Haven’s Netherworld magick might own her sleeping hours, but during the day, when she was awake and in control, she could make her light magick shine.
Darkness didn’t define her. And this was a perfect screw-you moment to the dark magick rooted inside her.
You don’t own me.
With a taunting grin, Haven drew a long, winding rune with her finger over her chest, careful that no one saw.
It was a creation rune. As she traced the lines she was supposed to think of the creature she wanted to make. It sounded simple but it was incredibly tricky, requiring concentration and focus.
When the rune was nearly finished, and the chances of messing up the creation were low, she let her attention drift to Bell.
Beneath his dark tunic, a faint throb of light pulsed. She cast a quick glance around.
Did anyone notice?
But even if someone did happen to catch the glow, they wouldn’t know that Bell wore a special powerrune around his neck. One that directed her magick to him and kept up the illusion they’d been using since they returned.
Luckily, every eye save Haven’s was on the sphere of fire blossoming from the prince’s open palm.
The moment she finished the rune, the fire surged outward. A spinning miasma of orange and red flames that grew and grew.
Sparks became feathers. Long, proud feathers of indigo and cyan-green. The tips of its wings were peach colored, its head a distinguished royal blue.
“It’s a . . . peacock,” a young boy cried.
Haven’s throat swelled with pride, and she ignored Surai’s groan.
Last time she tried that rune her magickal peacock turned into a lumpy, half-run-over rooster that caught the drapes on fire before dissolving into the floor.
This was progress; this was wonderful.
Bell glanced at her, his face just as shocked as everyone else’s.
Really? His expression seemed to be saying. A giant peacock?
She flicked up her eyebrows, her own message clear. Really. A giant, glorious peacock. Just like you.
With a sigh, Bell turned back to his fans and performed an elaborate flick of his hand. The peacock shot into the air, a plume of fiery tail-feathers trailing over the upturned cheeks of the onlookers.
A collective peal of awe erupted from the crowd as the magickal bird swooped and dove, stirring the black and gold Penrythian banners hanging from the rafters, and Haven felt her chin lift and her own chest puff out.
She shot Surai a triumphant grin. “Meet the first royal Penrythian peacock. What shall we name him?”
“Idiot,” Surai muttered.
“That’s a horrible name for a peacock,” Haven pointed out.
Surai cut her eyes at Haven and shook her head, the sharp ends of her hair slashing at her chin—but one corner of her mouth lifted, filling Haven with hope.
It had been so long since Haven saw Surai truly smile, and she held her breath, willing the other corner of her friend’s lips to finish the too-rare act.
Instead, Surai touched the offending side of her mouth, and it smoothed back out into the perpetual expression of contemplative sadness she always donned.
Haven sighed, her focus drifting through the hall.
Like always, her attention snagged on the arched windows. Ravius sat quietly on the cracked stone sill, watching the entire thing with a look of superiority. Their eyes met, and she swore the raven tilted its head to the garden far below. Taunting her with the prospect of fresh air . . .
Her pulse raced as she imagined the plush grass beneath her bare feet, the cool breeze scented with plumeria and roses.
Despite the high ceilings and ample space, she itched to be outside. To be free. Both of the stifling crowd and the pressure from constantly hiding the truth.
Stop, she scolded herself. Your place is here, with Bell. Wherever that may be.
Tearing her gaze from the open windows, she focused on the runelight flickering from the sconces situated between each window until her heartbeat steadied.
Their eternal golden light—a magickal luxury the kingdom hadn’t experienced since their own runelight extinguished years ago—flickered tall and regal, impervious to the wind fluttering in from the windows.
At Bell’s insistence, the King had allowed the citizens of Penryth and the surrounding villages to take the runelight back to their own homes on the wicks of sallow candles.
Without the looming presence of dark magick to siphon it, the runelight would last forever.
She took in the rest of the room. Royals from all over the mortal realm flanked either side, their tables positioned so they overlooked the spectacle.
Haven recognized Lord Thendryft and his daughter, Eleeza, at the table nearest Bell’s stage. Beside her, a boy no older than nine sat. By his dark skin and bubbly smile, he was Eleeza’s brother.
They all wore deep burgundy, and Eleeza’s sleek dark hair was pinned atop her head with a network of plum-wine ribbons that gave Haven a headache just looking at them.
Lady Thendryft’s eyes were bright as she watched Bell. Her wide, beaming smile left little doubt about her thoughts on their engagement.
Well that makes exactly one of them.
At the other end of the long room, the royal family sat at the head banquet table, watching the entire spectacle. King Horace lounged in the largest chair in the middle, his cheeks ruddy from too much meat and wine.
But his eyes were still sharp as they followed his son, the same way he had since their return from the Shadow Kingdom.
An outsider might think that, after nearly losing his son to the Shade Queen, he was finally appreciating him. But Haven knew better. The king was a lot of things, but dummy wasn’t one of them.
He suspected something wasn’t right. Thank the Goddess he hadn’t figured out what . . . yet.
The king’s mistress, Cressida, on the other hand, couldn’t take her attention off the magickal peacock.
As she followed the creature with her gaze, hardly seeming to breathe, there was a hungry look in her eyes that made Haven uneasy.
Now that magick was back in the kingdom, and it didn’t belong to the Shade Queen anymore, Cressida had something else to lust after.
Her son, Renk, sat glumly beside her, his pheasant leg untouched. Frown lines etched across his high forehead, his thick brow eclipsing his beady eyes so that Haven nearly missed the bitterness glittering inside them.
Shadeling’s shadow, he looked seconds away from launching over the table and strangling the bird—or Bell.
Alarm spiked her breathing as she caught the sneer twisting his face, and one hand automatically went to the new sword sticking up from the scabbard at her waist.
He didn’t even bother hiding his bitterness at Bell’s newfound status.
Touch him, she thought, willing her threat over the crowd and across the room, and I’ll murder you.
Perhaps she had accidentally employed magick to bring him her message, because Renk blinked and then slid his slimy gaze to her.
A little smile twitched his greasy lips, and he picked at his teeth with a delicate bird bone, the act somehow aggressive.
What are you going to do about it? his expression taunted.
Bastard. Her fists curled at her sides as a panicky feeling frayed her senses.
In the time they’d been gone, and then the three months since they had been back, Renk had changed. Grown from a cruel, baby-faced teen to a cruel, thick-jawed man.
He’s going to hurt Bell, eventually. Today, tomorrow.