I woke up before the sun…or whatever passes for a sun in the Underworld was even fully up. The bed was still cold on Athan's side. He had probably been gone for hours, back to the border or some other kingly duty that involved stabbing people.
I sat up, pulling the heavy black furs to my chest. My skin still felt sensitive, like every nerve was on high alert. I couldn't stop thinking about the library. "The magic is in the blood," the book had said.
I looked at my hand. It looked like a normal hand. Pale, thin, a little shaky.
"Okay," I whispered to the empty room. "I'm a witch.I'm an angel, I'm chaos. I move shadows. Just do it."
I tried to remember the feeling from the library. The way the darkness had curled around my fingers like a pet. I closed my eyes and focused on the space between my palms. I imagined the shadows under the bed crawling up, filling the air.
I started moving my hands. I was trying to sort of… weave it? I moved them back and forth, faster and faster, trying to friction the magic into existence. My hands were blurring as I pumped my arms, my face scrunched up in total concentration.
"Are you trying to fly, or are you just really excited to see yourself?"
I shrieked. My hands flew up, and I nearly did a backflip off the bed.
Athan was leaning against the doorframe. He looked exhausted-"more like exhausting handsome…."I said in my head. His armor was dusty, and his hair was a mess, but his eyes were glowing that low, predatory gold. He was watching my hands with a very strange expression.
"Ahem I—I was practicing!" I snapped, shoving my hands under the covers. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," he said. He walked into the room, his heavy boots thudding on the stone. He didn't stop until he was right at the edge of the bed. "That was a lot of… vigorous movement, Celeste. If you wanted my attention that badly, you could have just asked."
My face turned so hot I thought my hair might catch fire. He was definitely making a joke. A dirty joke. About my hands.
"It's not like that!" I yelled, my voice hitting a pitch only dogs could hear. "I was trying to summon the shadows. Like I saw in the books."
Athan let out a low, gravelly chuckle. He sat on the edge of the mattress, making the whole bed tilt toward him. "Little bird, magic isn't a workout. You don't need to shake the air into submission. You're not churning butter."
"Well, it worked in the library," I muttered, looking at my knees. "Now it won't do anything."
"Because you're trying too hard," he said. His voice dropped, losing the teasing edge. He reached out and took my wrist. His skin was warm now, not like the ice he'd been last night. "You're an angel-witch, Celeste. You spent eighteen years being told to stay still and be quiet. Your magic thinks it's supposed to stay hidden."
He pulled my hand out from the covers. He turned my palm up.
"Don't fight the air," he whispered. "Just feel the weight of the room."
I tried to breathe. It was hard with him sitting that close. He smelled like woodsmoke and something metallic. I looked at our hands together…mine so small and white, his huge, scarred, and tipped with black claws.
"There," he murmured.
A tiny wisp of smoke, blacker than the darkest night, leaked out from between our palms. It didn't flicker away. It stayed, dancing.
"See?" Athan looked up, his eyes meeting mine. "You don't need to be vigorous. You just need to be honest."
He let go of my hand, and the magic vanished instantly. He stood up, stretching his back until his wings gave a loud, leathery snap.
"Stay in bed. Argenta is coming with breakfast. I have to go deal with a mess at the gates, but I'll send for you soon."
He leaned down. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. My heart did a stupid little dance in my ribs. But he just flicked my forehead with a claw.
"Try not to hurt yourself with the hand-dancing while I'm gone," he teased.
He vanished before I could throw a pillow at his head.
Ten minutes later, the door kicked open. Not a knock. A kick.
Argenta marched in carrying a tray. She looked like she hadn't slept either, but she still looked like she could bench-press a horse. She dropped the tray on my lap with a clatter.
"Eat," she commanded. "You look like a plucked chicken."
"Good morning to you, too," I said, picking up a piece of bread.
Argenta started rummaging through the wardrobe, throwing dresses onto the floor like they were garbage. "I ran into the King in the hall. He was smirking. Why was he smirking, Celeste? Usually, he just looks like he wants to bite someone's throat out."
I choked on my bread. "He wasn't smirking. He was… being annoying."
"He said you were practicing your 'technique,'" Argenta said, mimicking Athan's deep voice surprisingly well. She turned around, holding a dark purple gown. "Care to explain why he looked like he'd just won a prize?"
"I was trying to do magic and I looked stupid," I said, hiding my face behind a cup of juice. "That's it. There's nothing else."
Argenta snorted. She walked over and pulled the covers off me. "Sure. And I'm a palace singer. Get up. We need to get you dressed. Your father's messenger really did leave a mess. The King wants you present for the next one."
"Why me?" I asked, sliding out of bed. The stone floor was cold. "I don't know anything about war."
"Because you're the prize,公主 (princess)," Argenta said, her voice turning serious. "The Angels think you're a victim. They think you're sitting here crying and waiting to be rescued. Athan wants them to see that you're sitting on a throne next to him."
