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The Beginning (Cal's POV)
I am the Captain of Corinth. I do not get nervous.
I repeat the mantra internally for the tenth time in the span of as many minutes. The longer I sit here, the more obvious the lie becomes. But who wouldn’t be nervous under the same roof as the woman who haunts their dreams? Every night is the same—brown hair, piercing green eyes, and the power to make the earth tremble.
Gods, I want to make her tremble.
“Thank you for waiting, Captain.” A man dressed in a green uniform opens the door and motions for me to enter. “Governor Fellows will see you now.”
I adjust the leather pauldrons atop my shoulders as I stand. It’s ridiculous fucking attire for a meeting. A nice suit would have been perfectly acceptable if not preferable, but the detour to a tailor would have taken more time than I could spare.
Three days ago, the missive from Lord General Marks arrived by owl carrying the news of the king’s death and my orders to return to the Diamond Region. But instead of meeting with him, I am on the opposite side of the country, in the Emerald Governor’s study, taking a seat in front of his desk and risking certain death—if not by my commander’s hand, by hers.
“I must say, it is a surprise to see you here, Captain Murphy. Lieutenant Williams did not inform me that we would be receiving any military guests.”
Governor Ansel Fellows laces his fingers in front of him. The man, barely over 50 years of age, looks worse for the wear. The spots of crimson on the white handkerchief protruding from his breast pocket confirm the rumor that’s been spreading through the political circles of Corinth. He’s dying … and pretty quickly by the looks of him.
“Things are changing rapidly, Governor. I’m sure you’ve received the news.”
I know he has. I watched the messenger collapse on his manor steps in the middle of the night when the jog I was on turned into more of a frustration run that ended with me lurking near his home. The anticipation of finally meeting her was too great to stifle the raging thunderstorm that brewed in my veins and eventually spilled from the sky.
“Is that why you’re here?” Fellows asks flatly. “Is the Lord General seeking confirmation of Emerald’s vote?”
I keep my face neutral despite the smile that builds internally. “All of Corinth knows the Lord General won’t be receiving Emerald’s vote. Your heir’s disdain for Marks isn’t exactly a secret and neither is the fact that you’re not up for the journey to Amale.”
A muscle ticks in Fellows’ jaw as he swallows down a snapping retort. There is fire in his veins, but unlike her, he keeps a level-head when provoked. “Are you here to seek confirmation of that? Does my appearance satisfy your commander’s morbid curiosity?”
“I am here to offer my services.” Removing the folded parchment from my pocket, I slide it across the desk to Governor Fellows.
“An offer I assume I cannot refuse.” He sighs and reluctantly picks up the letter, his breath hitching at the crescent moon embossed on the gold wax seal. “Where did you get this?”
I stare at him intently as he opens the letter. His eyes scan the words written in a delicate script, tears rimming them as he reads it again and again.
Trust him, Ansel. He is the boy I told you about. - S
“Prove it.” The command falls forcefully from the governor’s lips as he stands, planting his palms on the desk with enough power to shake it. “Prove. It.”
I nod and begin to unbuckle the straps that hold my armor to my chest. There’s no way to know how much or how little of the truth Selene told him, but I pray to my mother that her mark is enough. Setting the armor on the floor, I tug off my shirt, exposing the large sea beast magically inked across my chest and abdomen. The forgotten form of the Goddess of Protection.
Fellows tries to muffle his shock, but the smallest puff of air escapes his mouth anyway. “And the mark? You have it as well?”
“I have to take my pants off to show it to you, Governor. You can take my word for it, or at the very least, you can offer me a drink first.”
He holds up a hand, clearly not as amused with my joke as I am. “What shape is the mark?”
“A crescent. I assume hers matches.”
Fellows offers neither confirmation nor denial of the shape of his adopted daughter’s birthmark. The mark that all gods and demigods born in this realm wear—the mark of the aevus. While I wasn’t born here, the goddesses who smuggled me from our home realm and granted me with a new identity left me one anyway. A way to ensure those I would need to ally with could trust me.
