Seeds of Sorrow (Immortal Realms Book 1)

Draven had considered a queen once, back in the early years of his kingdom’s first peace. Before the insurrection of the shifters pairing with the lamia in an attempt to overthrow his rule had quickly wiped that notion from his mind. Andhera was a cold, cruel, and brutal place that did not leave room for the weak to obtain happiness. Any joy was hard sought and won only through pain and blood. It was not a kingdom in search of a queen, for its king would condemn no female to such a fate.

Had he chosen it, however, this was not how he would have seen it through.

Draven had gone to fetch both Hannelore and Channon while Eden took the time to say goodbye to her mother. He hadn’t any words for Zryan at the moment, and if he took the time to stop and speak to him, he was certain his brother would be missing his jugular by the time he was finished. So, instead, Draven focused on gathering his guard.

“We are leaving at once. Channon, Seurat will take your chariot on his own. Shift now and go with us as a wolf.”

Without question, the young were-wolf discarded his clothing there in the hall and shifted into the large gray wolf that was his other form. Standing as tall as Draven’s shoulder, his cool steely eyes watched and waited for his lord to move.

“Hannelore, I am depending on you to be a vigilant eye on our travels. Eden is a novice who must be protected at every turn. She has made the journey through the Veil only once; I will not stand for any mishaps.”

“Of course, My Lord. May I ask . . . ”

“No,” he stated curtly and turned on his heel, heading back to the study to acquire his new ward.

Seurat found him before he had made it to the door, looking downcast and worried. “I am sorry, Your Majesty. Had I known—”

Draven held up a hand to halt him in his speech, his fury too ripe to handle words of explanation from anyone. “Now is not the time,” he told the other male, gazing at his dark features with their scattering of scales, the only hint of what lay beneath his flesh. “Go and have our mounts prepared. We leave at once.”

Seurat left quickly, disappearing down the corridor.

Before he could knock on the door, Draven found Alessia at his side, her beautiful features pinched in a frown. She’d placed her hand on his elbow, seeking to draw his attention to her.

“Draven, I don’t know what Zryan’s foolish purpose is, but you needn’t agree to this. You know that, right?”

He only growled in response. Draven had no desire to be drawn into the marriage struggles between Zryan and Alessia. His brother ought to be drawn and quartered for the way he whored around on such a female as his sister-in-law.

“I am aware. But it would seem Zryan is adamant that the young lady come with me.” He eyed Alessia, the truth just on the tip of his tongue.

“Darling!” The voice belonged to Zryan, coming to capture his wife’s attention away and shooting Draven a warning glance. “Let’s leave Draven be. He has so very much planning to take care of.”

Rolling her eyes, Alessia allowed Zryan to tug her farther down the hall. The last that Draven saw, Zryan was mouthing Good luck to him over his shoulder.

Turning his attention back to the door, Draven paused. The blossom Eden had tucked into the lapel of his vest earlier that evening caught his eye. It was a reminder of how fresh and full of life she had been in that garden, completely unaware of what a careless ruler had planned for her. Reaching up, Draven pulled the flower from its place and crushed it in his palm, then let it flutter, broken, to the ground.

Beautiful, delicate things did not last in Andhera, and he would not have been deserving of them even if they did.

Eyes lifting to the door once more, Draven rapped briskly upon it, making his presence known to mother and daughter, and steeled himself for the journey ahead.

Only icy glares were shared between him and Naya, neither ashamed to let their dislike of the other shine through. He could only assume what Naya thought of him, the dark king who had come to steal her precious, innocent daughter away for his nefarious purposes. And Draven had not appreciated the way Naya had spoken of Eden, as if she were not but a kitten to be trodden under foot. Her daughter had more strength within her than she dared to notice.

A strength that was apparent as Eden faced him, asking for a definitive time that they would leave.

“Now. Sunrise is soon, and we must still journey to the Veil.”

With a nod, Eden stepped into the hall, only balking when Hannelore stepped into view. The sheer size of a harpy was impressive. While they still bore the form of a woman, their steel gray wings stretched a full twelve feet when unfurled. Their legs finished off at the knee with the tough flesh of a hawk’s leg and foot, sharp talons clicking on the floor with every step they took. Hannelore, dressed in her armored chest plate and chainmail skirt, was all the more threatening for it. Her feathered hair, plucked at the sides with only the top left to trail long down her back, was a blue streak of beauty.

“My Lady,” Hannelore began. “Come with me.”

Eden spared only a quick glance at Draven, barely meeting his eyes before falling into step with Hannelore. Watching them walk away, Draven reached out to brush a hand down Channon’s back. The fur was soft and reminded him that the comforts of his own space awaited him at the end of this journey.

