Chapter 429: The Preposition

Rhydian;

The moment the sack is ripped from my head, light assaults my eyes. It’s so sudden and violent that I immediately squeeze them shut.

For a few seconds, all I can see is white. And all I feel is the throbbing of my eyes behind my eyelids.

I inhale sharply and instinctively reach for my weapon, but there’s nothing within reach. Worse…My wrists are bound.

I freeze in relief the moment I hear Igma’s voice. She curses under her breath, and that alone tells me that she’s okay.

I open my eyes slowly, and the moment I take in the sights before me…I freeze.

We are sitting in the middle of a massive hall—a…courtroom of some sort.

The ceiling is so high it disappears into darkness somewhere far above us. The ceiling is supported by enormous stone pillars engraved with symbols I don’t recognise. Symbols I have never seen before.

Pale blue flames burn inside bowls mounted against the walls, and my brows knot at the sight of them. There aren’t torches beneath these flames. They… float there, burning perfectly on their own. How…is that possible?

My gaze drops to my legs, and I notice the floor beneath my boots is black stone. As polished and smooth as it looks, it also looks…Ancient. Polished by what I assume to be decades…or centuries of footsteps.

The hairs at the back of my neck rise, and only then do I realise that I’m paying attention to all the wrong things. I lift my head, and all around us… Seated in a perfect, quiet circle… are witches.

The markings on their skin, and the…dark aura they carry, tell me exactly what they are. Witches and warlocks. They are seated on raised stone seats surrounding the centre of the hall. Men and women of different ages stare down at Igma and me without saying a word.

“We’re fucked.” Igma whispers to me as she looks at the faces surrounding us.

Some of them are wearing robes, and others are wearing simple clothes. Some look young…While others look so old that their faces seem carved from the same stone surrounding us.

But all of them are silent. Watching. Almost like they are waiting for the right moment to pounce.

My shoulders straighten instinctively, and Igma shifts beside me. I glance at her, and I do not miss the worry on her face.

Her hands are also bound, and there is a small cut across her cheek from our earlier escape through the forest.

She suddenly looks at me, and our eyes lock.

“You seeing this too?” She asks through a mind link, and I nod subtly.

“Unfortunately,” I reply dryly, and her mouth twitches.

“Good. I was beginning to think I got hit on the head.” She answers through the link, and I let out a breath.

Before I can answer, a voice echoes through the hall.

“Welcome.”

It’s one word. One…word that’s supposed to feel warm…and inviting, but has never felt more…wrong and threatening.

The hall, which was initially silent, somehow falls into an even deeper silence.

My wolf stirs beneath my skin, and I lift my head to the source of the voice.

That’s when my brain finally takes cognisance of him. How…did I miss him earlier? Was he there the whole time, or did he just sit? No…If he just walked in…I would have seen him.

I stare at the man sitting at the far end of the hall. His seat…or throne, seems higher than the others surrounding him.

I blink as I stare at the chair he’s sitting on. Unlike the other, his looks like it’s carved from dark wood…and stone—With its back rising behind him like the branches of an ancient tree.

My eyes then drift to the man. Red hair falls freely over his shoulders—Long, flowing, and almost unnaturally bright against the darkness of the hall.

There’s a strip of white cloth tied securely across his eyes like a blindfold. Yet somehow…I have the unsettling feeling he can see everything.

His clothes are simple. There’s no crown, or armour…or obvious weapon. Just a dark robe that only adds to the unease I feel about him.

Something about him makes every instinct inside me scream. And I hate that feeling.

There is no rage coming from him. No obvious hostility or hunger for blood. There’s nothing I can easily categorise about him. All I can sense about him is power. Old…raw power.

My wolf lowers its head, and my heart drops. I have never felt it do that before. Not for anyone…Not even Father.

Who…who is this man? And why is his presence suffocating me despite the distance between us?

The man tilts his head slightly, and I watch him closely.

“Rhydian.” He calls smoothly, and my blood runs cold instantly. Igma goes rigid beside me, and we share a look.

He knows my name—Wait. He’s a warlock. Of course he does.