Fellows runs a hand across his short-cropped beard, deep in contemplation. While he weighs the evidence before him, I redress. No need to carry on the rest of this conversation shirtless.
“What do you want with her?” he finally asks.
“I want to escort her to Amale. She will need protection.” I repeat the simple request that I have practiced over and over again since I made the decision to disobey direct orders and ride here instead.
“Ivy Fellows is more than capable of protecting herself. And even if she wasn’t, I have an army full of soldiers devoted to Emerald that I would send with her before I would send the captain of Marks’ forces.”
“Those men cannot teach her what I can.” I rise from the chair to meet the governor’s glare, willing the magic that burns in my veins to submit. “If you want her to know what she is before she faces Marks, she has to go with me.”
He picks up the note, turning over his deceased wife’s words again. Pain etches deep into the lines of his face as memories of her resurface.
“Selene,” he whispers, his finger tracing the s-curve of her signature.
“I am who she says I am.”
Blackmailing Lieutenant Williams into believing my orders to escort Ivy were legitimate was the easy part. Lying is always the easy part. It’s the truth—the horrible truth of my lineage that I’ve never said aloud—that’s difficult. The guilt of their sacrifices to ensure my existence eats away at me like the disease that consumes the governor in front of me.
“I won’t hurt her, I swear it.” Removing the emerald-hilted sword from its scabbard, I lay it across the desk. “My blade is hers to command.”
I am hers to command.
“You will find that my daughter has plenty of blades. She does not need yours.”
Governor Fellows rounds the desk. He is not a small man, neither in stature nor in reputation, though he does not intimidate me.
“What she needs is someone she can trust. Give me one reason that should be you, Captain.”
I have a list of reasons, all of which are true, but many of which would see me thrown out on my ass faster than I can curse the gods. Fellows knows some of what his daughter is, but not all. Revealing the true motive behind Marks’ plans now could jeopardize our future, and I cannot allow that to happen.
“If Marks takes the throne, Selene’s sacrifice will be for nothing.” I relax my stance, allowing the governor to see my submission. “I am in her debt, and seeing as she is no longer here to collect it, I owe it to her daughter.”
He raises a brow, intrigued by my words enough to press further. “The man who has taken so many lives willingly lays his down at the feet of a woman?”
Anger bubbles up within me at the way he reduces her. But that is the test, isn’t it? “Anyone who thinks Ivy Fellows is just a woman is a godsdamned fool.”
Ansel smiles, pleased with my answer. “From your lips to the gods’ ears.”
The gods have never listened before and I hope they don’t start now. She is the force they cannot see coming. I return the sword to my sheath before following Fellows toward the door.
“She’s not going to like this,” he sighs, wringing his hands. “Best let me break the news to her before she sees you at dinner tonight.”
“Dinner?”
“You should have a solid meal before you depart for Amale in the morning. You won’t find a better one anywhere in Emerald.” He clasps my shoulder, giving it a firm but fatherly shake. “Plus, it’s Ivy’s birthday, so there will be cake.”
Magic frenzies in my veins. I mentally grasp for the cerulean threads and pull them taut in restraint. Fat raindrops pelt the windows of the governor’s study, the sky opening up before I can contain all of my power.
A violent coughing fit seizes the governor, blood leaking from his mouth and peppering the sleeve of the dress shirt he uses as a shield.
“Godsdamn it,” he mutters as he takes in the crimson spots. “Good thing I haven’t put my jacket on.” The governor sighs and opens the door to the hallway. “Dinner will be served soon, Captain.”
I cross the threshold and turn to face him, extending my hand. “Thank you.”
Governor Fellows accepts the handshake. I flex my magic. Not a lot, but enough to clear away a little of the blood that crowds his lungs. He shifts slightly, color filling his face as if this is his first full breath in months.
“I won’t let her down, sir. You have my word.”
I am used to being the most talked about subject in a crowded room. Their sideways glances and pinched lips no longer bother me. Not like they used to. I barely even hear their whispers anymore.
