Curse of the Dark Kingdom: Collection Two: Curse of the Dark Kingdom Collections, #2

Other Series by Amberlyn Holland

DRAGON EVER AFTER

WOLVES EVER AFTER

TALES EVER AFTER

THE SEA DRAGON CHRONICLES

CURSE OF THE DARK KINGDOM

THE LOST SHRINES

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Contents

Lord of Swans

King of Beasts

Lord of Swans

Amberlyn Holland

Collection copyright © 2023 by Amberlyn Holland

Cover designs by Jacqueline Sweet

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Amberlyn Holland

www.amberlynholland.com

First Edition, 2023

Contents

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

19. Chapter Nineteen

20. Chapter Twenty

21. Chapter Twenty-One

22. Chapter Twenty-Two

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

26. Chapter Twenty-Six

27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

29. Epilogue

Chapter One

ACCORDING TO ISLYNE'S LETTER, I'm supposed to pay attention to you.

Darian stared bemusedly at the small black and white cat perched beside him on the wide window seat.

In typical feline fashion, she didn't bother to acknowledge him.

Instead, she continued to groom the sleek black fur of her tail as if it were the most important task in the world.

Yeah, that's what I thought, he agreed with a self-mocking sigh. You have more pressing concerns at the moment than a bunch of hopeless royals who haven't figured out how to get out of their own way.

Prince Darian.

Third in line to the throne of Darkhar.

Lord of the Eastern Border. Overseer of the Observatory Bridge.

There were at least a half-more titles that belonged to him, but he couldn't be bothered to remember them at the moment.

None of those lofty labels were any help to him now. And, despite Islyne's message, it didn't look like the cat was going to be much use, either.

Darian leaned back and let the wall take his weight. Exhausted from another restless night of ominous dreams, he allowed the brooding dissatisfaction with his life to overwhelm him once more. As he sulked, he idly picked up one of the discarded letters next to him.

With deliberate disinterest, he crumpled Islyne's carefully written words into a tight ball.

Hefting it consideringly in his hand, he hurled it halfway across the room.

It felt so good to express his disgust at the meaningless message, he repeated it twice more with the other two letters he'd received from the most recent courier.

Cat paused her attention to her tail, watching the paper bounce and skitter over the floor with mild interest.

When the third ball came to a rest, she twisted her head to blink up at him with startling violet eyes.

In a human, that particular color would signify a powerful witch.

Darian wasn't quite sure what it meant in an animal.

He just knew it was deeply unsettling to look into the purple depths for any length of time.

As always, Darian blinked first.

Metaphorically and literally.

His wings flared reflexively, and Darian grimaced. White feathers shivered at the edge of his vision while he fought to pull them back in.

An outward manifestation of the curse that befell him, and his siblings, five years ago, the unruly appendages often seemed to have a mind of their own. Which wouldn't be so bad if they weren't completely useless.

A few ill-considered, and failed, attempts to test them had proven that his wings were most definitely not flightworthy.

Just another inexplicable, unwelcome part of the curse.

Like the dreams that occasionally troubled his sleep.

His intuition had always been strong, and Darian hadn't thought too much about how regularly those feelings proved reliable. After the curse, however, the dreams began. Dreams that, more often than not, inevitably came true.

The kind of foretelling dreams that the witch clans of the north were known for.

The witch clans his mother was rumored to descend from.

The same witches who were likely responsible for his family's curse.

Darian snarled, familiar anger and fury bubbling up as he vehemently denied any association with the merciless enchanters. His dreams were a curse. Nothing more.

He didn't want even the vaguest hint to escape that he might have something in common with the treacherous magic clans.

So Darian kept the visions to himself.

It wasn't like he could use them to make any kind of difference.

For the most part, he didn't even understand what they meant until after the fact. Like last night's vague, blurry memory of reaching desperately for something unseen.

In the pit of his soul, he knew someone was in danger.

But the who, the how, and the where all eluded him.

What was the point of seeing things if he couldn't make any difference?

Frustrated with all the aspects of his life that he no longer had control over, Darian leaned closer and forced himself to make eye contact with Cat once more.

What can you tell me about breaking the curse? Did you help Islyne or Alaistar find a way to free themselves from the magic?

Because, clearly, there was a way to undo the magic, even if his siblings wouldn't share the details.

First, Islyne had mysteriously emerged from both her magical slumber and the Thorn Forest that kept her Trapped within the Winter Palace.

