C.C. Peñaranda

A Throne From the Ashes

Bia || Alpi 

When the maneuver had processed, Faythe exhaled hard, coming back to her full senses. Sapphire eyes eyes claimed her entirely as she stared at him in bewilderment, their faces so close they shared breath. Those few seconds slowed despite him being quick to straighten with her. His arm didn't drop immediately. His palm flattened against her back, fingers grazing over her spine, the slow trail of his hand ending at her waist before his touch left her and she unfurled her fists. They never broke eye contact.

Faythe couldn't be sure if her heart was thundering from dwindling combat or the prickling sensation that crawled over her skin at his closeness.

When she dropped her eyes back down, she fixed them hard on the prince. Ice sedated her fears and cooled the quick heat of embarrassment. She would not let him win. "Do you want to know what I see whenI look at you, Malin?"

The prince quirked a brow, finding entertainment in her opposition.

"Fear. So expertly hidden behind false confidence. A name is just a word, another mask. Without a crown, without that claim to the Ashfyre name, who are you?" She didn't leave room for answer. "The difference between you and me is that I don't need a name or a title or a damned thing to tell me who or what I am. I didn't come here to lay claim to a throne from name alone, but I also didn't come all this way to deny my heritage. I may have come from nothing, but I will rise to everything. The greatest triumph will be having you there to bear witness as I do."

"Acelin and Kellias are leading in the pit. I believe Drya and Selain are doing what they do best and keeping eyes in the shadows," Tynan informed her.

 was exactly where she expected each of themn to be, much to her pleasure.

The five had been hand-picked by Zaiana to form her inner circle of the highest-ranking and strongest Silverfairs. Not through size or physical strength, but because each of them possessed unique attributes that made them an unshakable force to be reckoned with. Zaiana's destination had been the pit anyway — not out of want, but out of duty as an overseer. It was the time of evening the young Silverfairs and Blackfairs would be in training. As much as it was deliriously dull and frustrating to watch, Zaiana's presence as the delegate was needed to keep them in line.

"Now, now, Zaiana, they were just having a little fun with one curious enough to wander over. If any of them should be reminded to stay in line, it is your own."

Zaiana ground her teeth at the sound of Maverick, delegate of the Blackfairs. He sauntered over, picking aimlessly at the cuff of his leathers with an insufferable poise of arrogance. How many times had she envisioned tearing his throat out with her bare hands? She always promised to follow through one day. Perhaps when they weren't damned to live together under the abominable confines of the Mortus Mountains.

Zaiana turned from the darklings to face off with the wickedly beautiful male. The quickest way to tell the Transitioned from the Born was in their onyx eyes, a darkness that consumed whatever humanity they might have harbored as fae. Maverick was turned into a dark fae after being captured from the kingdom of Dalrune over a century ago. He was one of the most successful transitions in their history, having kept the abil- ity of fire he was born with when so many lost theirs — and their sanity.

Maverick and Zaiana were two of the very few who possessed any magick among the dark fae. They had grown up side by side but always in competition. She bested him at many things, but he wasn't above cheating or lying to get his way — something Zaiana had no time or respect for.

Two days since her rocky parting with Reylan and the hours were already passing far too slowly, each one watering the bud of an ache that grew in his absence, Faythe had given Reuben time to rest and adjust that morning after more hours of endless chatter and even some laughter, but still, he couldn't distract her from the nagging hollowness in her stomach. She didn't know exactly when the general would return. It had only been a couple of days, but she missed him.

Rounding the next corner, Faythe spied a set oI double doors down the hall, open enough that she could peek inside. She walked toward them with extra caution, hearing faint shuffling from behind the wood. She didn't know if it was improper to invite herself in without knocking, but considering the doors were already open, Faythe decided to chance her luck in the hope it Would be Kyleer or at least someone she could ask for his whereabouts. Bracing a hand on one of the doors, she slowly and silently craned her neck to look through the gap.

Her eyes widened at the sight, cheeks flaming hot, and she instinctively retreated. She'd found one brother, albeit not the one she was on the hunt for. She stayed as still as death, hoping Izaiah and his companion hadn't detected her unwelcome intrusion. His male companion, whom he was engaged in a very compromised position with against the far wall. The passionate kiss they shared was heated enough that Faythe felt slick with sweat over her accidental trespassing.

Faythe went to return her bow, but Kyleer's quiet voice halted her steps. "He's visiting..." He trailed off, hesitant. When Faythe turned back, Kyleer's eyes were creased in sorrow. Her stomach knotted. "He's visiting a grave. It's in Fenher," he explained carefully, cautious of just how much he shared with her. He knew it wasn't his place to say.

Faythe's regret over how she'd spoken to Reylan before he left twisted tighter. Her voice fell. "Why wouldn't he just tell me?"

"Im sure he will. It's...hard for him. Reylan hasn't opened up about his past to anyone in a very long time."

slipped up. Not with Reylan's past, but his own. His words were tight, broken, and ice embraced her. The muscles in his large arms flexed, and his shoulder blades stiffened.

Faythe said carefully, barely louder than a whisper, You... you had a mate?" As she spoke in past tense, her heart splintered for him.

Kyleer straightened but didn't turn to face her. She couldn't read his expression, but she opened herself up to feel his suffering. Perhaps he didn't realize he'd let the emotion slip past his guard and settle over him in a shroud of palpable anguish. It was so raw, sorrowful, and draining... Faythe felt suffocated under his unfathomable grief. To lose a mate was to lose half of one's soul forever.

"Yes," he confirmed, his voice devoid of any emotion. A tremor swept through her. "Her name was Greia, and she was my mate, but we weren't... 

." He turned to face her then, guarded but curious to see her reaction.

"Yes," he confirmed, his voice devoid of any emo- tion. A tremor swept through her. "Her name was Greia, and she was my mate, but we weren't... 

Kyleer reached for another bow, smaller. He walked over to her and replaced her longer one with it. Faythe weighed the lighter bow.

"When we recognize our mate, it's not typically an instant love. In fact, on rare occasions, a true pairing might never find such a feeling" he explained as she followed him back to the target range. "Greia was already with another when I met her. It was during the Great Battles, and she was one of the healers who joined my legion to help with the wounded." He passed her an arrow, which Faythe took warily before nocking it to the string.

Another voice carried across the hall to answer. “Biting, especially between mates, is a pleasure beyond your wildest imagination, dear Faythe. And almost always performed alongside… other acts." Izaiah crept up to them, the most devious grin upturning one side of his mouth. "I should have known this is where you'd run off to.”

Faythe flushed at his bold explanation of 

. Then the second half of his statement registered, and her already warm cheeks caught fire as she knew what he meant.

"You could have joined, you know. I'm not opposed to the idea of having a woman involved," he teased, stalking toward her with his hands stuffed casually into his finely tailored pants' pockets.

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