And now that I’ve gotten a proper look at him…He’s one of the warlocks who attacked Gravemaw. He led the attack with that purple-eyed witch.

Shit!! The same man who almost got my family killed has me sitting before him, bound up!!

“Who are you?” I demand ad I find my voice, and some of the witches shift in their seats.

One looks almost offended by my question, but I don’t care, to be honest. I need to know who the fuck this man is, why he has Igma and me tied up, and if he has Alana.

The red-haired man doesn’t react. Instead, he draws a breath. Like he’s searching for patience.

“I’m Avaren.” He replies like that is supposed to mean something, and I blink at him.

“Okay. Now that we’ve gotten the introduction out of the way, do you mind telling me why the fuck we are bound!?” I bark impatiently, and he rests his cheek against his fist in an infuriatingly casual movement.

He lifts his free hand, and the ropes around our wrists fall to the ground. I quickly grab my wrists, flexing my fingers as I glare at him.

“You’re the warlock from Gravemaw,” I state coldly, and he nods like it’s a simple, weightless fact.

“Yes, I am.” He replies, and I grit my teeth.

Igma looks between us before turning to me.

“You know him?” She asks me, and my face scrunches in disgust.

“No.” Avaren answers before I can.

“Not personally.” He adds, and my fists clench.

I can not stand his arrogance and audacity. Rage floods me as I remember that night. How they almost killed Elian. How they destroyed Gravemaw…What they did to Queen Cassia and how it took her and her people so long to recover. Yet he sits there, so high and mighty, like he holds all the power in the world and can do whatever he wants with no repercussions.

I hate that.

“I’ll ask you again, Avaren, what do you want with us? Why did you have you people drag us in here like criminals?” I demand, and he tilts his head.

“Sons of criminals are part criminals…aren’t they?” He replies, and rage explodes behind my eyes.

I shoot to my feet before I can stop it, and Igma quickly grabs my wrist.

“I would watch my tongue if I were you!” I warn, but he simply scoffs.

I take one irritated step forward, and several witches immediately rise.

Avaren, however, doesn’t move. He only says one word.

“Sit.”

The word passes through me. Heavy in a way I can not put words to. Like… a pressure. A force.

For one brief second, my body almost betrays me. My knees almost buckle, but my wolf snarls inside me in disagreement.

I resist that infuriating urge to obey, and only then do I see a smile form on his lips.

“Interesting.” He mutters, and I grit my teeth.

My fists clench tighter at how insulting this whole encounter is becoming.

Igma’s grip on my wrist tightens as she slowly pulls me back. Just then, Averen turns his head in her direction. Like a dog that suddenly smelled something new.

“Igma.” He calls, and her expression hardens as she stares at him in disbelief.

“You know my name too?” She asks in honest shock, and Avaren’s reply causes a knot to instantly form in my stomach.

“I know much more than your name.”

Igma’s jaw tightens, and so does her grip on me.

“That’s comforting.” She replies, and Avaren almost smiles.

“You are Alana’s mate.” He says flatly, and my heart sinks. It sinks at the same time Igma’s hand falls from mine.

Igma’s entire posture changes as she realises the same thing I just did.

“You know we came for her.” She states, and Avaren nods.

“Yes.” He answers quickly…and smoothly. My eyes narrow then as more impossible pieces suddenly fall into place.

“You knew we were coming?” I demand, and he turns his head in my direction.

“Yes.” He replies, and I grit my teeth.

Bram! That bastard! He led us into yet another trap. I know it was foolish to trust him. If I make it out of here, I’ll put an end to that sorry life of his myself!

“Alright then, where is she?” Igma asks impatiently, and Avaren remains calm. Annoyingly unhurried.

“She’s safe.” He replies, and Igma takes a sharp breath.

“That’s not what I fucking asked you. Where is she?!” She rages as she takes a step forward, and this time, I’m the one who grabs her as the witches rise again.

“She’s alive.” The red-haired bastard replies, and Igma looks back at me–As if confirming that I’m hearing the same thing too.

“That’s not what I asked.” She spits as she looks back at him, and he nods.

“I know.” He answers with his tone remaining frustratingly calm. “But it is the answer you need first.”