Cutting through the crowd of green-clad nobles dressed in all their finery, I make my way toward the back windows. If I could crack one open and get a slight breeze, it might make this leather armor a touch more bearable. Magic burns through me like wildfire in a drought. No matter how much air or rain I summon, I will never be able to fully douse it.
She’s close. She’s so fucking close.
I feel more like a long-tailed cat on a crowded city street than a renowned military captain at a noble woman’s birthday dinner. Any moment a stray foot or wagon wheel could crush me—or a secret goddess could waltz in and make me lose all cognitive function.
The latter is definitely possible.
A member of the manor staff rings a bell, signaling for the nobles to take their seats at the table. They circle it like godsdamned vultures, inspecting their seats and their neighbors. I hover toward the back, waiting to take whatever seat turns up empty, assuming there is no place card to denote my presence.
“Captain Murphy, I presume?” A sweet voice sounds to my right, her blonde curls coming into view first. “I believe we’re sitting together.”
I nod and follow the woman to the table. Nobles who care more about power and glory than their children’s safety often seat me next to their daughters at events like this. They want the Lord General’s blessings or his secrets, and they’ll happily sell off their women to get either. I bristle at the thought as I pull the chair out for her.
“Thank you,” she says as she sits. “I’m Quinn. Quinn Bartlett.” Shockingly, she extends her hand to me, seemingly unflustered by my ominous presence.
“Pleasure to meet you, Lady Bartlett.” I recite the pleasantry as I take my seat, swallowing down the bitter way it tastes on my tongue. It’s not her fault that I’m more on edge than usual tonight. I’m sure she’s a lovely little pawn in whatever game her powerful father is playing.
“It’s refreshing to have someone of your esteem here tonight. It will be nice to take some of the attention off her for a change.” With a lift of her finger, Quinn points toward the end of the table.
The last of the guests take their seats, parting to reveal the woman from my dreams. She tucks her short, wavy hair behind her ear as a man leans in to whisper something only she can hear before her emerald eyes lock onto mine and time stills.
But the goddess across the room does not cower or shirk from the fabled warrior she sees. No, instead Ivy smiles defiantly, lips lifting in a grin that promises to end me.
Something deep inside snaps taut as destiny converges. Years of wanting her from afar are nothing compared to what overtakes me in her presence. One look at her and I know in the depths of my being that we will never be apart again. She could travel to the realm of the gods, traverse space and time itself, and cross the boundaries of the living and the dead, and still my soul would find hers. There is nowhere she could go, nothing she could become, that would change that.
Ivy’s breath hitches slightly. Her magic recedes and time returns to normal. The blonde man beside her smirks, his brow dancing with delight as he says something that earns him a scornful look. The delivery of the first course steals their attention, and I use the moments to attempt to tame the magic still running wild through me.
“Have you had the honor of meeting yet?” Quinn asks innocently, raising her spoon to her mouth.
“Um …” I clear my throat, hoping my face didn’t give me away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Oh come on, Captain. Are you telling me the right hand of Lord General Marks has never heard of Poison Ivy?” She scoffs and returns to the soup before her.
“Ivy,” I repeat. As if summoned by the sound of her name, green eyes find mine again before quickly returning to the noble woman across from her. “I honestly have not had the pleasure.”
“You seem tough,” she muses. “Maybe it will be a pleasure for you. It isn’t for most.”
“I’m sure I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you think you can.” She pats my forearm, clearly patronizing me. “But that stunningly beautiful woman eats men like you for breakfast.”
Metal raps against a crystal goblet as Governor Fellows rises at the head of the table. Every conversation, including the one I am now eager to continue, halts.
“Esteemed nobles of the Emerald Region. Tonight is bittersweet. Not only do we toast the memory of a king, but also the continued longevity of our heir and the promise of a better Corinth.” He raises his wine-filled goblet and looks directly at Ivy. “To our future.”
“Here here.”
I’ve heard more convincing agreements from the half-dead than the mumbled chorus that echoes from the nobles. These lords and ladies don’t even try to hide their pursed lips or soft sighs. She is the godsdamn Heir to the Emerald Region of Corinth and they show her no respect.
