Siren | Caden Archeron

Chapter Eleven

a constellation of tears on your lashes, burn everything you love then burn the ashes, 

in the end everything collides, my childhood spat back out the monster that you see

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Nightmare after nightmare woke Stella for the next six hours, barely granting her any reprieve. The pain relieving tonic Nesta had thrown to her had helped a little, but she still dutifully wrapped her wounds when she rose the following morning, throwing on her sparring clothes.

Her mind was a mess. She couldn't stop thinking about Caden—her mate—and how upset he must be with her. She was hoping, praying that his family would be able to talk some sense into him, to keep him from coming after her.

Without a fully-formed bond she didn't seem to be able to feel him. She didn't know if he was awake yet or not, but she assumed he was. She remembered that night when he knelt by the bed and begged her to come to him if she ever felt like ending her life—that night, what she'd felt must have been his pain, she could distinguish that now, so she supposed it was possible she was simply too far away to feel him.

She felt like the worst mate in the world for putting him through any of this. Gods, she'd tried to kill her mate. She hesitated, sure—and perhaps this was why—but she still could have killed him, murdered him before ever realising how important he was to her. That he could forgive that, that he had, almost instantly...it said a lot about him.

Stella's father was waiting for her in the dining room when she emerged and she steeled herself, attempting to appear unbothered and not like her entire world had been rocked overnight. Her hair was pulled away from her face tightly and she nodded, wishing him a good morning as she sat down.

She ate quickly but tried to take in as much sustenance as possible, not knowing how long she'd be fighting that day. Presumably he'd have her sparring all morning at the very least, if not longer. When he rose, she did too, pulling her boots onto her feet and tying them tightly. It was only once they were headed for the training rooms and she looked at him properly that she realised something was off.

She opened her mouth but snapped it shut again. Remarking on his wardrobe was asking for trouble and he wasn't dressed that differently anyway. Just...why was he wearing his under armour? Was he actually going to train or was this...

Her heart began to beat faster as her father turned left, heading down a staircase. Stella froze at the intersection for only a second but it was long enough to draw his attention. "We're not sparring today." She drew in a sharp breath, somehow getting her feet moving after him.

They worked their way through the mountain to the palace within, their boots slapping against the onyx flooring as they made their way into the throne room. It was packed—Darkbringers congregating in an orderly fashion, sectioned into units by their captains, all of them wearing their armour.

Her father led their way up to the front of the room, standing up on the dais. Stella stood to his right, a step behind as she usually would; her gaze raking over the warriors assembled before them. They were jammed in from wall to wall—it might actually be all five hundred or so Darkbringers. She blinked, trying to keep her dismay off her face. It was happening now? Today? Unless she winnowed out immediately—

"Don't even think about it." Her father turned to her.

Stella's mouth fell open and she stared at him. "What do you mean?" Her brow furrowed.