Tides of Torment (Immortal Realms Book 2)

Travion gritted his teeth as he strode back inside the castle. He’d just returned from surveying the true damage Phaedora’s creations had caused. Mointeach was in ruins. The death toll was high, but no number had been officially counted. Too many. Bodies littered the shoreline, monster and Midnivian alike. But the discord she brought didn’t stop at Midniva’s shores; it stemmed to Andhera and Lucem, to Tribonik, Sahille, and Saventi.

His heart ached for his people, for the devastation, the losses. And when the smoke finally settled, he’d see to the monument in Mointeach, as he’d planned, before he left Midniva’s shores again.

Phaedora had woven a complex web of deceit, and she plucked the strings at will.

And she would pay for it.

Fury didn’t begin to describe what Travion had experienced. He’d nearly lost Sereia, and although it cost them the book, he would do it again if he had to. Ruan had been rightfully incensed, but Draven, despite his initial look of contempt, had shown understanding.

Travion entered his study and glanced outside the floor-to-ceiling window. Even the sky reflected the state of the kingdom, deep crimson hues melding with orange and almost black clouds. In minutes, Midniva would be in darkness, and the trial could begin.

Taimon was to be put on trial and inevitably executed. There was no way the royal family would decide otherwise. The kingdom had been invited to witness it, to let them see what happened to traitors.

Taimon would pay for his crimes. All of them.

A moment later, a knock sounded on the door.

Travion turned his head to see who it was, and his toga-clad brother strolled in wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Ruan, no doubt, had relayed every single detail to his father, including how furious he was with the outcome and the distinct lack of Phaedora’s head on a pike.

However, no such irritation was written on his brother’s face, nor was there a hint of disappointment. But there was tension.

“You have returned in one piece,” Zryan said, assessing him to ensure what he said was true. “I have to say that I’m surprised.” He crossed the room and half-embraced Travion, pounding him on the back lightly. Zryan withdrew and sat in a blue velvet chair in front of the massive window, drumming his thumbs along the clawed armrest.

Travion would have laughed, but the weight of the situation still threatened to pull him down to his knees. His younger brother must have picked up on that because he only inhaled deeply instead of prodding.

“Sereia is . . . ?”

“Resting, I suspect. I just returned from surveying the damages and I didn’t want to give her more reason to leap out of bed with a report. The trial will rile her up again.”

“As any good trial should,” Zryan murmured. “It seems the two of you are a match, given your penchant for near-death experiences.” He didn’t say it teasingly but rather matter-of-factly, yet it still made Travion bristle.

He crossed the distance between them, narrowing his eyes on his brother. “There was nothing near about her experience. She died in my arms. By the sea, every time I close my eyes, I see it over and over.” Travion’s voice broke, and he rammed his fingers through his hair.

Zryan lifted his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t making light of the situation, brother. But I am glad for you both that she is alive.”

Travion clenched his jaw as he closed his eyes. “Yes, and the book is gone.”

“For now,” Zryan offered in a reassuring tone. “But about that . . . was it truly Phaedora?” He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he glanced up at Travion.

Travion pinched the bridge of his nose and began pacing as flashes of Phaedora’s smirking face surfaced in his mind. The wicked gleam, the triumph . . .

“It was without a doubt Phaedora, but why she has waited this long to make herself known is beyond me.”

Zryan shrugged a shoulder, and his green gaze flicked to the window. “She’s always been mildly obsessed.” His hand brushed down over his torso. “But none of it bodes well for us. However, we’re on alert now, and our family has only grown stronger.”

“Stronger than The Creaturae?” This time, Travion did laugh, and it was a cold, hollow sound. “We need to begin planning how to counteract any of her inevitable attacks. And since she has assembled a following that we have no way of knowing how large it is nor who is in it, we’re behind in this game.”

Travion turned to the window, which had darkened as the sun made its final descent, but across the starless sky, purple streaks of lightning danced.

Zryan stood from the chair and joined him at the window, his eyes searching for something, perhaps an answer. “Midniva doesn’t need torrential rains for the execution, Travion. We want them to see what happens to those who trifle with us, don’t we?”

A storm would chase a crowd away, but the mounting frustration of not knowing made it difficult to restrain his anger.

“It’s almost time for the trial,” Zryan drawled as he reached his hand out and squeezed Travion’s shoulder. “Take a breath, retrieve Sereia, and we can all talk after.”

Although quite the rarity when it came to most things, his younger brother was correct.

They had time to assess the situation deeper and hash out strategies. However, at this very moment, his kingdom needed him, and he needed Sereia.

