In a sea of piranhas, he knew he should have never left her alone.

After slinking into the crowd and giving the Princess some space, Sorein's thoughts wouldn't stop racing back to her side. This place was full of foolish, drunk royals and imbeciles, not to mention all the children.

Most of the men held drinks in their hands, different liquors and ciders shining in the firelight. He watched their laughter, their playful banter, and the way they hugged each other.

Sorein knew as much as she believed otherwise, her people didn't hate her.

His eyes had caught several Therian's pointing to Iliya, grinning, as if they hadn't seen their heir in so many years. One of the many things he'd been eager to distract her from.

It must've been years, other than the sporadic events inside the Estate. Iliya was respected by Chiori, just perhaps not the world.

So Sorein would do whatever he could to stall his protective instincts and give her time alone with a friend. Heavens knew she needed it.

He could pretend to look for his entourage as she so eloquently put it.

When in reality Sorein truly had no idea where Noah and Jeremy were, nor did he care. He'd told them where he'd be when evening came, if they needed him, he wasn't hard to find.

Even slouching, he was a good three inches taller than most.

"Mama! I told you the Prince was here!" A young boy screamed, yanking on his mothers gown. He was pointing straight at Sorein with wide eyes.

His mom was shrugging him off, old enough to be unimpressed.

Sorein looked at the boy and wondered if he was the child from the bulletwire. He looked awfully similar, from the sandy brown hair to his love for stripes, but there was no way to be certain.

So he ducked away from them and began walking a path beside the waves.

Training his focus, Sorein closed his eyes and listened. The fireworks hadn't started yet, nor did everyone have their lanterns.

Marshmallows and salt swept through the air, thick wisps of fog brushing over his cheeks. The festival wrapped him in a blanket, a warmth he normally only experienced after tasting spices from Draiwyld. The sky was strangely clear after the long morning of rain, stars blinking in and out of sight.

The summer heat lifted as night swallowed day, leaving only the warm sand and a refreshing breeze. For a moment it was the only sound he heard as the waters calmed themselves.

As if he could tune out the thousands of rowdy individuals swarming the beach.

His peace was shredded away as a scream erupted from the pavilion.

The shrill noise was followed by a web of whispered gasps and a few rushed voices.

Sorein's final threads of patience snapped. He hadn't made it all of twenty minutes without hovering, only managing to make it a good ten-minute walk away. Pivoting, he backtracked, following his exact path with hastened steps.

He never should've left the pavilion.

He never should've left her alone.

~ 🔮 ~

A few options crossed Iliya's mind as she stood across from the lean Lord of Teresii. She'd taken in one long, deep breath, her eyes infinitely more focused than the first time they'd encountered one another.

She'd been so caught off guard by Sorein, by him opening that channel between them again, she'd crashed into Qudja. Perhaps the miracle of finding a new friend wasn't worth the cost of this brute's antagonizing.

Then again, she considered herself lucky to have run into a kind face.

Even still, staring upon Riven Turrian made her blood freeze over just before burning with molten rage.

Iliya's lip quirked slightly. "Well, and yours, Lord Turrian?"

She didn't dare address him properly. She was not willing to give him that satisfaction.

"Everything was going over quite nicely until I happened to hear you smear the name of my land," he replied, fighting the sneer growing on his face.

Iliya took the five necessary seconds to observe his posture and his clothing. Casual with no trace of weapons, Riven's shoulders pulled tight though his head was down. He wore shorts and sandals, appearing in no condition to fight. Still, he prowled forward, closing the distance between them.

"I don't see how our conversation is any concern of yours," Iliya challenged, raising her eyes defiantly. "Aren't you here to attend the Ceremony?"

His eyes flashed to Qudja, a flicker of confusion and anger flaring inside them. "Yes, of course."

Instead of excusing himself, Lord Turrian stepped in front of her, leaving a space of only six inches. Iliya felt his breath brush her nose and fought the urge to gag. He smelled of burnt popcorn and peanuts, the smell lingering with each breath he took.

She knew she could handle herself, perhaps bide her time until someone else came for their missing Lord. Iliya even found herself praying for Sorein to make his round to check on her, though she cursed herself for it.

