Not All Heroes Are Guiltless

Chapter 73

Chapter 73

Aela’s POV

We retired to my old rooms. Lana had fixed them up, but I had already felt at home in the longhouse. I haven’t returned to them except for a one-night stay during late formal events such as tonight. The rooms had been refurbished exactly to the extent as they were before. It was easier than any other part of the palace because it did not see the same level of wreckage. Just a loss of the majority of the decorations and my mother’s books. I wish I still had my mother’s library even when I could find a moment to spare today.

Andrew followed me to the bed chambers. His presence sent a cold shiver down my spine, and I swallowed hard, keeping my apprehension down. I stepped into the dressing room to change out of the stuff and stiff ballgown. I removed my jewelry, but I seem to be unable to part with the necklace Dungan sent me. I stroke the pendant, and a small spark comes through, but it's light as a feather. Earlier, a tendril was there, but now I can feel the absence of his magic. I wear a pair of cotton pants and a loose-fitting shirt. My necklace seems out of place, but I needed what little comfort it could bestow upon me, given me while I’m affected by this spell.

Focusing on my own self, I evaluate the magic swirling around me. It's bizarre. I am not able to see even a strand of the magic that is holding me hostage. I push my own emotions out to place strain, and I can feel my reserving is struggling against invisible fibers. Unable to move and unable to break free. It's like it is caged deep within me.

“Aela? Are you well?” Andrew calls out and breaks my concentration. I don’t feel compelled to speak, so maybe that’s a sign my reserve is able to lessen the spell. I just have to keep fighting against the strands until they give away.

I stare at my feet to delay the compulsion of stepping out of the dressing room. I had been angry and mad that my mate had never tried to communicate with me in the last few years about anything, and then the opportunity arose he sent me a warning I didn’t even heed.

Regret fills me, and I want to cry and sob. I wrap my arms around myself, and nothing comes out. Guess I still have a few things the spell is holding tightly on.

I walked out, and Andrew had removed his uniform jacket. I move to the bed, not sure how he’s planning to do this.

“You need a drink?” he asks calmly. I nodded my head, and he broke open a sparkling wine and poured it into a cup. He must have stolen the bottle from the party.

I sip and feel the bubbles on my tongue. Normally, I could taste the sourness and tart of the wine, but this time, it's tasteless. I drank it completely, almost in hopes it would take some of the nervousness in my gut away. Andrew takes the glass back and leaves it on a side table. He walks over to me, and I instantly recognize there’s a difference to his demeanor, something deadlier. Something darker.

This darkness has the equivalent tension and presence as the darkness of my mate. But its form is blurred and transparent, so I can’t fixate directly on its source. It moves slowly, almost like a sludge, and it makes me want to recoil any attempts in observing it closely. It reminds me of the bear’s corruption. My heart starts to beat faster when I recognize he must be a servant of a dark master.

Lady Seltie was accused of working for the same dark master as Cortan. My mate has a similar presence in his own magic. Why did I not put them together. Lana must be able to hide her darkness because she was the greatest mage queen we ever had. Lady Seltie was good friends with Lana and was more than likely the reason she wasn’t killed during the Hou Ndour takeover. Could the dark master be Lana? The bear priestess even told me I was bonded to the demon. Maybe it wasn’t my mate she was referring to but his mother?

“Alright, princess. You aren’t’ going to cry tears that will ruin my mood. Nor will you protest anything I’m going to do with you.” His voice is dark and commanding. “Get on your knees.”

“Andrew, please.” I say, falling to my knees. The force down to the ground makes me have to catch my balance with my hands on the ground.

He’s untying his pants when he bends over, pulling my head back in his grasp. He growls, “I said, no protesting. Princess, now open your mouth.”

His demeanor is so quick to change that I don’t know if he is spelled along with me or if this is who he really is. Why would he sell his soul to a demon, a descendant of Neith.

Will I be able to survive this?