Accompanied by the man she'd been forcibly betrothed to. Conall, the thirteenth Duke of Lakentre. A man who made no attempt to hide his disdain for the current royal family or the mess they'd made of ruling Darkhar.

A man who may be the traitor fomenting unrest and chaos throughout the kingdom.

Islyne's letter assured that Conall could be trusted, but Darian was ruthlessly reserving judgment.

A short time after Islyne's miraculous reappearance, new rumors had emerged from the coast. Rumors that Alaistar no longer bore the hideous silver mask or the green-tinged skin that had earned him the moniker Frog Prince. The story that made it to the Observatory was a tangle of rumor and guesswork, wildly elaborated on by bards who felt the need to improve a tale with needless drama.

All Darian knew for certain was that a plot to assassinate Alaistar had been foiled. In the process, his brother had met the woman he intended to marry, his curse had been broken, and someone had stolen the worthless gem that gave the Lighthouse its unique blue-green glow.

Of course, Alaistar's short message offered very little detail beyond that.

Cat remained still, staring back unblinkingly, until Darian sighed and pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes. Then, with a victorious twitch of her tail, Cat jumped off the window seat and began meandering around the circular room.

The Star Room was Darian's refuge. There was something poetic about a winged man who couldn't fly preferring such a lofty perch.

Or, perhaps, it was merely pathetic.

Either way, no one bothered him there.

The chamber was located at the very top of the original observatory. At first, it had been a single, cylindrical tower topped with a smooth dome. A multitude of buildings and wings had been added on over the centuries until it became a sprawling watchtower.

This room, however, remembered its true purpose.

It had become Darian's haven in the years since the curse had Trapped him within the confines of the Observatory's borders.

The chamber itself was a work of art.

At the center of the dome, a magnificent glass-covered skylight gave a wide view of the night sky. The rest of the curved ceiling was painted dark blue and embellished with bright silver representations of hundreds of constellations.

The room was lit with four magnificent windows situated at the four cardinal points. Each sported a deep window seat like the one Darian was settled on. The walls between were etched with golden alchemical symbols that dazzled the eyes. Dozens of astronomical and scientific instruments were displayed around the chamber on small, artistically carved oak pedestals.

The grandest of these, however, dominated the center of the room. Set on a round wooden platform, the mysterious device was made of wood and polished metal. Balanced on three thick, intricately carved legs, it climbed delicately up to twice Darian's height. A careful balance of gears and straps and arms and levers, all precisely placed to hold aloft a single crystal.

The pristinely clear convex lens was encircled with a golden frame that looked almost like a crown. When viewed closely, the metal spikes curved around the crystal looked almost like newly sprouted seedlings reaching for the sun.

It was the only instrument in the room that Darian hadn't, yet, figured out how to use.

He'd spent most of the past five years researching, studying, and learning as much as possible about every aspect of curses, magic, and alchemy available in the Observatory's multiple libraries. Despite the endless hours of reading, he'd found nothing to help him undo the spell that had been cast on his family and destroyed their lives.

While he brooded on his failures, Cat meandered toward one of the heavy wooden support legs on the central device. Eventually, she made herself comfortable next to the pile of balled-up papers Darian had tossed there earlier. He should have thrown the frustrating dispatches directly into the fire for all the use they were to him.

Yet, one of them was the letter from Islyne.

As maddening as the lack of information was, he couldn't quite bring himself to completely destroy a note from the baby sister he'd barely been allowed to know.

Even if her letter made very little sense.

She promised that the curse could be broken, you know, Darian explained conversationally to the cat. He didn't really believe the animal could have anything to do with how Islyne and Alaistar had freed themselves from the cursed magic.

Unfortunately, he had no one else to talk to.

"Though she refused to tell me how. 'The paradox of the magic means that if I tell you the key to undoing the curse, it will no longer work.' A sneer twisted Darian's mouth as he quoted his sister's message. All she'd say was that the dark magic was meant as a punishment for Aegron."

A growl of anger burned in his gut at the cruel injustice of it all.

Just one more way he avoided the repercussions of his own actions by letting his kids take the brunt of his transgressions.

Darian bit back on the torrent of candid resentment pouring out of him. Cat or not, his feelings about his family were not something he ever shared intentionally.

Clearing his throat, Darian took a moment to bring his thoughts under control.

