Page 11 of The Last Guardian

My nightmare from this morning came flooding back as soon as the crown was on my head.

I shrugged, trying to shake off the weight of that memory. It wasn’t like the crown would melt or anything, right?

THE ROOM WAS a blur of faces as I hid near one of the golden columns to escape the crowd. Laughter rang throughout the room, mingling with chatter, music, and resonating glasses.

The sun sank in the sky, and golden rays gilded the marble floor and columns of the room. The violinist played in the back as the new guests entered the great hall; the three other royal families were about to make their entrance.

I made my way to the dais to be ready for the upcoming announcement when a ghost-like figure stopped me in my tracks as I passed one of the columns. The air had gone rancid again.

Haedeon.

“May I accompany you, Highness?” Haedeon extended his hand to me; a flash of hunger crossed his features.

Nausea churned in my stomach. Something begged me not to take his hand, to go far away, but—who was I to dismiss him? Haedeon was the power over my head.

With a deep, silent breath, I accepted his offer and put my hand on his skin. Hells, the feeling of my skin against his…

“You look delicious tonight, Highness,” Haedeon murmured.

I tried, really tried, to smile at his comment, but, delicious, really?

Haedeon bowed to kiss my hand. His thin lips brushed against my flesh and remained there for a moment. He scrutinized my skin, examining its patterns. Sometimes I wondered whether, with his bloodshot eyes, Haedeon could see the blood flowing through my veins. Maybe he could. The High Mages still had a form of magic we couldn’t comprehend.

Magic had been banished from the populace ever since the Empire’s rise. Only the Great Council could command it, to maintain the barrier between the continents and ensure our protection. It was the only remaining magic in Perygan now. The rest had vanished with Keraneeth and its people.

Yet, long before the rise of the Great Council and the creation of the peace treaty, magic had flowed in Perygan.

A magic passed down to us by the Keraneethians. It had permeated our lands as much as the air itself. For a hundred thousand years, magic was the essence of Perygan, but it had been nothing more than a lure, a trap from the Keraneethians to manipulate us, seize our lands, and exploit us.

Our lands had been on the verge of being overrun by the barbarians on the other side of the sea until the High Mages saved us from them, one thousand years ago.

No book had mentioned Keraneeth or their magic since their banishment. Our shared history, the battles with them, was erased. They remained on the other side of the sea.

Since then, not a single Peryganith had been able to access that dark continent, and not a single Keraneethian could pass through the border.

With the power they had in their possession, the Great Council banished magic to a forbidden land in the middle of the sea that separated the two continents.

Myrh, a land fiercely guarded by the High Guards of Edoris.

But that wasn’t common knowledge. Everything I knew about ancient magic came from a book my Uncle Marlon had given me years before, a book that should have been burned when the Empire rose. Even with its many pages torn out and passages scribbled over, if this book were found in my possession, I would be burned along with it.

At long last, Haedeon released me, and it felt like I could breathe again; I turned to join my siblings. Haedeon walked onto the dais, climbing the two stairs above to meet the king, and whispered something in Father’s ear. The king’s nod followed without a word. Slowly, Haedeon walked down the stairs and left the ballroom.

Thank the stars, he was not going to be around tonight.

As usual, we were arranged in order of age, with Aurora in her red attire to my left, Dorian on my right, his dark locks framing his brown eyes with the same cocky smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

In a hushed voice, Dorian whispered, “I didn’t recognize you at first. You’re almost a woman now, sister.”

I jabbed him in the ribs as he gritted his teeth on a laugh. In the corner of my eye, I saw Aurora, resplendent in her elegant red gown, adorned with gold threads and cut to expose her midriff; she was stunning.

The dress was rather daring for Lorath; it was surprising that Grandmother had let her wear it. Aurora greeted the guests with a smile, her golden hair decorated with red ribbons and diamonds. With a large bouquet of scarlet roses in her left arm, the emblems of her future kingdom, she was perfect, just as she was meant to be.

A queen.

The steward cleared his voice at the top of the stairs, and the trumpets rang out.

“Their Majesties, King Tariq and Queen Elis, monarchs of the Kingdom of Kalor and the Golden Shoreline,” announced the steward.