Page 22 of Godbound
The words dig in deep, and suddenly, everything snaps into focus.
Every moment since we woke up together, every well-placed suggestion, the inevitability of my fate if I don’t marry him. What if it was never a kind gesture, but a plan? A trap, thread by thread. One I had walked into blind.
The way he let Eva speak the words he wouldn’t say himself, most likely planting the idea in her head where it would take root earlier. He had called her to my rooms under the pretense of worrying about my rash decisions, he set the stage, knowing exactly how it would unfold.
Marriage. Not for love, not for penance for our mutual mistake, but a carefully curated plan to get my family’s name, my wealth, my power. But more importantly, to break his brother’s heart.
The idea seems wildly cruel, even for Mael, and yet it makes perfect sense. A bold first step, to finally walk out of Ryker’s shadow during a moment of turmoil at the court, when so much hovers in the balance.
I meet his narrowed gaze.
“I’ll never know unless I try,” I say, and turn on my heel.
Istart toward the front, toward the path that leads to Ryker, but my eyes catch on one figure in the crowd. And in a single breath, I forget how to move.
Zyrel stands near the edge, flanked by a line of acolytes from the Church of Change and Beasts. He wears black. Not plain or ceremonial but tailored with sharp edges and finer thread.
It’s too elegant, too refined, even for a special event at court. And in a flash of horrified clarity, I understand—he is Thul'Barak’s chosen Champion.
But that realization is nothing compared to the dread that seizes me. Because he’s still the Red Hunter. The man who’s made it his divine calling to track, cage, and destroy the cursed women. They say he has a special sense for sniffing out the cursed, and he’s staring directly at me.
Perhaps he noticed the argument, me pulling away from Mael, the tension crackling between us. Gifted or not, his eyes are locked on mine.
I don’t hesitate. I spin and retreat, heart pounding, rushing back toward the balcony, to the stone walls that might shield me from the man who sees me not as a person, but as prey. To Eva.
To safety.
Mael follows close behind, grunting under his breath, likely having noticed Zyrel’s interest as well. I think Eva’s duenna is somewhere behind us, but my thoughts are too jumbled to focus.
All I know is that Eva is here. As I reach the top of the stairs, Eva turns. Her brows furrow in confusion the moment she sees me.
“She wanted to stay for the Ascension,” Mael says smoothly from behind me, cutting in before I can speak. “How could I refuse?”
Eva’s searching gaze settles on me. She only needs half a breath to read the truth in my eyes. Her arms cross, sharp as a drawn blade, and she turns on Mael with a glare. “What did you do?”
I’m ready to rush to her side, to spit out every flicker of doubt because Eva wouldn’t need proof. She’d only need my word.
But as my mouth opens, Mael’s voice curls through the air, slicing off my words before they can form.
“Nothing except stick to our plan,” he drawls. “We all know how prone young Raylane is to flights of impulsivity.”
“Ray,” Eva says, confusion lacing her words. She looks at me, and her features still. Her eyes slide to Mael, then back to me. She doesn’t yet know about my suspicion, but she’s perceptive enough to recognize that something is brewing inside my head.
“Zyrel is there,” I say quietly so her duenna doesn’t hear. “We have to wait it out till he walks away, I don’t trust walking by him. He has a scent for… things.” I will tell my friend the truth of my suspicions of Mael, when the opportunity arises. Until then, I won’t expose her to angering the prince, and his potential wrath.
She hesitates. I can see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the silent weighing of consequences.
Then, after a beat, she lifts her chin, voice measured.
“Fine,” she says. “I suppose there’s no harm in staying a bit longer. I’d like to watch the Champions’ ascension as well. The last Archpriest outlived almost three generations, so chances are we’ll never get to see another ceremony again.”
Her tone is casual, almost offhand, but I don’t miss the way her gaze flicks to me again, searching for confirmation. She’s giving me what I need, just subtly enough not to raise suspicion.
Mael leans in, his voice quiet. “Indulge yourself a little longer, then,” he says, the words brushing against me with a strange sense of threat.
I shift my weight, barely perceptible, testing my ability to move, but the moment I do he steps closer and his fingers brush against my wrist. Light. Deliberate.
My pulse hammers against my skin, as my thoughts stretch further, back to the night when he sat in my room with the wine and nudged me to down my glass. I shift away and breathe deeply through a growing nausea.
