Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 42: Almost there but not yet

Six lapses, that was how much it took Aedion to get them—horses and all—back home.

They'd stopped at the Petrium nestled just north of the border between Faerie and Rhothomir, where Gidden had taken leave. He was eager to get back and warn the rest of the troops in the off-chance Pendergold decided to attack, though it wasn't likely now that they'd foiled his original plans.

By the time Aedion and Ella stumbled through the threshold of the castle, it was pitch black outside and snowing profusely.

"Princess Elowen, Lord Aedion!" Sir Gawain exclaimed as soon as he caught sight of them. He took in their appearance—soot-stained, bloodied and soaking wet—with alarm. "By Mother's grace, what happened?"

"A misunderstanding with a pack of ogres," Aedion answered wryly. Sir Gawain blanched.

Ella gave Aedion a half-hearted glare, then turned to the guard with a tired, reassuring smile. "It's quite alright, Sir Gawain. Only a bit of dirt. Nothing to worry about."

"You must go to the infirmary," the guard insisted. "Both of you are hurt!"

However, before Ella could assure him they were fine, Callan appeared at the top of the stairs, bloody murder written on his face.

Ella wondered if Callan had rigged the castle to his senses. That must be it, she decided. Surely, upon assuming the throne, Gerrathean Kings were given the symbolic keys to the castle and a link to the very foundation, so that they may know whenever anyone was stepping out of line and causing trouble.

There was a deep wrinkle notching between his brows, his mouth was pulled to the side, and his jaw was tight. On anyone else, it might have looked like mild annoyance, but on Callan, who was usually so composed, it meant he was furious.

"Elowen," he uttered gravely, his voice carrying across the entrance hall, so severe that Sir Gawain winced and wisely shuffled away. Callan didn't even need to yell to make them all buckle."It seems you finally saw fit to return after four whole days—four—of wondering where on earth you were gone."

He descended the last couple of steps, his steps slow, but his aura so booming with his power, it made the surrounding candles flicker.

Aedion, beside her, grimaced. "Callan..."

Callan whirled to face him, mouth pinched tight. "Not a word out of you, Aedion. You'll have time to say your bit, I assure you."

"What were you thinking?" he continued, standing a few feet in front of her. "Going without saying a word to anyone, to Rhothomir, during a war," he seethed quietly. "There was another battle, Elowen. You could have been gravely hurt."

His fury wavered for a moment, flickering to show the deep shadows beneath his forlorn eyes and the tightness of his frame. His exhaustion weighed on him, like rocks tied to ankles.

"What would I have done, hmm? What if something had happened and I'd lost you again?"

His voice cracked, and with it, so did Ella.

Up until then, Ella had held herself together after her embarrassing outburst at the mines. She'd wiped her face, pushed past her distress, and helped dig the grave. It had worked for a while, the harrowing cold numbing her physically and emotionally.

But then, as her father stared at her with such fright in his eyes, it all came rushing back. A deep, anguishing pain punched through her, the sheer magnitude of what happened knocking out the fabricated fortitude she'd created.

Selfish, she'd been so, so selfish.

Ella's face crumpled like a used parchment. Taking a stumbling step forward, much like when she was a child running down the hill, waiting for him to come back, she barrelled into his arms.