Tides of Torment (Immortal Realms Book 2)
Tides of Torment: Chapter 3

Travion drummed his fingers against the wooden table in the war room. All the eyes of his council were on him, waiting for direction. The recent reports of monstrous sea creatures terrorizing Tribonik, capsizing ships and slaughtering crew, weighed heavily on him. Beasts that size weren’t normal, and he had a sneaking suspicion it had everything to do with The Creaturae. The damn book was capable of creating anything and destroying in equal parts.

General Quillan’s tense features suggested he was ready to send their troops into the unknown, but Travion knew better than that, and it was foolish.

Which was why it was so essential to retrieve the book.

Again, he bemoaned the fact that his brothers had been so preoccupied with his grievous injury from the manticore, and that somehow, someone snatched the book when they were trying to piece Travion back together.

They should’ve let him bleed out on the floor.

“We don’t know the cause of any of this, but what we can do is send out half of our armada to scout. We need to inform the surrounding countries of what is happening and warn them.”

“But what about us?” Lord Tywil stared down his long nose at Travion, his calculating beady eyes narrowing on him. “What should your citizens do?”

His tone rankled Travion, and he sat forward, glowering. “Tell me, do you expect your daughter to dive into the water, readying for battle?”

Lord Tywil sputtered. “Absolutely not, Your Grace.”

“Then, nothing. Midniva’s army will increase their security around the Veil and across the kingdom. Anything that seems amiss is to be reported back to me at once. Because I will not have my citizens fighting.”

Travion stood and placed his palms on the table. He turned to look to his left, and Admiral Callahan shifted his jaw. Tension oozed from his broad figure, but it wasn’t directed toward his king but rather at Tywil. “Admiral, be certain those you send out have an affinity for wind and water. Make certain they keep their distance from where the attacks occurred. I don’t want to lose anyone if I can help it.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Admiral Callahan bowed his head.

“Until we need to assemble again, we’re done here,” Travion said roughly and left the room. If he was quick enough, he could avoid speaking with anyone else and have a moment to breathe.

He descended the marble stairs and took a sharp left, heading toward the doors to the garden. Travion stepped outside, and the smell of fresh blooms struck his nose. The warm, sugary fragrance of honeysuckle wafted toward him, coupled with the sweet, velvety scent of gardenias.

The castle’s gardens—his gardens—were one of the few places he felt at peace. He wound his way through the flora, following the stone pathway all the way to the rail. From here, he could watch the ships sailing in the bay, not that it would soothe him any. All he could think about was the lives that were lost.

Although it had been two months since he’d nearly died, there were days his body screamed at him to rest, to cease pushing himself to the extreme. But Travion had already rested for weeks while he healed, and lying on his back while his kingdom suffered wasn’t something he could do. These past few weeks, the skin itched around his scar, and his muscles ached.

His gaze settled on a small craft and, not for the first time in the last five years, he wondered where Sereia was. In the past century, she’d returned to him long enough to mess up his bed, heart, and mind alike, but never to stay. It was a torturous cycle but one Travion longed for, because while in Midniva, she was at least in his arms, however briefly.

But as the years drew on, her time away from him grew longer, and he knew the last time was likely just that.

There had been a look within her eyes, and the drawn-out kisses that tasted of sorrow and goodbyes. Travion had clung to them, but they had long since faded.

He hoped, for her safety, she remained as far from Midniva as could be.

Travion sighed, closing his eyes as he absorbed the warmth of the sun. Spring had ended in Midniva, and most of the flowering trees had dropped their petals, which coated the ground in yellow, pink, and white hues. Flowering vines crawled along the trellises not far from where he stood, reaching for the brightest rays. Said garden had been designed to mimic Lucem’s lush landscape, and outside of the harsh winters in Midniva, there was rarely a season without a bloom.

He leaned on the rail, letting his shoulders sag, but he should have known better. Peace didn’t last long.

“Your Grace.” Taimon’s voice carried to him; then came the footsteps.

Travion regarded his steward with a lazy lift of an eyebrow. “Please tell me you have good news, Taimon.” He spun around but remained leaning against the rail.

Unlike his king, Taimon was always well-dressed. His dark red hair was combed back and held in a neat bun at the nape of his neck. He had a youthful but narrow face that made it appear as though his lips were always twisted in disapproval, and maybe they were. He had to manage Travion, after all.

Taimon’s thin lips tilted into a smile. “Actually, I had a thought. Seeing as your health has returned, don’t you think it’s wise to throw a small soiree for your courtiers? Show them you are well, give them a distraction from all this madness.”

A fete, at a time like this? “Surely not. There are beasts lurking in the sea, and who knows where they’ll surface next. They are growing closer to Midniva, Taimon.” Travion shook his head and pushed away from the rail.