“Until later.” He inclined his head toward Zryan, then left his brother to the still, dark room.

Upstairs, Travion nudged open the door to his bedroom only to find all the candles unlit and the room quite empty. He frowned, but the soft padding of slippered feet caught his attention, and he peered down the hall as one of his servants came into view.

“Evening, Your Majesty.” She bobbed a curtsy, glanced up at him, and her brow furrowed. “If you’re looking for Lady Sereia, she is in her rooms.”

Her rooms? Then, Sereia’s laugh carried toward him, and accompanying it was a voice he knew all too well—Evun.

By the sea, what was that rapscallion of a fae up to now?

“Thank you,” Travion murmured and promptly headed into Sereia’s room. Not long ago, Eden had stayed in this very room, resting as Midniva ended the first battle. But it belonged to only one, and as he rounded the corner, his breath caught.

Sereia faced the floor-length mirror dressed in a powder-blue gown with silver embroidery on the edges. A layered skirt wrapped around her curvy figure, looking much like waves crashing onto the shore. The bodice boasted more of the embroidery, as did the sheer fabric covering her arms.

His valet fiddled with restraining her silken strands, pinning them into a tidy updo.

She looked every bit a queen.

Evun caught him staring in the mirror and grinned. “Come to see my work, have you?”

His lips twitched into a small smile. “I didn’t take you for a handmaiden, Evun.” His valet only tutted in response. Travion moved deeper into the room, pausing a few feet from Sereia. “Leave us.”

“Don’t muss her hair up before the trial.” Evun sighed, shaking his head. “I will have your clothes situated momentarily.” The valet left the room, closing the door behind him.

Sereia smoothed her hands down her sides and tilted her chin up. “It seems I’ve rendered you speechless, Your Majesty.”

Indeed, she had. For she was his and his alone. She was as beautiful as she was fierce and intelligent.

Travion stepped behind her, his head lowering so his chin rested on her shoulder ever so lightly. “A rare thing, indeed.” Her scent invaded his senses, but instead of sweat and sea air, he caught a whiff of something sweeter, almost floral. He closed his eyes, arms encircling her from behind, and simply embraced her, absorbing her presence. “I love you,” he murmured against her neck, feeling the need to express the truth now every chance he got. He’d come so close to losing her . . .

Sereia’s fingers squeezed his hand. “And I love you. Now go clean up. I can appreciate the windswept appearance, and even the smell of horse and leather, but I don’t think your courtiers will.”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the spot between her neck and shoulder, letting his lips linger on the tender flesh.

“Trav, if you don’t leave now . . .” she whispered.

They’d be late to the trial, and her hair, much to Evun’s dismay, would be ruined. Sighing, he withdrew from her, but not before he placed a kiss on the tip of her ear.

“Very well. I’ll meet you in the foyer.” He departed from the room, smiling to himself.

After Evun had fussed over how unkempt he’d arrived, Travion dressed in the clothes that had been laid out for him.

Form-fitting black trousers, a crisp linen shirt, navy vest, and finally, the last cumbersome layer, a tailcoat in the same hue as his vest. Much like Sereia’s gown, his coat had silver embroidery on the edges.

Good enough.

He left the privacy of his room and ventured to the foyer. Sereia was waiting for him, the candlelight bathing her in a warm glow. Much to his surprise, she didn’t seem bored or like she was readying to leap from the nearest window.

“Lady Sereia, can I escort you to the platform?” He grinned down at her, and in this lighting, her eyes sparkled like the sea under the sun.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Travion pursed his lips. “You’ll need to stand with the family—”

“I’ll make sure Queen Eden and Prince Kian are between me and everyone else.”

Movement at the door caught his attention. Finn nodded his head, and it was time to begin.

Outside of the castle, Finn led the way down the torch-lit path, taking them farther away from the seaside and to the rolling hills of Midniva. Eventually, it gave way to a wide-open space. Despite the dark of night, the area was illuminated by rows and rows of torches.

A crowd, far more numerous than Travion could count, drew around them, facing the platform. Nearest to him and Sereia, the royal family was lined up in high-backed chairs. Draven sat grim-faced, while Eden held his hand, and between her and Kian was an empty seat.

“It’s almost as if they know me,” Sereia teased.

“Almost, my heart.” He dipped his head and brushed a kiss to her brow. “I will find you after.” Travion led her to the seat, then ascended the platform.

For as many citizens of Midniva that were present, he was certain if a pin dropped, he’d hear it loud and clear.

