Page 20 of The Bound Mage
Seven
Araya had expected nightmares.
She should have dreamed of shifting shadows and sightless eyes—mist-cloaked monsters moving in the dark. Sheshouldhave woken up with the crypt’s damp chill sinking into her bones, leeching the warmth from her skin.
But instead, she woke warm, cocooned in the comforting scent of rain and stone.
Loren.
Araya sat up, suddenly wide awake. She scanned the dimly lit crypt, searching the shadows of long-dead kings and queens for any sign of the fae prince, but nothing stirred.
He wouldn’t have abandoned her here.
Would he?
Araya stood, pulling the cloak he must have draped over her at some point during the night tight against the chill. But it couldn’t shield her from the stone stares of long-dead fae kings and queens, their judgement weighing heavily on her shoulders as she set off in search of their lost prince.
She found him standing in front of the last two statues, her steps faltering as she realized who they must be. She wanted to hold on to her anger—but the way he stood in front ofhis parents’ statues, his head bowed and shoulders stiff, made something in her chest tighten.
She hesitated, hovering on the edge of turning back. But, without looking at her, Loren shifted slightly to the side—leaving just enough space for her to stand beside him if she wanted to.
Araya cleared her throat, sliding his cloak from her shoulders. She bundled it in her arms, holding it out even as she already mourned the loss of its warmth. “Thank you for letting me borrow this.”
Loren glanced at her then. “Keep it.”
Araya frowned. “You’ll be cold.” He only wore a thin shirt and pants—more appropriate for sleeping than rushing through the woods. As if he’d only stopped long enough to grab his cloak and shove on boots before pursuing her.
A shadow of a smile crossed his lips. “I’m used to being cold.”
The words were quiet, spoken without self-pity, but they lodged deep in Araya’s chest anyway. Twenty-five years in a stone cell. Cold had been his only constant.
“These are your parents.” Araya hugged the cloak to her chest, staring at them. They hardly looked like the joyful family she’d seen in the painting. The king’s gaze was shadowed, his features thinned by grief. And the queen…
Araya blinked hard, looking away. The proud tilt of her chin was all Eloria—but the mouth, the sorrow carved deep into her features… those belonged to Loren.
“My father wasn’t weak or cruel,” Loren said. “He ruled for nearly a century before the Ascendancy. Like the kings and queens that came before him, he welcomed humans when their own people cast them out.”
“What happened?” Araya asked softly.
“For a long time? Nothing.” He shrugged, his shoulders sagging. “We gave them land. Let them practice magic beside us. And for decades, that was enough.”
A shadow flitted across his face, his voice turning bitter.
“But humans always want more. They weren’t satisfied with the aether they could harness naturally. They started using fae blood and bone to strengthen themselves—until my father banned the use of amplifiers altogether. The Arcanum called it as oppression.”
Araya swallowed, but the lump in her throat refused to ease. She knew how this story ended. She had heard it told a thousand times before—from the mouths of the victors.
“They’d been gathering influence for years,” Loren continued, his gaze going distant. “Waiting. And when they saw their chance, they struck.” His jaw tightened. “Did you know they took me right from the Aetherium? I never even left the building. One moment, I was the crown prince. The next, I was a prisoner.”
“I didn’t,” Araya whispered.
“My mother… Queen Lysa. You know she was one of the first to fall.” He swallowed hard, his voice thick. “But what the Arcanum wouldn’t have taught you is that they didn’t want her dead. They wanted to capture her—turn her into a weapon they could wield against my father. But she chose death instead.”
Loren stared at his father’s statue, his whole body rigid.
“My father felt every second of it. And when she was gone, something inside him died too.”
“He…felt it?” Araya glanced at the stern male carved in stone, trying to imagine it.
