Seeds of Sorrow (Immortal Realms Book 1)

That brief moment of sunshine in the garden had evaporated as quickly as it had come. Draven had seen the moment on the young maiden’s face when her mother had informed her of who he was. He hadn’t needed to be within earshot to know; it had been enough to see the dawning realization in those once happy green eyes, no longer sparkling with friendly interest. It left Draven feeling tired, as interactions with the fae and mortal realms always did.

“Draven, I’m sad to see you haven’t availed yourself of any of the vibrant young refreshments present tonight.” It was Alessia, appearing from some dark secluded corner, cheeks a little flushed as she slipped up beside him. “Or—did you?”

Her keen eyes flicked quickly between himself and Eden across the ballroom.

Draven eyed her dryly and reached out to tuck a few tousled hairs behind her ear, hiding the only evidence of her dalliance. He harbored no ill will toward his sister-in-law. Zryan had long ago lost any faithfulness owed to him, and Draven had seen enough of the pain in Alessia’s eyes.

“Hardly.” While his youngest brother had turned Lucem into a land of lasciviousness and frivolity, Draven had no desire to succumb to the allure of it. Least of all with an innocent noble who would only find herself tainted by any intimacy with the dark king.

Zryan was still spouting off about friends and family, giving the sort of speech meant to incite loyalty in people, and Draven wished to be anywhere but here. On the road back to Andhera would be preferable, and his eyes sought Hannelore in the crowd, her dark feathered wings not hard to spot amongst bright colors of spring. She stood apart from them, a lone sentry preparing for battle.

Channon’s blond head was lost somewhere in the throng, and instead of finding him, Draven’s eyes landed once more on the young maiden from the garden. Eden. A delicate blossom just on the cusp of blooming. Across the crowded space, their eyes locked, and he could read an unspoken question in the depths of them.

Was he? Was he truly the king of nightmares?

“It is with great joy and much excitement that I announce the joining of two great houses!” Zryan was calling out. “For unwavering loyalty to our family, I wish to gift Lady Naya Damaris a crown through the union of her daughter Eden to my brother, King Draven of Andhera.”

If there was a sound more quiet than silence, it filled the ballroom now. It was the steady paling of Eden’s features that made Draven believe what he had just heard was true. Even though his brother couldn’t have possibly just declared he would be wedding a young maiden without first discussing it with him.

The need for his presence at this ball suddenly became all too clear.

“I don’t understand.” It was Naya speaking. Pushing through other guests so that she could stand in plain sight of the three kings. “You think you can just hand my daughter off to the dark king?” There was a rage building inside of Naya Damaris, one which left no room for doubt concerning her thoughts on this arrangement.

With a growl, Draven moved to grab Zryan’s arm, at the same time that Travion, drunk but still able to read a room, came forward, a glass of champagne raised high in the air.

“Let us celebrate! To the happy union!” Travion shouted, and the rest of the room sounded out with their own cheerful cries, more out of a sense of responsibility than any true joy.

“Don’t kill him yet,” Alessia muttered to Draven before moving quickly to stand beside Travion, raising her hands to clap and using her body to shield the two brothers from view.

With Travion distracting the room, Draven hauled Zryan off to the side, his face set in hard lines, eyes gleaming with the threat of violence as he met those of his youngest brother. “What in the name of the eternal afterlife are you thinking? Zryan, I am not marrying that young lady!” Draven hissed softly.

“You speak of her as if she were barely out of the nursery. Eden is at least a century old, if not more.”

“A century!” Draven spat it like a filthy word. What was a century to either of them but a mere moment in the long length of their lives?

The hand that still held onto his brother’s arm tightened and, fearing he may actually rip it from its socket, he withdrew himself. This sort of manipulative treachery was not unheard of for Zryan, but this was the first time in all their years that he’d ever focused it on Draven.

“Hear me out, brother,” Zryan began.

“No,” Draven growled. “There is nothing to be heard. You will go back out there and declare this all a farce for the sake of a good laugh.”

“Draven, I can’t.” The joviality that typically resided within Zryan’s eyes was gone. For once, he leveled a serious look on him. Stepping closer, he lowered his voice so that no one close by would hear, Alessia least of all. “I have reason to believe Naya is plotting against me. I haven’t proof for you in this moment, but I am close, I am sure of it.”

Draven’s eyes narrowed. “Plotting? How?”

“She is seeking to undermine my marriage by informing Alessia of my . . . indiscretions. I’m not certain how she is becoming aware of them, but there are spies in my house.”

Draven ground his teeth as he listened to his brother. All of this was because Zryan did not wish for his wife to hear of yet another woman he had bedded behind her back? As if she were not already aware of it all.

“And what has this to do with me wedding Naya’s daughter?”