Are you the cat she warned me to watch for? Amusement curled through the absurd question. Do you know what I need to do to get my life back?

Darian didn't expect Cat to respond, of course. Nor did he expect any animal, feline or otherwise, to hold the answer to breaking his curse.

He believed his sister believed it, however. At this point, he wouldn't disregard any crumb of possibility to free himself from the magic that kept him Trapped in more ways than one.

Still, even if there was a sliver of truth that a black and white cat had helped Islyne, it couldn't be this one. The stray had been spotted around the Observatory too often to have been anywhere near the Winter Palace, where Islyne had been cut off from the rest of the kingdom by a nearly impenetrable thorn forest.

Which meant Darian had no more leads now than he had before the letter arrived.

Frustration rumbled in his throat and all amusement fled.

He was still stuck. Left to deal with his condition. Alone.

Familiar melancholy wrapped its arms around Darian, and he settled into the darkness of his thoughts once more.

Seemingly uninterested in his self-pity, Cat resumed the intense grooming of her fur. This time, her attention centered on one already pristine, white-tipped paw.

As she shifted to better reach it, her tail twitched and set one of the balled-up papers tumbling across the floor.

That one was from Alaistar, I believe. The older brother whose shadow Darian had lived in his whole life. Who he both idolized and resented. He offered the same platitudes as Islyne. With considerably less sentimentality.

He looked past it to the smallest paper sphere and let his lip curl slightly. The third note was the shortest of them all. Of course, Kyllean never has much to say.

Cat's attention jerked up at the mention of his oldest brother like she was reacting to his name.

After a considering moment, Darian shook his head and laughed at his imagination. The cat's reaction was certainly only an odd coincidence.

It seemed very unlikely that a stray cat would know the name of the man who should be king.

Then again, Kyllean always had a way with animals.

Even before he became the Beast King.

Rumor was that Darian's brother refused to be seen outside his chambers without a magical cloak that concealed him from head to toe.

Those few who claimed to see him without it, however, insisted he was now more beast than man.

Darian hadn't seen for himself, of course. Beyond the physical and magical manifestations of the curse that had befallen each of Aegron's children at the moment of his death, they'd become Trapped as well.

When the curse settled on the third day, a two-mile or so magic boundary had been drawn around the place where the curse resided. Anyone who had been within those bounds was Trapped, unable to cross the invisible line that encircled each territory. Thankfully, everyone else could come and go with ease.

Because of the curse, Kyllean wasn't truly the King of Darkhar yet. Tradition and law required that he be crowned in the kingdom's Summer Palace.

Until the curse was broken, Kyllean was Trapped in the northern reaches of Darkhar. Stuck within the Library of the Witches.

Because of Aegron the Cruel's paranoia, his children had been residing in far-flung corners of the kingdom when the curse fell. Leaving Darkhar to descend into chaos and confusion.

Cat poked at the small wad of paper, and Darian smiled with dark humor.

Want to hear what he had to say?

Violet eyes met his with a bland, unamused stare. But there was an unnatural stillness in her posture. As if she was waiting.

With a shrug, he got up and retrieved the crumpled letter.

It's difficult to get messages in and out of the Library, so Kyllean keeps his missives simple and direct, Darian explained as he tried to unravel the letter without tearing it. Located in the savage northern reaches, the Library of the Witches protected the only safe pass through the treacherous mountains that separated the kingdoms of Darkhar and Thuaidar.

Once the letter was uncurled enough to be legible, Darian cleared his throat and lowered his voice into a mocking version of his oldest sibling's overly serious cadence.

There's possible trouble brewing on the eastern border. Listen to Brathe.

Darian curled his hand back into a fist, crushing the message into a tight ball once more.

That's it. That's the whole thing. Nothing about what kind of trouble. Nothing about where the information came from. Nothing about who might be behind it.

Darian dropped the wadded paper back onto the floor with the other two.

"Of course, Brathe thinks the best solution is to arrange negotiation here. Apparently, the small measure of success at the Citadel made him think diplomacy would work here."

The last thing Darian wanted was dozens of strangers invading his space. Since the curse took over his life, he'd much preferred to be left alone.

He paused, honesty forcing him to correct himself.

Preferred wasn't the right word. His talents and personality had always excelled with a crowd to play to.

No. Solitude was more of a necessity now. While the useless wings were the most obvious sign of the curse, they weren’t the worst of it.

Not even close.