“You needn’t leave already, brother.” Zryan stepped up beside him, having returned from wherever he’d led Alessia off to.

Shooting Zryan a glare, Draven held in a snarl. “The sun will be up in a few hours, and I don’t feel like being rushed during my trip home, as I now have another unexpected passenger to get through the Veil.”

“Thank you for your aid.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Draven shook his head. “There may very well be blood before this is through.”

Clicking his tongue at Channon, he strode away from Zryan, following after his harpy soldier and his new ward.

They were already outside, standing before the chariots, when Draven caught up with them. Channon sat back on his large haunches, panting softly as he gazed over Eden, who was now shrinking back in horror as she took in their full convoy.

“Seurat, you will take Channon’s chariot. Eden, you will ride with me.”

“Wh-what?” Eden stammered.

Shooting her a glance, Draven sighed wearily. “You will ride with me. Unless you think you can control a kelpie-drawn chariot for the very first time?” he asked irritably.

All he received in reply was a shake of her head. Moving to his chariot, Draven motioned for her to climb in. Once she’d clambered up with her ridiculous volume of skirts, filling almost the entirety of the space with her gown, he could only bite back words of agitation. Channon, who stood behind him, let out a wolfish bark that sounded much like a chuckle.

Draven shot him a silencing glare, and the were-wolf had the decency to bow his head in remorse.

Climbing into the chariot himself, Draven pushed aside Eden’s voluminous dress as best he could, wrapping his arms around her slight form so that he could gather the reins and prepare himself.

“You will want to hold on,” was his only warning before he slapped the reins. Rayvnin reared up, pulling ahead of the other chariots and taking Draven and Eden along with him. His hands tightened on the leather as he felt the tug in his forearms and shoulders, his feet bracing firmly on the floor of the chariot to keep him upright as they raced from the courtyard.

Eden fell against his chest, the weight of her light but searing, a reminder of what he was taking back with him. She didn’t remain pressed into him long but quickly righted herself, her hands clutching onto the front of the chariot.

Draven felt a flash of pride, for as they left the castle of Midniva behind, Eden kept her gaze before her, not allowing herself to look back at all she was leaving.

The trek across the middle realm took an hour, and they reached the Veil with time to spare, the horizon beyond still dark. Bringing Rayvnin to a halt, Draven allowed Channon to cease his constant gallop beside them, his pink tongue hanging from the side of his snout as he panted. Seurat, looking a little worse for wear, pulled up on his right, his dark coil of hair the only thing about him not appearing distressed.

Hannelore, knowing her place, waited until she was ahead of them before drawing to a stop. She looked to Draven quickly, then proceeded with her plan.

“Channon, you’ll take my chariot now. I’ll be in the air for the duration of our pass through the Veil. Seurat, you are to stay behind our master. Sire, you will take up the front, with Channon bringing up the rear.”

Draven nodded his agreement. “Then let us go.” Reaching to the clasp at his shoulder, he undid the cape from himself, settling it around Eden instead.

She turned her head as if to look back at him and speak. Instead, she merely pulled the cape more securely around herself.

“Should anything happen in the Veil . . . do not wander off the path. No matter what may happen.”

“Wh-what?” Her words were whispered and filled with uncertainty.

“One may get lost in the void that lies within the Veil. Never stray from the path.”

“Do you plan for us to get out of the chariots once we’re in there?”

“No.” But his words of wisdom still stood. One could never be certain of what would be waiting for them on the other side of the arch.

A naked Channon, now shifted back into his human form, stepped forward to take the harpy’s chariot. Relieved of her reins, Hannelore rose into the air, claiming a position that would give her clear sightlines to anything seeking to come after them. Together, the convoy entered the Veil, quickly falling into the formation the harpy captain had set for them.

Draven had always found that passing through the arch into the Veil was like walking through a wall of water that did not leave one feeling wet. It was a space at once with light and without. Large puffs of dark fog swirled through it, casting shadows where there was nothing. The Veil looked almost as if there were no substance to it, the ground both there and fading away once looked upon.

The path, which led through the Veil to each of the arches, was one that could not be directly looked at. So Draven kept his gaze fixed on a location in the distance and traveled by way of his peripherals. Should he have looked directly down at the path, it would have disappeared, leaving him feeling as if he were traveling on nothing at all.

It was a place meant to disorientate, and Draven had no desire to be lost and wandering the emptiness for all eternity. Souls lost themselves here in a trap there was no escaping from.

