Page 57 of Starchaser
The nobility cheer for the Shadowslayer, but their voices, distorted and warbling in my ears as the blood rushes to my head, sound like the macabre toll of a death knell. And because the king has just called for my execution, he thinks he’s won this round. But for an Oberon, death is the only defeat. And I’m not dead yet.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I say, my voice clear and strong, because I know something the king does not.
I have rendered my own judgment. On Holy Winter’s Day, I will claimhishead.
And so my hands do not tremble as I’m swarmed by the nobility, and I smile when Nightweavers, clad in finery as pure as snow, pledge to support me from abroad, as children Elsie’s and Albert’s age push and shove their way through the crowd for a chance to speak with the Shadowslayer, the king’s new prized soldier.
It’s only when the king and queen have said their farewells for the evening, and we’re dismissed from the ballroom, that I feel Will’s familiar touch at the small of my back.
“That’s enough,” he says, his deep voice rich with laughter as he dismisses a group of children that encircled me all throughout dinner. “You’ll have plenty more chances to speak with Dame Oberon before she begins her journey.”
The moment he pulls me away from the crowd, my body begins to shake, and I tell myself to hold it together long enough to make it back to my suite. He must sense my overwhelm, because he rubs little circles into my spine, tucking me close to his side. He politely declines every bid for conversation, from dignitaries and courtiers and high-ranking officers, and gratitude for Will swells in my chest. Despite our disagreement on the balcony, I hold on to the promise of his arms around me, the thought of whispered apologies and sprigs of blue salvia and stolen moments under the stars as he leads me through the ballroom.
We’ve almost made it to the doors when the two girls from the night before—Clemson and Davina Mercer—practically throw themselves at Will, clearly having had one too many glasses of wine during the feast.
“Oh, Lord Castor!” one shrieks. “You simply must show us the gardens—”
“Please!” the other chortles, talking over her sister. “Mummy won’t let us explore the castle on our own.”
“We’ll be forever in your debt,” her sister adds, batting her eyelashes.
There’s a brief moment where Will appears conflicted, the muscles in his arm tensing.He’s going to say no, I think. He wouldn’t leave me alone at a time like this—would he? But the way he transforms—his grin, the playful quirk of his brows—leaves me wondering how many times he’s put on an act withme.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he says, effectively dismissing me as he removes my hand from his arm and instead offers himself as escort to the two giggling courtiers.
It feels as if the floor gives way beneath me.
I’m almost too stunned to move, to speak, when a familiar, lilting voice says, “Just the girl I was looking for.”
Titus offers his arm to me, and I don’t hesitate to take it, allowing him to lead me out of the ballroom, away from Will and those two obnoxious courtiers.
“I must admit,” Titus says as he leads me up the winding staircase, away from the great hall and the rest of the nobility. His breath reeks of liquor, but beneath it, clinging to his jacket, his hair, the warm, familiar scent of sea brine calms my breathing, settles my racing heart. And his rhythmic voice, albeit slurred from one too many drinks, reminds me of hushed lullabies hummed on moonlit nights at sea. “I haven’t felt this jealous of Will since we were children and his parents bought him a pet rabbit for his birthday.”
I try to picture Will as a child, celebrating with his family, but all I can think is that if we can’t find the cure, in three days, Will’s birthday is the day he is doomed to turn into a Shifter. The thought causes my chest to ache, but not only because of Will’s curse. Even if things were different, it’s hard to imagine standing beside Will on his birthday. Would his family throw him a party? Would I be forced to watch as giggling courtiers draped themselves on his arm while I planned a secret rendezvous with him in the conservatory?
“Ah, well,” I say, taking the lead as we emerge onto my floor. I find my pace quickening as my door comes into view, wishing I could simply lock myself inside and hide from the world until I’m forced to rejoin it tomorrow morning. I find it strange that the hallis empty—Charlie and Lewis are supposed to be here, standing guard, waiting for me to return from dinner—but all I can think about is Will’s arms around someone who isn’t me—the way he abandoned me with such ease. “Clemson and Davinaarerather beautiful.”
Titus laughs, shaking his head. He sounds just as bitter as I feel. “I don’t envy the things he does for the sake of the Order,” he says, and suddenly his expression is serious, his gaze capturing mine as he takes a step toward me, backing me against my door. “And you should know—William only has eyes for you.”
It’s as if the butterflies in my stomach can’t seem to find it in themselves to take flight. I should be thrilled, but shouldn’t Will have told me that himself??
Titus places a hand on the doorframe, crouching so that he’s almost eye level with me. His teeth work at his bottom lip, and his eyes narrow on the space just above my head before drifting down, landing briefly on my mouth, only to find my gaze once more. “I’m jealous because I’d give anything to have you by my side at every ball.”
The admission hangs in the air between us, encroaching on the oxygen until every breath I take is heady with an emotion I can’t define.
“You’re drunk,” I breathe.
“And wicked.” He hums, his lips hovering near mine. “After all, what kind of vile, despicable monster says something like that to his best friend’s girl, hmm?”
I think, for a moment, that this is the least of his crimes. The image of blood running down his chin, a human heart in his clutches, turns my stomach. But if Titus is a monster because he’s been forced to commit unspeakable acts of violence, then whatdoes that make me? As a pirate, I’ve done whatever it takes to protect my family—killed without mercy to ensure their safety. It’s the reason I’m here, the reason I have submitted myself to the same cruel king whom Titus is obligated by birth to serve—the reason I was prepared to kill Winona, even before I knew she was possessed by a Sylk. And I don’t regret my choices. I know who I am—what I’m willing to do for the people I love.
Everything I’ve seen of Titus since my arrival here—everything he’s done as the Reaper—has been an act. But this—the way he’s looking at me, his blue eyes sparkling with hope—feels real… right. Even though I know it’s wrong. Even though I know he wouldn’t have said any of this if he were sober.
“Well,” I whisper, “now I know what to get you for your birthday.”
He leans in, lips so close to mine. “And that is?”
“A pet rabbit.”
