“Do you truly feel prepared to go through with this?” Her father asked, pushing harder this time. He was studying Elana so intently that she thought he might see right through her. “Can you look me in the eye and still tell me you feel ready for this step?”
What did he want from her? Did he want a different answer from her, or was this some sort of test? Elana’s thoughts raced. This time, she glanced in Marlena’s direction, looking for some sort of hint or direction. But her mother’s gaze was equally intense, and equally inscrutable.
Was she prepared? What kind of question was that? Was this something it was even possible to be prepared for?
Elana clenched her jaw and met the duke’s gaze with an unflinching certainty that she didn’t feel. Of the many things her mother had taught over the years, the importance of hiding her weaknesses and presenting a strong front was chief among them.
“I do, Your Grace,” Elana said, her hands balling into white-knuckled fists beneath the table. Her nails carved neat crescents into the meat of her palms.
Had Tobias, Brienne, Marcella, Rhys, Dion, or even Antoine felt prepared? What did he expect from her if even they—
Something hit the other side of the grand dining room’s doors with a bang.
The duke and duchess were already on their feet, half-formed spells in hand.
The air was heavy with her father’s magic, a thick and oppressive and terrifying energy. A maelstrom of dark energy swirled in the palm of his hand, a whirling, crackling sphere of jagged lightning and destruction. If Elana weren’t so accustomed to it, the tangible pressure it created in the air would have been enough to break her out in a cold sweat and blank her mind with fear.
At Marlena’s bidding the harmless potted plants lining the windowsills exploded into a monstrosity of thick, thorny vines that formed an immediate barrier between the family and who or what was on the other side of that door.
Elana didn’t even need to get to her feet, let alone scramble for a way to protect herself. This was as routine an event as any in the Vanquise estate. How many times had their meals been interrupted by assassination attempts? She couldn’t begin to count.
And, in all those times, she had yet to see a threat that the duke and duchess couldn’t decimate in the blink of an eye.
Elana lifted her teacup back to her lips, taking the opportunity to compose herself. She was grateful for the temporary reprieve from her father’s questions.
Elana peered through her mother’s barrier at the grand mahogany double doors as they were thrown wide open. They swung open with enough vigor to slam against the walls, hard.
Paintings rattled and teetered precariously.
At the far side of the room, a mirror fell and shattered.
A woman that Elana had never seen before stood between the open doors, a knight’s limp body in her left hand and a sword in her right, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. The deep crimson and carmine of her eyes and hair put the splatter of blood smeared across her face to shame, but there was a glint in her eyes that didn't make her look wholly sane.
In fact, nothing about her did. Elana had yet to see anyone or anything capable of standing up to her parents, but there was something deeply unsettling about the intruder.
A chill crept up Elana’s spine. Should she have taken this more seriously?
The stranger’s face was as beautiful and delicate as any noblewoman’s—and it was bisected laterally and vertically with deeply etched, razor straight scars that no court woman would possess. The right side of body, all the way up to just beneath her jaw, was covered in a network of white burn scars.
In the woman’s right hand was a broadsword that didn’t match her physique. They were usually reserved from the burliest of knights who, even then, needed both hands to lift them. But this stranger was, while not petite, of average build and stature. There was no reason that she should be capable of wielding that weapon.
Nor was there any indication that she should be strong enough to lift a grown man’s body in one hand—let alone a knight in full-armor.
“Down, Valkyrie,” someone commanded, his voice accompanied by a strong undercurrent of exasperation.
The stranger dropped the knight’s unconscious body on command, stopping in her tracks.
“It can’t be…” Gerard said underneath his breath. His expression darkened as he looked past the wild-eyed, blood-spattered intruder.
Elana heard the stranger approaching long before he entered her line of sight. The sound of his boots hitting the tile floors in the hallway beyond grew louder and louder, until he finally set foot in the grand dining room.
Marlena gasped into her hands, dropping her spell. The barrier collapsed, the mutated plants shrinking back down to fill their decorative pots, transforming back into unassuming house plants.
Elana stiffened and pushed her chair back from the table, getting to her feet. She backed up until she was parallel with Marlena.
Something wasn’t right here. Something was amiss.
The man standing next to the wild-eyed, crimson-haired woman—the one he had called Valkyrie—had a familiar yet unfamiliar face. The two of them looked to be about the same age, neither could have been older than thirty. But the man was easily the duke’s height, perhaps even taller.
From the jewel gold of the intruder’s eyes to the darkness of his thick raven hair, his coloring was the spitting image of Gerard de Vanquise. The only difference was, while his facial features did resemble Gerard’s, they were also juxtaposed with the cold, elegant beauty of Marlena’s. To Elana’s knowledge, any siblings she had were either long dead or expelled from the family.
“Your Grace, who…” Elana trailed off, glancing sideways at her mother. It wasn’t possible, was it? “...is this man…?”
“You must be Elana, then,” the man’s voice cut through the room. “I haven’t seen you since you were a few years old.”
Elana stiffened, but gave him no verbal response.
The sphere of dark energy in Gerard’s hand continued to grow and crackle ominously.
“What are you doing here?” Gerard turned to Marlena, eyes narrowed. “Marlena?” he said, laying the unspoken accusation on her.
The duchess shook her head wordlessly, her lower face still hidden behind her hands.
The duke turned his attention back to the stranger. The air in the room shifted, growing colder as the swirling darkness in the palm of his hand continued to grow. Raw energy sparked from its center, illuminating the room in flashes of deep amethyst as it crackled.
“Antoine.” Gerard’s voice was ice cold. “I told you that if you dared to come back, I would be forced to return you to the Maker. I pray you have a good reason for daring to show your face.”
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