It was the shrill wail from one such soul that caused Draven to realize Eden had collapsed against his form, her body slack and lifeless. Unwilling to stop, knowing it would only put her in more danger, he transferred both reins to one hand and curled his free arm around her body. He was not surprised that this was the moment that finally broke her.

Nestling her against his chest, Draven took a moment to gaze down on her ashen features, red lashes resting over freckled cheeks. Eden was a lovely creature, all elegance and grace. Andhera was not the world for her, as it was not the world for many. He wasn’t certain how he was meant to keep the smile on her lips in the land of two moons, but perhaps if he gave her the freedom to explore in the way she had never been allowed to before, these months in hell would not weigh too harshly upon her.

When at last they broke through the other side of the Veil and entered Andhera, everyone took a welcomed breath of relief. Their party halted once more, and Draven took the chance to lift Eden into his arms, carrying her over to a small grassy knoll and laying her down on it. Behind them, Channon conversed with Hannelore over whether he was more useful in wolf form, or she in the air.

Brushing red strands out of Eden’s eyes, Draven felt a mounting need to keep this innocent being safe. So many things in his kingdom would try and tear her down. Would her fortitude last?

“Does she need water, my lord?” Seurat was at his side, a waterskin in his hand.

“When she wakes, yes.” Draven stood, straightening his vest. “Did you know?” he questioned, voice low and dangerous.

His manservant looked shamefaced and regretful as he met his eye tentatively. “Of the ball . . . yes. But not of this.” Seurat motioned to the unconscious fae. “I am sorry, sire . . . I thought only to bring you much needed interaction.”

Draven felt the stern frown hardening his features, his disapproval evident on his face. “I had not thought you would set the desires of my brothers above my own, Seurat. I am disappointed in the placement of your loyalty tonight.”

Seurat, looking stricken, could only nod.

“See if you can rouse her, we must be on our way.” Draven left them then to join his army captain and the captain of his wolf guard.

“Your Majesty.” Hannelore dipped her head respectfully as he approached them. “We think it best if Captain Channon shifts back to a wolf from here on out. I will take up my place at the back, and he will run ahead.”

Draven nodded. “Agreed. Channon’s nose is of more use now that we have entered the woods.”

Around them, giant trees stretched toward the blue moon overhead. It cast their gnarled branches in a silver sheen, highlighting the white leaves that glowed faintly until the yellow moon of day rose and the glow was no longer needed.

“The manticores have been riled as of late, so we must make our journey through as quietly and quickly as possible.”

Draven eyed Hannelore. “Did Travion not send this month’s convicted?” The harpy shook her head, which drew a curse from the king’s lips. “So they have not fed.” Draven sighed. Of course the shipment of Midnvia’s worst, sentenced to death, had not arrived yet.

The trio glanced over to where Eden now sat, Seurat comforting her as best he could and offering her a drink of water. The manticores would never dare to attack the king’s convoy, not on a typical day. But what would the scent of fresh fae do to them?

“Seurat, we leave at once!” Draven called, then eyed his guards. “Keep a watchful eye on the tree line. If you see anything, do not hesitate to kill. Now is not the time for mercy.”

Channon quickly shifted, and Hannelore moved to take up her position in her chariot, her bow now gripped securely in her hand. Moving to his own chariot, Draven watched Eden approach, her eyes once again set somewhere over his shoulder so that their gazes did not meet.

“My lady,” he murmured, motioning to the chariot.

Silently, Eden stepped up into it once more, reclaiming her position at the front, hands already clasped around the silver rail. Climbing in behind her, Draven’s arms wrapped around Eden, his senses awash with her intoxicating scent yet again. If the rarity of fae blood was such a torment to him, how much worse would it be for the true monsters in the wood? The thirst for sunshine may drive them mad.

With a snap of the reins, they were off, Channon running ahead of them. Draven could only hope that their presence would go mostly unnoticed. It seemed luck was on their side until the open landscape of Andhera came into view. From the tree line on his left, Draven could see glowing green eyes watching them from the shadow of a humanoid face. A soft gasp from Eden let him know she had seen it as well.

“What is that?” she rasped, hands tightening on the rail before her.

“Pay it no mind,” he said more calmly than he felt. Behind him, the twang of a bow sounded out, quickly followed by an echoing roar of pain.

Spurring his steed on faster, Draven focused on breaking the tree line and getting out into the open where the manticore would have no place to hide, trusting the harpy to handle the beast behind them.

“Wait! It’s attacking!” Eden had whipped around to look behind them, her body bent partially over his arm. “We can’t simply leave her.”