Igma’s fists tighten, and I shut my eyes. I understand her anger.

We’ve travelled through an enchanted forest, been chased by monsters, deliberately herded into a village, kidnapped, bound, and dragged into a courtroom. All for Alana, and this man sits there speaking to us as though we simply arrived for an afternoon conversation.

I step forward again, subtly pulling Igma behind me.

“Take us to her,” I demand, yet Avaren’s expression doesn’t change.

“You assume you have come here to take something—” He begins, but Igma cuts him off.

“We came for my mate!”

“You did.” He agrees, and I roll my eyes in exasperation.

“Then give her to us, and let us be on our way!” Igma tries to bargain, but silence follows.

Avaren slowly folds his hands together, and my brows crease as I watch him. What is the bastard going to say now?

“You misunderstand.” He sighs, and my eyes narrow.

“What?”

“You believe your arrival was an accident.” He says, and the room falls silent.

“You believe the creatures in the forest found you.” He continues as his head tilts.

“They did not.” He informs, and Igma’s breathing catches.

“They were sent.” Avaren continues, and I let out a breath. I already figured that out. We both did. But hearing him confirm it now makes my stomach flop.

“You deliberately brought us here,” Igma confirms, and Avaren nods.

“Yes.”

“Why?” I ask, and he turns his head in my direction.

“For the same reason you walked into the forest.” He replies, and my brows knot.

“Alana?”

“No.” He replies, and I pause.

“No?” Igma asks in confusion.

“No,” Avaren confirms.

“You came for Alana.” He pauses. “But that is not why you are here.”

Something inside me goes quiet as I stare at him.

“What does that mean?” Igma asks impatiently, and finally, he stands.

The entire hall seems to change with him. He isn’t particularly tall. But he doesn’t seem like one to need height to command respect.

The moment his bare feet touch the floor, every witch and warlock in the room lowers their head. Every single one.

My spine straightens as he walks toward us, and Igma quietly closes the gap between us.

He stops a few feet away from us. Even blindfolded, I feel as though he’s looking directly into my eyes.

“Things are happening beyond your understanding, Rhydian.” He says, and the way he calls my name irritates me.

He makes it sound like a warning.

“…Things your father does not understand.” He adds, and my jaw tightens.

“What right have you to talk about my father?” I demand in agitation, and his already straight expression hardens even further.

“Every right. I have every right to talk about that bastard!”

“Watch your tongue!” I yell in response, and he pauses.

Igma swallows beside me as she once again grabs my arm to caution me.

“Look…We don’t want any fucking trouble. I just want Alana. If you release her to us, we won’t involve King Wilhelm.” She says, nearly pleading, and this time…Avaren laughs.

He…laughs. The witches and warlocks around join the laughter, and I feel my left eye twitch in annoyance.

Every second of this is infuriating me in ways I never even thought were possible. The laughter slowly dies, and Averen’s expression drops back into full seriousness as he looks between Igma and me.

“You have spent your lives being taught that there are two sides.” He says quietly. Yet his voice carries through the enormous hall.

“Beastmen and witches. Your people…and mine.” He continues as his head lifts slightly, and I listen in silence.

“You were taught that one must eventually destroy the other.” He adds, and my jaw clenches.

“A war is coming.” He says as he turns around and starts walking back to his seat.

“A war?” I repeat in confusion, but he ignores me.

“And when it arrives, neither witches nor beastmen will emerge untouched.” He says, and I blink at him.

This bastard is going to make me lose my mind if he keeps talking in fucking riddles.

‘Avaren, cut to the fucking chase!” I growl, and he takes a breath as he assumes his place back in his seat.

“You came for Alana…But you are actually here for something else. Your future.” He replies as he turns his head toward the witches and warlocks around him, then back toward us.

“And the future of every witch and beastman who will live long enough to see it.”

My fingers tighten into fists, and Avaren’s voice becomes softer.

“Let us discuss the future of our people.” He says as he settles deeper into his chair.

“Now…while we still can.” His expression becomes unreadable. “Because what is coming will hurt both sides.”

A pause follows.

“But your side…will hurt most.”

The Peony Beneath His Sword is out now. I hope you enjoy it