The most terrible element of the curse was the part that Darian had spent the past five years trying to keep secret from everyone.

He could not lie.

Because of the curse, only the truth could pass through Darian's lips now.

While he'd learned to hold back or talk around things, the need to tell the whole truth was a constant compulsion. It was an ongoing battle to silence his honest thoughts every second of every day.

In the beginning, Darian had been horrified to find himself spilling the truth everywhere. So he'd withdrawn, spending most of his time within the melancholy isolation of the Star Room, secluded at the very top of the Observatory's original tower.

Darian had embraced the role of eccentric recluse to maintain some semblance of control. An impression he'd deliberately chosen and carefully crafted to keep the world at arm's length.

The moody Gothic prince, Trapped in his airy tower and staring moodily out at the world.

The image went well with the wings.

And it was better than risking anyone ever seeing the true Darian hidden beneath the façade.

Because the real Darian had never been enough.

He wasn't the eldest, groomed to be king.

He had none of the talent for war that Alaistar, and later Raneir, showed. As a child, he'd wanted to be a scholar. Even then, Darian had known better than to allow anyone to suspect his true passion. Instead, he'd used his interest in history and philosophy to teach himself to see patterns and anticipate outcomes. He developed a silver tongue and preternatural ability to read people, then ruthlessly used all those skills to become a consummate politician.

Proving himself to be an influential force within the Court had been amusing. Especially when his father acknowledged that Darian's talents had proved useful.

The grudging acknowledgment had filled Darian with an exhilaration that quickly became addictive.

So, he'd spent years perfecting the façade he showed to the world. Convincing everyone, including himself, that he was as capable and skilled and useful as his brothers.

Darian would not allow some misfired curse to force him to show his true self now.

Unfortunately, keeping his distant, reclusive veneer in place would be difficult when the Observatory was filled with diplomats trained to read the smallest shift in expression or tone. It would take every bit of focus and skill Darian possessed to keep himself hidden.

Otherwise, his true thoughts and feelings would come spilling out of his lips every time he let his guard down. Not to mention the bizarre, prophetic dreams that had plagued Darian for the past five years.

And that was the last thing he wanted to happen in a room full of strangers.

Even if it was more than likely that not all of them would be strangers.

Consul Viator, the preeminent diplomat in Darkhar, would likely lead an enclave of this level of importance.

Darian was both eager and reluctant to see Viator again.

He'd studied under the ambassador, briefly, and it had been the best few weeks of Darian's life.

The summer he'd spent at Viator's country estate had been idyllic. So much so that Darian let his guard down more than he'd ever intended to. He'd allowed himself to wallow in the happiness he'd found there.

Only to be forced to destroy that brief, blissful interlude himself when the halcyon summer came to an abrupt end when Aegron had recalled him to the Palace.

Cat jumped up on the ledge next to Darian, startling him from his reverie. Nudging his elbow, she pushed past him to press up against the glass and stare down at the bridge far below them.

Centuries ago, a violent cataclysm had ripped through the continent Morroinn. When it ended, the five kingdoms had been changed forever. The upheaval in the terrain made it impossible to move around the continent without passing through one of Darkhar's four watchtowers.

A wide canyon cut off the eastern kingdom of Ythar from the rest of the continent. Only a single bridge spanned the terrifying depths of the ravine at the narrowest part of the divide.

The Observatory dominated the narrow jut of land that thrust its way into the gorge and oversaw the collection of tolls.

From where Darian stood, both ends of the bridge were clearly visible. As was the group of riders approaching the guard post on the western entrance of the bridge. Unfortunately, he was up much too high to make out any details. He He couldn't discern any of the individuals who made up the party, but he had no doubt this was the diplomat entourage Brathe had sent to him.

Which meant the time for brooding alone in his tower was at an end.

With a put-upon sigh, Darian folded his wings more tightly against his back. There was no chance of hiding them, but he couldn't help trying to make them as unobtrusive as possible.

The sight of them always led to the same ridiculous question and he was beyond tired of explaining that he couldn't actually fly.

Chapter Two

DARIAN TOOK HIS TIME as he made his meandering way downstairs. Yet he still found himself waiting in the opulent entrance hall for several minutes before the arriving party walked through the tall, ostentatiously carved doors.

