The War of Six Crowns: The Heir's Choice

Awakening

The screams reverberating in James's head faded one by one, leaving a terrible silence. Black dominated his sight, pressing against the inside of his head like the inky black water that had stolen his last breaths.

So this was what it was like to be dead.

Cool fingers touched his cheek. Stroked over his skin to his chin. He blinked a few times. Waited. Air filled his lungs. The cool touch was dry. Water didn't try to invade every part of him. Still the darkness threatened to pull him in again. He closed his eyes.

"No," a clear female voice said. "Don't go again."

His mattress dented under someone else's weight. Mattress? How did he get into a bed?

"Where am I?" Shudders shot through his body.

"Safe," the clear voice answered, closer this time.

Safe from what? James swallowed, trying to think straight. Last he remembered, he was being drowned by a group of thugs. Ah. Safe was a euphemism for dead, then.

The woman picked up one of his hands and rubbed it. Her touch was soft and gentle. Wait. Why was a woman rubbing his hands in the afterlife? Sensation returned to his hand.

She laid it down on his chest and picked up the other. "Will you open your eyes?"

He pried them open and the darkness closed in. His breath hitched, but she drew his head to the side and light blurred his vision. He blinked until the blur faded, then blinked again when he found himself facing an angel. Bright violet eyes smiled at him from an ethereally fair face. It glowed in the brightness around her. Her straight white hair caressed her shoulders, even though she couldn't have been much older than his sixteen years. Strange. From the way she spoke he'd expected her to be older.

"That's it," he muttered, "I must be dead."

"No, you never died." She turned her head to stare at the ceiling, cutting off his inspection.

He let his gaze follow hers. Above him stretched a wide expanse of the deepest darkness he'd ever experienced. It crowded against his fragile peace.

It's just a ceiling, he told himself, but his rationale failed to explain how the darkness grew deeper every time he looked at it. He dragged in a breath to calm himself and went back to watching her. Her neck's graceful arch ended in diamonds glistening at her throat. They cascaded down her chest and ended at the top of her breasts, only barely touching the edge of her white dress.

"I thought it's rude to stare in your culture," she said without looking his way.

"Sorry." Heat burned his cheeks.

He focused his attention on the other side of the room, letting it settle on a white loveseat against the wall. What a stupid design. The legs barely looked thick enough to take anyone's weight. Scatter cushions of various shades of blue were arranged on it, completely matching the turquoise ripples reflecting on the off-white floor. It resembled sand, making the room seem like it was underwater.

His mother would have freaked for the décor. She always adored splurging on decorating their cold-ass house. So much so, the money she'd spent on 'improving' their new house could have bought back the old one.

James frowned, yanking his thoughts back before they went too far down that road. "Who are you?"

"Rhea," she said, smiling.

"Who?"

"Rhea. Don't you remember me?"

What the hell? "Uh...no?"

Her brows drew together before she stared up at the darkness once more. "Oh. Right. We haven't met yet, have we?"

"Definitely not." This was turning into an acid trip. Maybe he was dead. Or this was one of those hallucinations people get as they're dying. Would pinching bring him out of it, if this was the case? Would he even want to face reality? Drowning was a nightmare way to die.

Rhea pursed her lips and inspected him.

"I thought it's rude to stare," he mumbled, but she just burst out laughing.

It was as calming as listening to rain. Yeah. Much better than the realities of water stinging through his lungs instead of air.

James rolled his eyes and sat up, leaning against the bed's wrought-iron headboard. The curling, cold metal pressed against his skin.

She shrugged. "I don't remember what's rude to my people anymore."

James frowned. He was alive, but part of him felt afloat in a sea of confusion. "You don't remember?"

"This place. It does things to me."

"Why don't you leave?" he asked.

"I can't. Not yet." Sadness edged into her expression before a wide smile crowded it out moments later. "I'm surprised that you aren't asking me about bringing you here."

Bits and pieces of memories returned to him. The bindings' bite into his wrists. His terror as the thugs had forced him into the lake. The cold water choking off his air—

He winced. "How did I get here?"

"I had my people submerge you in a lake."

He shot forward, his old terror rising again. His air escaped him and he gasped, drawing it deep into his lungs and holding it in, fearing it would be his last. Wait...last air. It had left him. He'd screamed under water. Saw the bubbles drifting to the surface. He gripped the edge of the mattress, fighting to regain his nerve.

"I could have been killed!"

"No. I wouldn't have let that happen." She actually sounded hurt.

"How could you possibly prevent me from drowning?"

"Because I'm Rhea," she snapped as if that answered everything, as if he didn't even have the right to ask. "I've been waiting for you for ages. Since you're here, we can assume I did prevent your drowning."

James stared at her. Was she for real? Was she even real? Because right now James had no sense of reality to hold on to. He half expected her to laugh at him. Instead, she stood up and crossed the room to a closed door. She opened it a crack and spoke through the gap. He watched her, working his jaw to keep silent. What could she possibly want from a wreck like him?

So James is back. Who's glad? Who's not? Let me know what you think in the comments. Also, please don't forget to vote and to tell others to read the book. It's still climbing up the ranks. Thanks so much for your support! :-)