Taimon followed close on his heels. “It may not be the right time in the broad scheme of things, but it is a good time for your citizens. If not a large fete, then at least the well-known families.”

Travion frowned but considered what others may have needed. A reprieve from reality in the form of a party may not be a terrible idea. It may not have worked for him, but perhaps the gossip, the normalcy of interacting with the realm’s peers, would be enough for his courtiers.

“Very well,” he said at last. “You may begin the preparations. Ensure it’s in the evening so that Draven and Eden can attend if they’re available to do so.”

Taimon quickened his stride to keep up. “As you wish, Your Grace.” He paused, then, “Is there anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now, Taimon.” He nodded and watched as his steward bowed and walked away.

The half-fae had only been in his service for twenty years. He was young, sometimes a little too serious, but he was efficient and respectable. His mother was a human and nearly at the end of her life. Eighty years was long indeed to a mortal, but to a fae? It was the blink of an eye.

Nevertheless, he truly hoped Taimon was right.

Invitations had been sent out the day Taimon mentioned the soiree, and just a few days later, the castle was bustling with activity as they prepared for guests.

Travion reclined on the marble bench in his garden and watched the glittering sea. Silver threads of moonlight touched upon the surface, but the sea was darker than the sky.

As much as he’d prefer to remain outdoors, his guests would soon arrive. He pushed himself up with a soft groan and strode across the path. Inside, chandeliers lit the open spaces, the crystals twinkling like stars.

The scent of food tickled his nose, reminding him he hadn’t eaten a thing during the day. He could nearly taste the breaded fish filets, crispy potatoes, and dark, velvety ale.

Taimon swept into view, and at once, Travion tensed. Right away, his mind went to several possibilities—including more casualties along the distant shores.

“Your Grace, I know that guests are set to arrive at any moment, but these missives wound up on my desk. I thought you may want to take a look at them.” His lips pursed, and his bottomless brown eyes mirrored the mounting disquiet inside of Travion.

He plucked the letters from Taimon’s hands and scanned the parchment. At once, the muscles in his face tightened. Survivors from the latest wreck were in Midniva, spreading their tale of woe far and wide, which meant there wasn’t any more time to prepare. But how had the armada fared? He hadn’t received a seahawk from them with an update. Still, danger was imminent, and the kingdom needed to be addressed as soon as possible.

“Why wasn’t this brought to me instead?” Travion folded the papers and thrust them back at Taimon.

“Your Grace, I don’t believe it was done on purpose. When you were bedridden, I’d taken on more tasks to alleviate your stress. Nevertheless, I’ll make certain it doesn’t happen again.” Taimon bowed his head and clutched onto the papers tightly.

Travion scoffed. “There were few things I could do in bed, but reading was one of them.” He flicked his hand to the side in annoyance and grumbled. “Any news should be brought to me at once. I appreciate all your help, but this is not for you to address.”

Taimon’s pale cheeks reddened, and he cast his eyes downward, but not before Travion caught a curious expression in his gaze. Frustration? Possibly annoyance.

Perhaps he was only placing his own emotions on his steward and not reading him properly.

“You must excuse me, Your Grace. There are some more missives waiting for me in my study.”

“Not more for me, I hope,” Travion muttered as his steward bowed and walked away without another word.

He knew throwing this fete was a terrible idea, yet the possibility of alleviating unease among his people had convinced him otherwise. Travion didn’t want Midniva taking another hit, not after Naya Damaris unleashed discord on his kingdom, nearly killing him in the process.

Travion turned on his heel, readying to help himself to a goblet of ale in the ballroom, when a breathless servant rushed up to him. “Your Majesty, Queen Eden has—”

His brow rose as he glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Eden. The last time she’d been in his castle for a ball, Zryan had convinced Travion it was a good idea to betroth her to Draven. Had Travion been sober, he never would have agreed to it, but the drinks flowed heavily that evening. Still, it worked out for the best.

She was exactly what Draven needed—sweet but with an underlying tenacity.

“Travion!” Eden rounded the corner and ran toward him, arms outstretched.

She collided into him, and his arms coiled around her slender frame in a gentle embrace. “Eden. I didn’t expect you to be without—”

“Yes, well, she sprinted from the chariot the moment it came to a halt,” Draven drawled as he strolled into view. Flanking him was a blond were-wolf and an impressive harpy guard.

Travion pulled back and grinned at Eden. “Is that so?”

Eden’s full lips twisted. “You’ll be occupied tonight with your guests.” She flicked the red cape hanging from her shoulders out of the way, then glanced between Travion and Draven. She reached out and lightly squeezed his bicep. “I wanted to make certain you’d save a dance for me.”