She started lacing me into the dress. It was tight. Way tighter than anything I wore in Aetheria. It pushed my chest up and hugged my waist until I could barely take a full breath.
"Is this necessary?" I wheezed.
"It's very necessary," Argenta said, tugging a lace hard. "If you're going to be a queen, you need to look like you're worth a war. Besides, it'll keep the King's mind off the fighting and on… other things."
She gave me a dirty look.
"I'm serious, Argenta. I feel like a fraud. I have these scars and no wings, and I'm supposed to stand there like I'm powerful?"
Argenta stopped. She put her hands on my shoulders and turned me toward the mirror.
"Look at yourself," she said.
I looked. The purple silk made my green eyes look bright, almost glowing. My silver hair was a mess, but I didn't look like the quiet, scared girl who left the sky kingdom. I looked… sharp.
"The wings are just feathers, Celeste," Argenta whispered. "Power is in the eyes. You have the eyes of someone who is tired of being hit. That's the most dangerous thing in the world."
I touched my throat. I could still feel the phantom pressure of Athan's hand from my dream. It wasn't fear anymore. It was a weird sort of hunger.
"What if I fail?" I asked. "What if the magic doesn't come when they look at me?"
"Then you use the dagger," Argenta said, pointing to the nightstand. "Or you just let Athan kill them. He's very good at that. He's like a specialized tool for murder."
She spent the next hour brushing my hair until it shone like metal. We talked about the Underworld…about how the demons don't have a god, they just have their families. It was so different from the sky. In the sky, everyone was looking for a reason to judge you. Here, they just wanted to know if you could hold your own.
"Do you think he actually likes me?" I asked suddenly. The question had been rotting in the back of my mind. "Athan. Or is it just the contract?"
Argenta paused, the brush mid-air. She looked at me in the mirror for a long time.
"Celeste, that man has lived for four hundred years. He's seen everything. He's had every demoness in the realm throwing themselves at his feet for centuries. I've seen him bored. I've seen him angry. But I've never seen him look at someone like they were the last drop of water in a desert."
She went back to brushing.
"It's not the contract. A contract makes you follow rules. It doesn't make you come home at dawn and crawl into bed just to smell someone's hair."
My heart did that stupid flip again.
There was a sharp knock at the door. Not a kick this time. A rhythmic, military knock.
"Enter!" Argenta called out.
A demon guard in black plate armor stepped in. He bowed low, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
"Your Grace," he said. "The King is at the North Outlook. A second messenger from Aetheria has arrived. The King requests your presence immediately."
I felt a surge of cold nerves. This was it.
"Does he sound… angry?" I asked.
The guard hesitated. "He sounds like he's waiting for something, Your Grace."
Argenta patted my arm. "That's just his normal voice. Go on. Show them you aren't a mistake."
I took a deep breath. I grabbed the small dagger from the table…the one Athan gave me,and tucked it into the hidden fold of my dress.
As I walked out of the room, I tried to remember what Athan said. Don't fight the air. Just feel the weight of the room.
I walked down the long, dark corridors of the palace. Every demon I passed stopped and bowed. Some looked at me with curiosity, others with a bit of fear. I kept my head high.
I wasn't the wingless princess anymore. I was something else.
I reached the large double doors that led to the Outlook. Two guards pulled them open, and the cold wind of the Underworld hit me instantly.
Athan was standing at the edge of the stone balcony, his back to me. His massive black wings were partially unfurled, catching the wind. Below him, in the courtyard, a group of golden-clad Angels stood looking up. They looked small. They looked bright and out of place in this world of shadow.
Athan turned his head as I approached. The sun hit his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the golden fire in his eyes. When he saw me, his expression shifted. The coldness didn't go away, but a layer of warmth settled over it.
"You're late," he said, but his voice was soft.
"I had to get dressed," I said, stepping up beside him.
He reached out, his hand sliding around my waist, pulling me firmly against his side. He wanted the Angels to see it. He wanted them to see how he touched me.
"Watch," he whispered in my ear. "This is where they realize their mistake."
I looked down at the Angels. One of them looked familiar. It was one of Caelum's personal guards. He looked up at me, his eyes widening when he saw me standing so close to the "monster."
"Princess Celeste!" the Angel shouted. "We have come to negotiate your release! Your father is willing to forgive the debt!"
I felt Athan's grip tighten on my hip. His claws slightly pricked through the silk of my dress. It didn't hurt; it felt like a reminder. You're mine.
I looked at the Angel, then I looked at the dark, beautiful world around me. I thought about the library, the shadows, and the way Athan held me in the dark.
I leaned into Athan, letting my head rest against his shoulder.
"I'm not a prisoner," I called out. My voice was steady. Stronger than I thought it was. "And I don't need to be forgiven."
The silence that followed was the best thing I'd ever heard.