The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(75)
Everywhere he turned, there was another question to answer, another problem to solve, and another demand on his already limited time. And through it all, the knowledge that he had less than a week before he needed to choose a girl to marry, keep the other families from turning against each other or the crown, and help Blue with both her guardianship situation and her worries over children going missing throughout the city spun through him, a tightly wound coil that made it difficult to breathe.
When his tailor arrived to measure Kellan for a new dancing coat and trousers, followed immediately by his secretary with a long list of documents to approve, choices to make, and invitations to reply to, the coil exploded into a desperate need to get out of the castle so he could have a moment to think.
And to wrestle with the grief that kept sneaking up on him when he wasn’t looking.
His father should’ve been here. Attending the ball. Holding the throne as the true Renard until he was old enough to feel that passing the crown to his son was the right move to make. Helping Kellan decide which girl to marry and maybe understanding the hollow space within him at the knowledge that the girl Kellan thought he might like to marry was off-limits.
Kellan held himself still for the tailor and rattled off a quick list of instructions for his secretary—yes, he approved next week’s meeting schedule, no, he was unavailable for brunches this week and wouldn’t be until after the funerals, yes, leave the documents on his desk for him to sign later. When the tailor left and his secretary looked ready to bring forth another list of demands, Kellan pleaded a headache and asked for two hours to lie down.
Two hours before he had to shoulder the mantle of crown prince again, pretend he had all the answers, and somehow figure out how to walk the thin line between suspecting every head family of murder and convincing them he held them all in the highest esteem.
The instant his secretary left his suite and informed the guards posted in the hall that the prince was unwell and would be lying down for two hours, Kellan locked the door and hurried out the window. In the time it took him to climb down to the castle grounds and slink away, the restlessness had become a churning storm of panic, edged with despair.
What if he couldn’t protect the rest of the girls? What if he couldn’t protect his family or Blue? He was surrounded by help—his mother, his guards, the royal magistrate, and his allies within the head families—but he’d never felt so alone.
He wished his father was here.
The thought sent a shaft of pain straight into the numb corner of Kellan’s heart where his grief for his father lived.
He just needed to feel alive for a little while. Truly alive. Needed to stare death in the face, dare it to take him once more, and survive. It was the only way he’d learned how to find an ounce of peace.
He headed south, skirting the city proper, until he’d reached the de la Cour farmhouse. Careful to stay on the edges of the property, where Jacinthe and Halette wouldn’t be able to see him, he made his way to the cliff that overlooked the sea.
The water seemed as restless as he was—rocking in its berth, its waves choppy, its current strong. A storm was coming. The sky was a thin gray-blue, the horizon darkening with clouds, though the storm itself wouldn’t break over land for another hour or more.
It was a terrible time to swim out to the shadowy line that lurked beneath the water. The current could change at any moment. The tide could snatch an unwary swimmer and drag him beneath the waves, holding him prisoner until he stopped struggling.
Kellan couldn’t wait to face it.
Stripping off his shoes, belt, and tunic, he rolled his pants up above his knees, aimed at the deepest section of the water, and dove.
The water was a slap of coolness against his skin as he broke the surface. Quickly pulling out of the dive, he scraped his stomach along the bottom of the sea and then shot toward the open waters where the shelf fell away and the shadow loomed.
He’d been right. This was a terrible time to be in the water. The current snatched him, propelling him toward his destination with terrifying speed. He rode it for a moment, feeling the numbness inside disintegrate before the rush of danger. When the land beneath him fell away, and the shadow stretched as far as he could see, he began kicking. Fighting. Struggling toward the surface while the water did its best to swallow him whole.
He broke free, his mouth clearing the water so he could drag in a much-needed breath before the current slammed into him, dragging him under again.
For an instant, he drifted with it. Spinning into the shadow, feeling the slap of the rubbery sea vines that grew beneath the waves, his chest constricting as his air began to run out.
How long had his father held his breath?
Two minutes? Three?
Or had he fought so hard to get back to the surface that he’d used up his air before he even realized he was drowning?
Something brushed against his back, and he kicked hard, turning sharply in time to see a small hand latch onto the waistband of his pants and pull.
He lifted his face and the rush of danger flowing through his veins froze into stone-cold panic.
Blue was caught in the shadow too. Her body was buffeted by the current as she kicked and struggled. Her cheeks bulged with her last breath.
He grabbed her hand and fought for the surface with every bit of strength he had. Gone was the glorious blaze of life that burned away the numbness. In its place was absolute terror.
He couldn’t watch another person he cared about drown.