Last Stand (The Black Mage #4)(116)

Ryiah’s quick intake of breath mirrored his own. “But we don’t have our magic—”

“That won’t be a problem, will it, Master Barclae?”

An intimidating man took a step forward in his gilded cloak. His salt-and-pepper beard was now fully gray—the only testament to age. “Most of our instructors are well past the age of their potential’s limits. You don’t need magic, just experience to instruct. And discipline.”

Another man came forward, white teeth gleaming against his dark skin. Darren recognized him as Sir Piers, the knight who’d always pushed them to their limits in physical drills. “You two were prodigies.” His smirk was devious. “It’d be a shame to waste that reputation.”

The words were out of Ryiah’s mouth in a second: “We accept.” A moment later, she shot Darren an apologetic look. But there was no need. He wanted this too.

It was more than he deserved, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“Good.” Master Barclae looked pleased. “Between the two of you and the Academy’s new headmaster, those first-years will finally be put in their place.”

New headmaster?

Darren followed the man’s gaze. And then he stifled a groan.

Ian was grinning shamelessly in a robe like the one Barclae had worn at the Academy. The sandy-haired mage caught Darren’s eye and winked. “The old trio, together again.”

I celebrated too soon.

“Those first-years have grown too comfortable now that they aren’t competing for an apprenticeship.” Master Barclae gave Darren and Ryiah a stern nod. “Do your best to make them competent.”

It was as if they’d never left.



*

Later, Darren found himself standing at the ballroom’s balcony, staring out at the northern valley of Jerar. The sun was setting, casting a hazy orange glow on the forest down below. People still gave him a wide berth; for most of the night, they’d left him alone. He’d been reduced to a passing concern; Priscilla’s revelation about his work in Kuador had taken away most of the court’s hate. That, and eight years of peace.

The Black Mage’s war was a thing of the past. So was its king.

Darren had always wondered what it would be like to be free from the chains of his family’s reign. What it would be like to be a boy instead of a prince. To marry that impossible girl and start a family of his own…

Now he knew.

And he would never give it up.

He’d seen the way Duke Audric’s eyes had gone bright when he introduced his daughter earlier that night. That moment had gone a long way toward warming the ice flooding his veins.

The former commander was more of a father than Lucius had ever been.

That last realization came as a blow; Darren hadn’t thought he’d left anything behind.

Ryiah appeared soundlessly at his side, smiling as her brother spun Eve around the floor.

Amends. That word was a pulsing beat in Darren’s chest. It roared as their daughter spun and twirled around the room, her little legs wobbling under the weight of her dress.

Ryiah sighed against the railing. “Eve’s happy here.”

So was she. There was a glow Ryiah had never had in Kuador. He’d seen it in the reunion with her parents, and Ella and Alex and their four little boys.

Darren looked away from the room to study his wife.

After all these years, she was still as beautiful as the day they’d met. A girl burning so bright he’d been drawn in against his will, even if it’d taken a while to recognize the signs.

Ryiah was still the same maddening girl he’d fallen in love with so many years before. She was still the same girl he didn’t deserve, the same girl who’d challenged him time and time again.

He’d been a Black Mage and a king, but she was the strongest person he knew. People would never sing ballads about the lowborn who’d chosen exile with a traitor over a hero’s title back home, but Darren knew who Ryiah really was. He knew what she’d really done.

She was reckless.

She was brave.

She was incredible.

And she’d saved him from himself.

Darren would never deserve Ryiah; he never had.

“That day we met,” he muttered, “I should have asked your name.”

“My name?” She scrunched her face as she laughed. “I believe your glare was enough.”

“When we get to the Academy, I’m going to try again.” One hand found her waist as Darren tilted her chin and pulled her close. “I’m going to get it right.”

Ryiah grinned. “Well, if we are going back to the start, I’m going to knee you in the groin for that day that you—”

He cut her off with a kiss.

As soon as his mouth found hers, he was back.

Darren was a prince teaching a pretty first-year how to fight, a boy in the desert apologizing to a girl, a jealous apprentice lashing out any way that he could…

And then he was following her up the stairs, kissing her because he couldn’t get her out of his head. Because he couldn’t breathe. Because he’d fallen in love and he hadn’t even known.

Then he was choosing Jerar, telling himself to walk away. Losing the girl and pretending not to care.

He was screaming her name in a burning forest, running as fast as he could.