The ornate Grand Foyer, with its stately, floating staircase, vaulted ceilings, and rare wood paneling, had not been part of the original Observatory. It was part of the hodgepodge of expansive wings and additions that had been added to the central tower. The Observatory complex now covered almost the entirety of the narrow peninsula that had survived the cataclysm. Every architect had felt the need to add balconies, terraces, and verandas, until there were dozens, if not hundreds, of places to look out over the fathomless abyss.

It was a grand display of excess popular among previous generations of Darkhar's rulers.

As he stood in the midst of all the opulence, Darian briefly wondered if he should have made an effort to change into something more suitable.

Since the curse, he'd taken to wearing well-worn leather breeches and coarse linen shirts, altered to accommodate his wings.

The expensive finery from his old life was impractical. And a harsh reminder of all the things he'd lost.

When the doors finally opened though, Darian's heart contracted deep in his chest.

Because the person leading the arriving group of diplomats was most definitely not the elderly Consul Viator.

It was a young woman who moved with grace and certainty. She held her head high and kept her expression sweetly serene. Her dark blue eyes were sharp with intelligence and her lustrous black hair curved over her shoulder in a long, thick braid. The dark purple dress was tailored to perfection, stylish and fashionable without seeming frivolous.

She possessed a calm confidence that hadn't been there the last time Darian had seen her.

Then again, the last time he'd seen Mykeya, he'd walked away without having the courage to even saying goodbye.

Darian's wings twitched and his tongue curled on the urge to spill out every single word of what he was thinking. Darian ground his teeth together and tensed his shoulders, holding himself unnaturally still.

He'd never intended to see her again. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to avoid Mykeya in the year between his summer at Viator's estate and the moment when the curse claimed him.

After the curse, well, the odds of crossing paths had seemed all but impossible.

Now she was here. And clearly in charge of the diplomatic envoys.

Which meant they'd be spending more time together than was good for Darian's peace of mind. If there was one person in the world he never wanted to admit any kind of truth to, it was Mykeya.

As he battled his heart back into its locked box, an unintended question slipped past his guard.

What are you doing here?

Darian winced when the room dropped into an uncomfortable silence around them.

He hadn't meant to ask her that. Certainly not in that shocked, accusatory snarl. But, for the first time in a long time, the truth got away from him before he could stifle it.

Mykeya lifted her chin, and despite being several inches shorter, managed to gaze down her nose at Darian.

Her expression remained cool and collected. Completely unaffected by him.

The unimpressed, dismissive glance hurt more than Darian wanted to admit. But the curse wouldn't even let him lie to himself and the ache that pulsed deep inside of him was impossible to ignore.

I'm here at the behest of our king, she reminded him with a practiced tone of polite authority. My job is to help you ensure peace is maintained with our neighbors to the east.

***

Mykeya had assured herself that she was more than ready to see Darian again.

She'd prepared herself for the way his dark hair fell across his forehead with adorable, boyish appeal. The way his emerald eyes locked on with an intensity that made her feel like she was the only person in the room. The way his alluring smile made her feel like they shared some deep, intimate secret meant only for them.

She'd prepared herself for the way his easy charm convinced his audience to believe his every word.

She'd even prepared herself for the shock of seeing his snow white wings tucked tight against his back.

Most of all, she'd prepared herself for the possibility that Darian might not remember her at all.

Mykeya, however, was not prepared for the snarled hostility in his voice. Nor had she prepared for the bitter stab of hurt it caused when he demanded to know why she was there.

Years of apprenticing with Consul Viator had taught Mykeya to compartmentalize her emotions, though. He'd taught her that her pain and heartache were always secondary to the mission.

So Mykeya lifted her chin and kept her face smooth and unaffected by the harsh sting of his greeting.

I'm here at the behest of our king. Her tone was cool and calm. But she altered her inflection, allowing a hint of the exasperated tutor correcting a forgetful student to creep into the undertone. Viator had taught her that trick. Soft disappointment often elicited better results than a sharp rebuke. My job is to help you ensure peace is maintained with our neighbors to the east.

She had every intention of succeeding this time. Of proving that she deserved the faith placed in her by Viator, and Brathe, and Kyllean.

Mykeya had spent most of her life honing her skills in diplomacy and mediation. It was the only path she knew.

She could not, would not, leave things in limbo again. That the situation remained unfinished along the border with Daesar scraped continuously at her confidence.

Especially since everyone knew that the vague resolution at the Citadel had very little to do with Mykeya's efforts. It was the growing affection and connection between Raneir and Princess Xadi that had smoothed over the edges enough for talks to proceed.