“Hannelore will be fine, now straighten up!” His arm jerked her, needing the weight of her torso off him as he sought to control the pull of the kelpie. Draven was surprised at her concern for someone who had already passed from living into unliving and had been deemed a monster by most.

Another roar pierced the air, followed by the scrape of claws on steel—Hannelore was now battling with the beast in close proximity. Draven wished to spare her a look, to be certain he hadn’t just left her to meet the final death, but there wasn’t time for it.

Once they broke from the tree line and out into the open landscape, Channon began to circle them in large loops, keeping his eyes on the hills for anything approaching. Draven took a moment to look over his shoulder, just in time to see Hannelore cleave the beast’s head from its shoulders. Grunting in relief, he returned his gaze to the remainder of their journey.

In the night, the landscape was bathed in a bluish darkness that made each marker blend into the next. It was the perfect hunting time for anything looking to feast. For Draven, one of those very predators, his eyes adjusted easily enough, keeping the world in crisp detail. He could only imagine how the darkness appeared to Eden, however.

The day would be better for her. During the day, the yellow moon washed the land with enough light that one could get around outside without the need of torches, if only just.

The moment in the woods had left Eden shaking, which did not cease for the remainder of their journey. But to her credit, the young woman remained upright. It would seem she had found her backbone once more.

The first gleam of the yellow moon was just beginning to show itself as they approached his castle, traveling the long road through hills dotted with gnarled trees, jagged rocks, and every so often, a stone hut.

The castle itself sat upon a sharp cliff that pierced the skyline like a scythe. He’d built the stone fortress at the very top, so that it looked down over the valley and its sprawling city on one side and the dark crevice situated at the bottom of the cliff on the other. The crevice was a direct portal into the afterlife—a realm there was no coming back from.

Sharp black turrets rose up from the castle, lit with the faint glow of torches. The large wooden doors in the walls surrounding the structure, which could be closed to cut it off from the rest of the land, remained open. King Draven did not fear his land or his people. He had spent his first brutal century here proving to all who truly ruled this realm.

Trailing down the front side of the cliff and leading down to the land were a series of stately homes and estates. Here the nobility lived, those who had traveled into Andhera to found it all those eons ago.

As they passed through the dark cobblestone streets of his capital city, Eden remained silent, abhorring everything around her Draven was certain. He, too, stayed quiet until he’d drawn his chariot up before his castle steps and a panting Channon had morphed back into his human form.

“Welcome to Castle Aasha.” Stepping down, he handed the reins to the young revenant who came floating over the courtyard, his appearance at once solid and temporary.

Extending a hand, Draven aided Eden down out of the chariot, motioning for Seurat to follow behind them. “Come, I am sure you are tired. I will take you to a room where you can sleep for now.”

Draven glanced at Seurat, who understood his silent question. “The study in the east wing, sire, would be the best.”

Out of a sense of duty, Draven offered his arm to Eden, who took it with some hesitation. Walking her through the halls of his home, Draven saw it with different eyes. Though the torches brought a warm light to the gray stone walls, it was a vast, empty space, with little to offer in ornamentation. It was not a place to welcome anyone happily into its embrace.

As they reached the study, Draven opened the door and walked her in. The east study was a cozier place than most, one of the spaces that Travion and Zryan tended to inhabit on the rare occasions they stepped foot in Andhera. A large fireplace filled most of one wall, and a few red velvet armchairs surrounded it, with a desk to one side and a wall of books behind it.

Swiping a hand out before him, Draven lit the sconces on the walls so that the room had enough lighting for Eden to see.

“This is where I will sleep?” She spoke, a tremble of uncertainty in her tone.

“For now, until we can prepare a chamber of sorts for you.”

“I don’t . . . even have a bed.” Her words tumbled out of her softly, and fresh tears followed, streaming down her cheeks, shimmering in the torchlight.

Draven was aghast and looked to Seurat for aid. Comforting weeping maidens was not his standard practice.

“I can acquire a chaise lounge for the lady,” Seurat offered. “I’ll have the revenants bring one shortly.”

Nodding, Draven peered over at Eden. “In our land, most creatures here do not sleep. Bed chambers are not a necessary luxury.”

“Luxury!” She sobbed the word, a hand coming up to cover her lips. “Please, just leave me be.”

Abiding by her wishes, Draven backed out through the door and closed it behind her. Seurat, the gentler of the two, would return soon enough and be there to answer any questions she may have.

With a weariness that was unnatural to him, Draven carried himself down the long corridors to where his own study sat. Stepping inside, he closed the door with a heavy thud, warding off any who would dare to disturb him.

What nonsense had Zryan dumped into his hands now?