rose. “Alright. Have it your way.”

Before we went any further, I had to confirm something. “Why are you doing this?” I asked Genevieve and Beaufort. “Why are you helping us do this? You have to know it’s not exactly… safe.”

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