Travion barked out a laugh, then slid his thumb beneath her chin and tilted her head back. “Ah, for you, Eden, I’ll save the very first one.” He winked at her. For the one who had saved his life, he’d willingly dance until his feet fell off.

Eden lowered her hand, grabbing his to squeeze it. Her eyes remained on his, and he wasn’t keen on how she seemed to look beyond the surface of his expression. “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

“Well enough, my dear.” He nodded his head toward his brother. “Now go, your husband is giving me dirty looks.” Travion peered over at Draven and shared a look, relaying the need to talk.

Eden sighed. “I’ll be with Dhriti in the garden.” She glanced over her shoulder at Draven, then exited the room.

“So, you’ve heard more?” Draven closed the distance between them, frowning.

Travion nodded. “Survivors have made their way to Midniva, and whatever fresh hell is brewing out at sea isn’t far off from here. If we manage a week without one of those beasts hitting my waters, I’ll be surprised.” He bit his bottom lip before he sucked it into his mouth. “You should have let me bleed out on the floor. It would have been better than whatever awaits us.” If they’d only snatched the book up instead of piling his innards back in, they wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Draven narrowed his gaze. “You know that was never an option.”

“It should have been. I’m only one, and who can say how many will pay for it now. Hundreds? Thousands?”

Draven’s shoulders stiffened. “Only one—”

Travion lifted a hand to silence any further argument. “I’m not squabbling with you. It’s neither here nor there at this point.” Now the book was seas-only-knew-where and wreaking havoc on not only ships but ports too. If Eden hadn’t chosen an apt punishment for her mother—to remain imprisoned in the dungeons, reliving her worst nightmares indefinitely—Travion would have hauled that damnable banshee from the depths of the castle and exacted a gory punishment on her.

Travion sighed. “Before you join your wife in the gardens, I’ve had a room in the depths of the castle furnished for the both of you. Should you wish to extend your stay beyond the evening, now or in the future when she stays with me, it’s there.” It was the least he could do for them. Travion knew all too well what it was like to be separated from the one he loved. But to be parted for six months and just out of reach was a different kind of torture.

Draven remained quiet for a beat, then a small tick of a smile formed. “Thank you, brother.” He started to walk away, then paused to clap a hand on Travion’s back. “Since this evening’s gathering is smaller, I’ll do my best not to frighten your courtiers off.”

“Where is the fun in that?”

The courtiers filed into the castle, filling the ballroom with chatter, laughter, and no doubt juicy rumors that Travion couldn’t care less about.

Some days were better than others for Travion, and on the good ones, he enjoyed being in the company of his courtiers. But on the bad ones, he drank deeply and yearned for the quiet of his room.

While he adored his subjects, he didn’t care for trivial babble or their endless need to stir trouble when there were far too many genuine problems to sort through.

Lord Seaver, one of Midniva’s notoriously pompous nobles, faced Travion. His bulbous nose seemed to glow brighter with every additional sip of wine he took. “Your Majesty.” He bowed. “We are so glad you’ve recovered from your injuries. My brother’s niece is staying with us, and I thought—”

Before the lord could finish, Eden looped her arm through Travion’s. Her freckled cheeks glowed beneath the chandelier’s warm light. “What of that dance, my dear brother? Surely everyone has had enough food and drink?” She lifted her light red brows in question, an impish gleam in her green eyes.

Bless Eden for coming to his rescue.

“Ah, thank you kindly, Lord Seaver, but I cannot allow my brother’s wife to wait a moment longer. You must understand . . . ”

Travion escorted Eden to the center of the ballroom. “Ever the savior, Eden.” It would seem pulling him from the brink of death wasn’t the only way she could rescue him.

He chuckled, placing his hand on top of hers as he stepped back. Bowing, he curled his fingers around hers. Travion’s free hand slid to the small of her back, and he lifted a brow. “What sort of dance would you prefer?”

“Preferably the moving kind.”

His brow furrowed at Eden’s quip. “You’ve spent far too much time with Draven. His humor has rubbed off on you.” He shook his head in mock disappointment.

Eden’s hand lighted on his shoulder, and she squeezed in a not-so-subtle reprimand.

The drummers quickly pounded on their skin drums, and the sound of a bow across its violin filled the room, and they hastened their music until it was a lively tune that had even the most stoic of individuals tapping their toes.

Eden smiled, and it lit her face in a way that was infectious. She bounded across the floor in his arms, laughing.

Travion led her into a spin and caught her in his arms, only to pull her along into a series of quick turns.

For the moment, he forgot the worries of the kingdom and simply enjoyed himself. After all, it had been a long time since he’d allowed himself that luxury.

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