“My beloved subjects, tonight we make an example of those who threaten us and who dare to betray us.” Travion turned to his right, and Finn stood with another guard who held Taimon by his manacles. With a small nod, the guard brought the traitor up and secured him to a wooden post. His hands behind his back and ankles secured in place.

“Taimon Mustela, we are here to try you for your involvement with Naya Damaris’ plots, conspiring against the crown, and attempted regicide. What have you to say for yourself?”

The half-fae spat in his direction, laughing maniacally. “May the Old Ways rise. And if any of you value your life, you’ll see the light. You’ll see that this is the only way. I refuse to repent for what I’ve done.”

The Old Ways? His eyes darted toward his brothers. Draven’s jaw muscles feathered, and even Zryan’s brows knit together in a mixture of surprise and disgust. The Old Ways were in place when Ludari ruled. When he was absolute and freedom was naught more than a dream.

“Very well. Since this involvement is beyond Midniva and encompasses the three realms, let us cast our votes. What say the royal family?”

Draven stood. “Guilty,” he grunted.

Eden pressed her lips together and joined her husband. “Guilty.”

Sereia was next, and when she stood, the crowd murmured. Likely because they weren’t certain who she was and why she was sitting among the royal family. “Guilty.”

Kian’s metal arm glinted in the firelight, and he nodded. “Guilty.”

Zryan, for all his foolishness, looked as though he longed to peel the flesh from Taimon himself. “Guilty.”

Travion turned to look down at Taimon, who trembled but wore a smile of pure madness. “You are guilty, Taimon, and as such, you will be executed by beheading.” He stalked forward, leaning in so he could growl into his ear. “I trusted you with everything, and you betrayed me.”

Taimon lifted his eyes and stared hard at him, then he spoke in a tongue few knew. “May the Old Ways rise and the new ways crumble.”

How did he know that language? It’d all but been forgotten, save for the families that had managed to survive Ludari’s reign and the fallout.

“Who else is involved with Phaedora’s web, Taimon?” Travion asked lowly.

Taimon smiled up at him, his eyes void of remorse. “You’ll know soon enough.”

Travion walked to the side of the platform, grabbing the sword Finn handed to him. The other guard unchained the half-fae and shoved him to his knees. Foolishly, Taimon kept muttering the same phrase over and over, which only served to infuriate Travion all the more.

“Let your death be an example,” he growled and lifted the sword upward, only to bring it crashing down onto the male’s neck. His head tumbled away, blood spraying onto the wooden planks, and his body collapsed.

It was done.

For now.

Long after the execution, Travion couldn’t find sleep, and it seemed Sereia couldn’t either. For she huffed and stared up at the ceiling in his chambers. Neither one was in the mood for a distraction, too ramped up from the earlier events.

“Since we’re not sleeping, can we talk? The silence could deafen me,” Travion grumbled and rolled over to face her.

She lifted onto her elbow and peered down at him. “Talk about what? How you’re not trailing your lips along my neck?” she teased but made no move to tempt him any further.

“By the sea, Sereia. Is that all you think about?”

“When I’m nestled up next to you, it most certainly is.” She scooted closer, pushing him onto his back, and climbed on top of him. She didn’t grind against him, only traced the raised scar on his chest.

He lifted his hand, brushing his fingers against a fresh scar, where a gaping hole had been. “Aren’t we the pair?”

Sereia scooped his hand into hers and brought it to her lips, kissing his knuckles. “Something like that.”

“Sereia,” he whispered, “you said you’d stay this time.” Travion carefully selected his words, not wanting to ruin the moment, not wanting to ask for too much. But he dared to speak, dared to love her with everything that he was. “Will you be my queen?”

She stilled, scarcely breathing.

“Yes,” she finally said.

He loosed a breath, sitting up so quickly, his forehead nearly collided with hers. Travion’s lips captured hers in a quick kiss. “Truly?”

Sereia nudged his nose with hers. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am not a liar.” She wound her arms around his neck, playing with the longer strands at the back. “But I will need something for myself. Something that will allow me to remain true to who I am.”

She was a lady of the sea and belonged to the water as much as the ocean belonged to her. To rob her of that would only tear her in half. And Travion didn’t want that.

After a time, he sighed. “Well, tragically, there is an opening for admiral in my navy. I think it would suit you, but that is entirely up to you.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Sereia’s lips covered his once again.

“Do you mean it?”

He leaned back until he hit the mattress once more, and Sereia was sprawled out on top of him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am not a liar.” Travion mimicked her tone, tossing her words back at her. Then he chuckled, threading his fingers in her hair. “What will bring you happiness, my heart?”

“You and the sea.”

“Then you shall have us both.”