"I still wonder about it," I said.
His brow furrowed, eyes searching my expression. "Wonder about what?"
"Whether you're the villain in my story."
~~~~~~~
Mara Monroe is at the center of a war she wanted no part in.
But with her new throne she fac...
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When we slept that night, I dreamt of Cedric and his father.
Behind my eyelids, a young boy, around ten, was staring down an older boy who looked to be around thirteen. The younger boy's silver eyes narrowed on the elder, angry at him. No— not angry— focused.
Smalls wisps of dark smoke rose from a young Cedric's shoulder and the older boy looked warily at it. His expression had changed from haughty cynicism to vigilant alarm. From the way the older boy looked, I had the feeling that this was the first time Cedric showed his older brother what he was capable of.
The shadows crept from the young Cedric to a young Rhys, the latter taking a hesitant step backward.
"Don't back away from him, boy!" A gruff voice called from the corner of the training room, "get after him."
Rhys swallowed, a small flickering lighting behind his fist. His elemental— fire. But this display was nothing like what the Autumn Lord was capable of now. A small flicker of flame lit in his palm and he varied his stance as if he were going to strike at the younger boy.
But in an instant, the flicker of flame was gone and so was the Élan Vital around the older boy. It happened so quickly, almost imperceptibly, that I wouldn't have been sure what happened. Except, the colors of Rhys' Élan Vital— predatory oranges and sharp dark swirls— now filled the empty spaces of the shadowed smoke on Cedric's shoulders.
Rhys had crumpled to the ground.
Cenred let out a loud belly laugh, clapping.
***
The dream shifted, and he was older now.
Older now, but still doing the same thing. Absorbing Élan Vitals into his shadows. And not to his brothers. And not in training. Watching as they collapsed, but these ones didn't get back up.
And his father still clapped.
***
The memory morphed into a familiar dream— the same dream I had back in the Summer court.
This time, however, I couldn't hear Cenred or his two sons speak because the connection was too weak, but they were gathered around the cauldron. Cenred looked angry and the other two looked wary of their father. All three of them stood around a table with small figures strewn about.
A war strategy table.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't see the figures on the table or where they were located. They must have been planning an attack and discussing where to move their army to carry it out. Even if I couldn't see it, I knew that it would be on the Summer court. He needed to strike while he still could.
What better way to draw me away from the Winter court's protection than attacking my home? If I could even call it that.
Cenred was close to chucking some of the figures off the table in his rage— his rage boded well for us— when a woman approached him, her hand resting familiarly on his shoulder. A familiar woman too.
