Noelis was to share a carriage with Alarie and Princess Rowena. The second carriage would be occupied by Princess Inaya and Faelynn Feiber.
After Calen had announced his condition to the deal Elarion was wagering, the Tributes were excused while tense negotiations resumed in their absence.
"What was all that about?" said the auburn-haired beauty, Faelynn, in an amused voice.
Sure, that Noelis Tribute was pretty to look at, but not the kind of mind-blowing beauty that could turn perfect Prince Elarion into a mindless beast and certainly not enough for Calen to be negotiating over her ... unless he saw her uses elsewhere. She'd heard of Calen, the mighty Commander who won his battles with not just his physical strength but also his calculating brain.
"Do you two know each other or something?" she asked Noelis.
The brief encounter with Calen at the bonfire would hardly qualify as knowing someone. Noelis shook her head.
"So the rumours about Ardenne are true," said Zarya of the Aquillas Isles.
"If their side of the Shield is weakening, they'll need a whole lot more Manna — and with Prince E taking home just three new Tributes? Well, Ardenne's in deep shit, and that shit will become a problem for the rest of us," Faelynn said, her tone unapologetically blunt.
Faelynn spoke with crude, unhindered ease. Noe wasn't sure how she felt about her — a fearless Tribute, who looked close to her own age. Nevertheless, Faelynn's frankness was refreshing; Noe had been surrounded by propriety for too long, both in the royal courts of Valemorde and later at the Academy.
"It's for all our sake that Ardenne keeps hold of their Shield," added Inaya, Calen's proud, golden-haired Tribute.
"Well, judging from that breakfast discussion, General Cal has already appraised the odds and he gets how dire things are. Our Manna will peak from now until the next six months, maybe longer. Sounds like Innie and I are coming to Ardenne with you lot," Faelynn said, glancing toward Noe, Rowena, and Alarie.
"I'll try to convince Prince Alixon," said Zarya, understanding the gravity of the situation.
It was true — the fall of Ardenne would unleash terrors upon every other Kingdom, it would only be a matter of time. Still, to share or loan newly bonded Tributes was no small matter. Asking for our Tributes before they've been integrated let alone introduced into our Kingdoms is a bold request, Alixon had said at the breakfast table.
Despite Zarya's efforts that afternoon, she failed to convince the prince, and that same evening all the Tributes — save for her — joined Elarion and his entourage on the long road back to Ardenne.
***
It had been a long day, Elarion thought, running a hand through his hair, golden strands of hair glinting almost silver beneath the moonlight. After storming out of the Chamber of Rites the night before, he had found himself collapsing into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
He woke just as dawn broke over the Golden City, the high stone walls of the fort catching the first blush of light. He couldn't recall how he had changed into his bedclothes, or when he had fallen asleep, but he had slept deeply — like a child, something he hadn't done in years.
He stepped out onto the arched balcony of his private quarters and stood there, eyes fixed on the horizon. The rising sun forced him to squint.
It wasn't supposed to go the way it did last night.
Now, fully awake, he was angry — at himself, at the circumstances, at the heat that still lingered in his veins. Why had he kissed the second Tribute? He'd justified it as simple kindness — a show of reassurance for the fragile, trembling virgin Tribute, Rowena. She'd looked so innocent, so in need of gentle kindness.
Then why, by the Celestials, had he been so brutal with the last one?
He'd moved with a ferocity he usually reserved for battles. She hadn't resisted much — it was her duty to give herself to him, as it was his to take — but the way it had happened left him feeling... hot, wrong, disgusted, even, at the loss of control.
And yet, despite the storm in his head, he could not forget the way her heartbeat had synced with his through his bestial actions. The sound of her gasp still echoed in him, hauntingly sweet. It aroused him even now as the memory replayed behind his eyes.
He exhaled sharply and, after a long moment, gave in to his body's demand — relieving himself, hoping to rid his body of the heat before the day began.
When it was over, the guilt returned — thick and suffocating.
He had failed to keep his promise to Bellatrice: to remain faithful, at least in thought if not in body.
Elarion had participated in a Binding before — twice, in fact. For him those ceremonies had been as expected: ritualistic, detached, efficient. He had stepped in only because his elder brother had grown weary after binding several Tributes and had ordered Elarion to continue in his stead.
That was the night he had met Bellatrice. His betrothed. His love.
He poured himself a glass of water from the silver jug beside him, though what he truly wanted was something stronger. His hand trembled faintly as he lifted it. The surface of the jug reflected his face — still composed, still handsome, but drawn.
He drew a steadying breath. He was Elarion of Ardenne — prince, second in line to the Ardenne throne. He could not afford weakness. As he reminded himself, he had come to the Golden Fort on matters far graver than personal temptation.
Elarion frowned at the problem he faced. He hadn't expected the number of Tributes to be so few. Three. Barely enough to sustain the Shield that kept the dark creatures from devouring his lands. Reports from home had grown increasingly dire — cracks forming in the barrier, beasts slipping through.
The King's words still echoed in his mind: Beg if you must. Do whatever it takes.
But pride was a stubborn thing. Even if his counterparts were also princes, begging would be a hard swallow — both Calen and Alixon were princes but they were not his equal.
Elarion recalled his years at the Empyrean Academy. He'd been Head Boy and Calen, a few years his junior, had been the infamous problem student who Elarion didn't have much to do with. Years later, the tales of the "Battleborn Prince" reached Ardenne and his old classmates had mentioned Calen's name at an Academy reunion, spoken of his utter insubordination at the Academy which had him nearly expelled on more than one occasion.
So when Calen had spared him humiliation by offering help, Elarion had been caught off guard — almost grateful. Loaning his last Tribute, Noelis, for a few months each year once the Shield was restored, was a small price to pay. They had sealed the oath with a clasp of hands in the meeting of the three victors that morning.
Alixon had been more stubborn. Zarya of the Aquillas Isles was clearly a warrior — her dress last night and tunic this morning did little to conceal the lean, honed muscles of her kind. The sea-born were bred for endurance and fight both on land and sea. Alixon would not easily part with such a Tribute.
Still, he had promised to discuss the matter with his King and give an answer within a fortnight. If his king understood the gravity of the situation, he would be wise to agree.
From the carriage behind came the sound of female laughter. His Tributes seemed to be getting along. The other carriage where Calen's Tributes travelled was quiet. Inaya of Nikeva wasn't much of a talker, Elarion knew too well. She was a distant cousin. Her beauty was regal and pale, much like his own kin. Seeing her face among the entourage brought a strange comfort.
It was going to be a long two days before they reached home.
Ardenne.
To Bellatrice — whose arms he longed for more than ever.