“You needn’t wed her . . . Unless you wish it.” For a moment, the spark of mischievous chaos returned to Zryan’s eyes. “I saw the way you looked at her in the garden.” A growl from Draven silenced him on this train of thought. “I need the daughter gone. Perhaps once she realizes I can disrupt her life in such a way, Naya will cease her attempts to disrupt mine and allow Alessia and I to return to our happy, blissfully unaware existence.”

Draven turned on his heel to pace away from his brother, only to stop and storm back. “If you believe Alessia to be unaware of what you are doing, with or without Naya’s help, you are an even greater fool than I thought. And I cannot take Eden to Andhera! She is an innocent waif . . . The dark realm will destroy her, and you know it. I won’t have that on my conscience. Give her to Travion.”

Zryan chortled, waving the notion off. “No child of Naya or Lelantos could ever be a waif. Lelantos was one of the best advisors I ever had.” A look of regret passed briefly through his eyes. “She cannot reside here in Midniva, it is too close. I want her firmly tucked away in Andhera . . . with you.” His eyes gleamed.

“No.”

“Give me a year.”

“No! In that amount of time, the powers of Andhera will have transformed her, and there will be no returning to Lucem for her. If it is her mother who has annoyed you, Eden should not be the one to pay.”

“Fine,” Zryan relented. “Give me six months. By then, I will have smoked out her accomplices, I am sure of it.”

Draven ground his teeth, feeling the bite of sharp fangs against his bottom lip as his blood seethed with fury. Had Zryan simply come to him with this plan, they could have discussed it together. Instead, he and Travion had sprung this on him, as if he hadn’t a say in the matter at all. Draven had no desire to be pulled into the immature schemes of the Lucem court, yet it would seem that was to be the case.

Zryan was eyeing him as if his happiness boded on Draven’s compliance.

“Fine. Six months,” he relented.

Lucem was no longer his home, and the fae there were no longer his people. It was not up to him how Zryan sought to punish his subjects, just as his brothers did not interfere in Andherian law.

“And Draven, she cannot find out.”

“I am not a simpleton,” he muttered. “I know.” That was his final word before he swept the cape off his shoulder and strode out into the ballroom, feeling eyes upon him, both curious and abhorrent.

Snatching a glass of champagne off a nearby tray, Draven walked calmly up to Eden. Ignoring the hatred spewing from Naya Damaris’ eyes, he bowed lightly and extended his hand to the maiden. He could see she wanted none of it, but clearly too afraid to cause a scene, Eden accepted his hand.

His long fingers curled around her dainty hand, feeling how they trembled with fear. It hardened him, forcing Draven to retreat into the cold facade of the King of Andhera so that he would not relent and tell her to flee. For the sake of family loyalty, he would play out this twisted charade.

Drawing the shocked looking Eden into the center of the room, Draven lifted his champagne glass. “To my beautiful bride. May our happiness ever endure!” Tipping back the glass, he drank down the sparkling nectar, feeling his stomach recoil in protest. Then, with a forceful throw, he tossed the crystal to the dance floor and motioned for the music to strike up once more.

A deafening cheer rang out as Draven pulled Eden in flush against his body, one arm tight around her slender waist, the other lifting her hand up in the air between them. The people did enjoy a good show, and what could be better than a sacrificial lamb led off to the slaughter? Eden’s trembling had increased, and had it not been for his own steady form holding her aloft, Draven was certain the lady would have crumpled to the floor.

“Keep a smile on your face for the moment,” Draven leaned in to murmur into her ear. “Once the dance is over and they have had their fill of this, we may speak.”

Though she still trembled, Draven watched as Eden straightened her back, finding her center. There was a strength in the delicate bloom of her naivety that he was pleased to see.

“So much for innocent conversations in the garden,” were the words she uttered. Soft, but filled with anger and hurt.

Having nothing he could say to explain this situation, Draven remained silent. For the remainder of the dance, he kept his eyes focused just above her head, taking note of those who watched them closely. Wondering which amongst them believed Eden Damaris was going off to Andhera to die.

As he swept her around the ballroom, Draven did his best not to inhale the sweet scent of magic coming from Eden. With each rapid thump of her frightened heart, the divine elixir flowing through her veins tempted him. Feeling the sharp prick of his teeth once again, Draven closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

It was a startled gasp from Eden that forced his eyes open and drew them down to her face once more. She was staring up at the indent of his fangs on his bottom lip, looking ever the picture of a timid critter caught in a predator’s clutches.

“Your . . . you . . . ” she stammered, searching for words.

The end of the dance saved them both, and Draven dropped her down into a deep dip to the delight of the two kingdoms watching. Righting her once more, he pulled away, placing her small hand upon the crook of his arm. With his own hand keeping Eden there, he walked her back over to where her mother awaited.

Zryan had woven his way through the crowd, with Alessia at his side, and joined them before Naya. Although he grinned, his wife coolly assessed first Naya, then Eden and Draven. “Splendid! Now that the family is all together, let’s have a chat.”