"It must be nice, claiming such things with no consequence," he muttered. The words were quiet and ominous, hanging in the air between them. "It looks like someone found their tongue."

"You're vile and disgusting behavior warrants no honor, Lord Turrian," she snapped, reeling in the wicked growl brimming within her throat. "I suggest you find your court and enjoy your evening."

"You stupid b-"

He'd had no time to prepare for Iliya's wicked backhand, her knuckles slamming into Riven's cheekbone and blasting him straight into the opposing beam.

Stone and dust crumbled from the supports of the structure, but it held.

Iliya didn't truly hear the scream that had drawn the crowd, Fae and Therian alike fighting to witness the brawl beginning inside the stone clearing.

Her ears were ringing, her heart pounding, and for once a devilish grin tugged at her lips. It was quickly wiped off when the man looked up with hatred. The Lord of Teresii stumbled as he quickly attempted to right himself.

One of the rings on Iliya's finger must've caught against his skin, as a dark bruise both blossomed and bled there.

"I do not care if you like me," Iliya said, finding her voice again. "But you will respect that you are in my country, speaking to a member of the royal court."

The words sounded vacant and foreign, as she heard them. They didn't even sound as if she'd said them. The voice that came out of her was that of a Princess, nor did it feel like Iliya.

He coughed, the sound rimmed with an evil laugh. "Will you beat anyone that opposes you, Princess?"

Iliya's eyes widened as she looked around at the staring shadows, the men and women of every country seeing this awful engagement. Her throat tightened, her mind raced.

She'd never enjoyed hurting anyone, despite the warrior's training Rhydian had reluctantly granted it to her. It was that and her strange, innate affinity for mythics and incantations that afforded her the luxury of venturing off on her own now and again.

She thought she'd be destined to heal this world one day.

Qudja stood beside her now, watching through a hazel lens as her vision flickered back and forth between the Lord and her.

"No," she answered softly. "I have no intention of bending to your idle threats. This might be a peaceful country, but it does not give you or Solraidas the right to berate me."

Lord Turrian shook the dust off of his clothing, narrowing his eyes at me. "Our blood is yours too, Princess."

"Many of you have made it abundantly clear of the disdain that brings," she said, fingers tightening into a fist. "Don't twist it into a blessing now."

As Iliya spoke, she lifted her gaze to those watching and pointedly marked several Fae in attendance. Even as the tall wraith of her nightmares shoved through everyone and broke out into the clearing.

Sorein looked calm enough, even if she could see the panic like fractured shards of ice in those gray eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Riven hissed back at her, his body bent. The impact must've hurt more than he let on.

He found an opening in the sea of people and made his exit swiftly.

All Iliya could think about was how terrible it all seemed. She'd thrown the first punch, as no one had heard his verbal onslaught. Even if perhaps Qudja caught some of it, they were two against half the island's population.

She raced to the railing and threw up into the sea. The burning in her throat was nothing to the fear now racing through her.

Iliya felt the hand on her back and shoved off again, glaring daggers into the tall shadow standing over her.

"Where were you?" she seethed.

Iliya wanted to launch herself at him, to tear him to shreds for leaving them on this gazebo alone. Even if she once understood why, even if she hadn't asked him to stay.

He was the reason.

Sorein told her to come here.

She growled and turned out the ocean, gripping the railing so tight it whined beneath her.

"I only wanted to give you some time alone with her," he said quietly.

The shame and regret layering his voice punched at her gut.

"You handled that well," he murmured again.

"Because I had no other choice," Iliya snapped, cutting into him with another scathing glance.

Fireworks burst into the night, scaring them both enough to jump. Iliya took a step back and bumped into Sorein's arm, frowning.

They had made it this far, she thought.

"Let's go," he said, gesturing down to the dock. Qudja waited just out of earshot, as if to respect their privacy. "Grab your lantern."

So she did, dusting it off from its place on a nearby step. Iliya followed him down the steps, feeling his presence looming now. Hovering.

She'd apologize later, she decided.

For now, they had to attend the Ceremony.