The pair were currently headed for the capital of Daesar to continue the negotiation.

It had been clear that Mykeya's continued mediation was unnecessary.

Instead, she'd been sent to the Observatory, to help ease growing tensions between the lords on both sides of the Darkhar-Ythar border.

This time, Mykeya intended to prove that she was the right choice to succeed Consul Viator as Darkhar's mediator.

The childish crush she'd once had on Darian would not trip her up.

Mykeya had come a long way from the awkward girl she'd been when Darian had spent the summer with Consul Viator.

And he had never really been the man she'd believed him to be during those few idyllic weeks.

Darian had the grace to flush slightly at her mild tone. Of course. I apologize for my surprise. I had my staff prepare with the expectation of Consul Viator's arrival.

As apologies went, Darian's was half-hearted at best, and Mykeya had to call on her training to keep herself from bristling.

The Consul has retired to his country estate. Mykeya forced a polite smile to hide her irritation over how often she'd been required to make this same explanation. I assure you, however, that during my years as his apprentice, I learned my lessons well.

I remember. Darian smiled with soft fondness. You were an excellent student. I had to work twice as hard as I was used to, and you still outpaced me at every turn. I have no doubt you're more than capable.

The unexpected nostalgia sent flutters dancing through Mykeya's stomach.

But she couldn't let herself soften. She would not let her guard down around Darian again. She'd learned the hard way that his attention was fickle and his sincerity was untrustworthy.

Letting her resolve settle her, Mykeya offered him a practiced smile. Well, now that we're all on the same page, allow me to introduce you to my team.

One by one, she acquainted Darian with the half-dozen or so attachés who accompanied her and explained each of their areas of expertise.

Unsurprisingly, Darian skillfully captivated her team. They stumbled over themselves in an attempt to hold his attention, and, as usual, he took their adoration in stride.

Darian didn't even blink when one raw, young secretary's apprentice inappropriately asked him what it was like to fly.

I'm afraid the feathers are just for show. They're pretty useless for anything else, he answered with an amused drawl. There was something tight about his smile, though. Something sad that tugged at Mykeya's heart.

Swiftly attempting to move on from the blunder, Mykeya gestured to the modest group of maids, footmen, and other attendants waiting behind the diplomats.

In addition, I've brought a small cadre of support staff experienced in dealing with diplomatic negotiations. Mykeya smiled at the pretty blond maid hovering uncertainly at the front of the group, and waved her forward. This is Deanira. She's quickly become indispensable to me. She'll liaise with whoever is in charge of the Observatory to ensure everything goes smoothly.

Mr. Kummel will be delighted to have more help. Darian's smile took on a wry twist as he glanced over his shoulder. He's always politely informing me that the Observatory could use some extra hands to keep up with all the work.

The tall, stiffly dressed butler stepped forward. His dark hair was shot through with strands of silver, though he didn't look much older than Darian. He was also built more like one of the soldiers on the toll bridge than a manservant, but the bow he offered was precise and perfectly executed.

I'll be happy to collaborate with Miss Deanira. As Prince Darian mentioned, more help is always welcome. In the meantime, we have guest quarters prepared for all of you, and I imagine you'd like a few hours to settle and refresh before dinner is served.

A small flick of his finger had a handful of staff descended. With perfectly organized synchronicity, they gathered up Mykeya and her retinue and led them through the disorienting maze of the Observatory's chaotic architecture.

Mykeya followed her guide gratefully, eager for a few minutes to rest alone in her private chamber.

The room was richly appointed and, like most of the Observatory, offered a small balcony that provided a spectacular view of the cavernous canyon.

While she'd held on to her unflappable façade all through the greetings and introduction, Mykeya's inner calm had been badly shaken.

Despite the snow white wings and the jarring change to his wardrobe, Darian was still the same handsome, charismatic prince he'd always been.

Mykeya had been overconfident in her certainty that she was ready for this assignment.

She hadn't expected to be so unnerved just by seeing Darian again. Mykeya was sure, though, that once she had a chance to rest from her arduous journey, she'd be better able to handle being in the same room with him.

Mykeya allowed herself a few precious moments to stand out on the balcony. To breathe in the fresh air and take in the breathtaking vista, cataloging the sights one at a time as she slowly settled into her center.

It was an old trick that Viator had taught her to calm herself.

When her mind raced and emotions