least. Was it different in private? Bell couldn’t be the only one who noticed the way she subconsciously positioned her body toward Stolas whenever he was near. The way she smiled more around him. Laughed more around him. Even Stolas’s ability to provoke her in a way few could was telling.
The first time the unusual bond between them became apparent was in Solethenia during the trials. But it was now, mired in the pain of Archeron’s betrayal and confusion of her lineage, that her reliance on Stolas as more than a mentor was apparent to everyone.
Everyone but perhaps Haven herself.
Maybe that was why one of the monks of the Order of Soltari frowned as he stepped forward, eyes trained on the Shade Lord even though he addressed Haven.
“Goddess-Born, all but one emissary were caught by Sun Court assassins, tortured, and murdered.” The monk’s calm tone was at odds with the severity of his words. All the monks spoke in that emotionless voice.
Did the man actually possess emotions, or had they been magicked away somehow along with his hair and personality?
Turning her back on the gruesome display, Haven matched the monk’s calm as she said, “I’d like to see him.”
“Unfortunately, he died minutes after arriving. Solis healers tried to save him, but he was gravely wounded.” Disappointment dragged Haven’s dusky rose brows together until the monk added, “the brave soul did manage to deliver a letter from the King of the Broken Three.”
A jolt of interest rocked Bell.
King Eros—the newly appointed mortal ruler of The Broken Three: Dune, Drothian, and Veserack, the three neighboring territories to the west of Penryth.
Penryth. Penryth. Penryth.
The name shivered through him like a song, a lullaby he’d memorized from birth—
Don’t think about that. There’s no point.
But of course it was all he thought about as one of the men from the Order of Soltari procured the letter, a tattered parchment splattered with what had to be blood.
Blood. He saw his father’s panicked eyes as he lay dying, the whites stained bright red with blood.
No. Inhaling deeply, he centered himself on his new life. Protect Haven.
Nothing else mattered.
You are no longer a prince, or a king. You are part of her Chosen, selected by the Goddess herself.
It had been surprisingly easy to slip off his identity as crown prince and heir to the largest mortal throne in Eritreyia and simply become Bellamy, Chosen protector of the Goddess-Born.
It was all he thought about. Honing his magick. Honing his weaponry skills. Training for hours upon hours from predawn to nightfall and then soaking his battered body in the hot baths.
It was all he allowed himself to think about.
Not his father’s face, twisted in a grimace of pain as he died. Not the greedy laws Renk had already undoubtedly enacted to benefit himself while the citizens suffered. Not the lies Renk whispered about Bell’s treachery that rippled across the realm, solidifying Bell as a coward and murderer.
Especially not his new name—Kinslayer.
But now . . . an ache yawned open in his chest, and with it came the smell of jasmine and burning tallow of the castle, the tall forests and meadows of his youth, the feel of the Penrythian sun on his face.
His body was Haven’s, heart and soul, but a part of that soul was still embedded in Penryth, the same as Archeron’s had been trapped inside his father’s ring. And only taking back his rightful throne and killing Renk would make him whole again.
From his periphery, Bell noticed Xandrian watching him with that quiet perceptiveness, and he refocused on his new, simple life.
Haven was just beginning to read the letter. It was short, and when she was done, she carefully folded the parchment, fit it into her pocket, and sighed.
“King Eros Elhaem offers a meeting in Veserack to discuss terms of an alliance.”
Ember snorted. Bell hadn’t known her sister, Rook, but if she was anything like Ember, he probably would have liked her. “Does this mortal king think the Goddess-Born daughter of Freya is going to travel to his Shadeling-forsaken little fiefdom?”
Haven squared her shoulders, drawing them back in a way that told him she’d already made a decision. “That mortal king controls three once-powerful mortal houses. More importantly, he controls the entire southwestern coastline of the mortal continent, which means he commands all the trade coming in from Asgard.” Her golden eyes flicked to him. “What do you know about this new king, Bell?”
As all eyes drifted his way, he scoured the dregs of his memory. “Not