Thunder booms outside the window as my hold on my magic slips. They return to their conversations, smug in their disrespect of the goddess that sits in their midst.
For now.
The woman who departs with me tomorrow will not be the same woman who returns from Amale. They may show contempt for her tonight, but one day, they’ll all be on their fucking knees before her. I’ll make sure of it.
The manor staff delivers the second course as the nobles begin to speculate about the king’s death.
“Mysterious,” they say.
“Unexpected,” they agree.
But it’s none of those things. The Lord General killed this king just like he did the one before him. He’s running out of time and ways to torture me, so he sped up the certain death he was always planning to deliver the monarch. Marks wants to go home, and he wants me to open the doorway to his realm. Now.
“May I ask you a question, Captain?” Quinn distracts me from the anger that builds at their gossip. Before I can nod, she presses on.
“Are you here for her?”
“Lady … Bartlett, was it? I don’t know why you’ve been placed beside me, but—”
“Because I’m her best friend,” she interrupts, matter-of-factly.
“And a terrible spy,” I add, lifting my goblet to my mouth and taking a large gulp of red wine to buy myself time.
“True, but Miles and I have a bet about your motives. So … are you here to save her or fuck her?”
I nearly choke on the wine still in my throat. “What?” I cough out.
“Sorry. I know my appearance looks more like a cupcake, so people don’t often expect me to say such direct things.”
That is certainly direct—and it’s a shame I can’t offer her the same in return. I feel Ivy’s eyes on me again, but by the time I look away from Quinn, her attention is elsewhere.
“I am here to escort the heir to Amale,” I reassure her. “And I have already been told that Ivy Fellows does not need saving.”
“Sounds like you’ve been well briefed on your assignment, Captain.” Quinn offers me a mock salute.
Ivy is so much more than an assignment, but it’s better that no one knows the truth. I must be cool and indifferent if I am to earn her trust. Confessing to her best friend that I’m head-over-fucking-heels in love with her despite never even speaking to her is a surefire way to ensure she will never reciprocate those feelings. And that is an outcome I cannot live with.
Another course is swiftly served by the staff. Ansel Fellows was right about the quality of the food—I imagine he was right about a great many things. Quinn, satisfied with the confirmation of my supposed orders, abandons the topic of her best friend and spends the remainder of dinner divulging scandalous court gossip that would make a pious man blush. She’s effervescent, her hands flying around exaggeratedly as she speaks. I shift in my seat every time her fingers bump me, meaning no offense.
There was a time when the touch of others didn’t bother me, when the touch of a woman felt like a reprieve rather than a betrayal. But the more Marks invokes his wrath upon my body in an attempt to unlock my power, the more vivid my dreams grow. Ever since I saw her face on the steps of the palace, I have found no solace in any embrace.
I am desperate, and I am so, so hungry. I will take whatever taste she offers me, but I will never truly be satisfied until I have all of her.
The tinkling of a bell signals the end of dinner. Chairs scrape across the floor as the nobles, with their obligation now complete, find new corners in which to gossip.
“Well, come on then.” Quinn stands and motions for me to follow. “I think it’s time the two of you meet, don’t you?”
“I…” Lady Bartlett begins walking before I can reply. I trail after her, lingering at her elbow as we cut through the crowd, barely avoiding the staff members carrying trays of port, brandy, and frosted strawberry cake.
Two men step into our path, their attention solely focused on me and the bouncing head of blonde curls at my side. Their gazes are sharp enough to pierce through my leather armor. Fathers, no doubt. Likely hers and the father of her betrothed. Lucky for them, I have neither interest in Quinn nor interest in upsetting any of their fragile alliances.
“There you are!” Quinn says sweetly.
I pull my eyes from the glowering men and come face-to-face with Ivy. This is the precipice, the steep edge of the cliff that overlooks a bottomless chasm of change. Danger laces the air and I drink it in. Twenty-eight years of life have led to this moment—and I better not fuck it up. I extend my hand to greet her as Quinn continues.
“Ivy, do you know—”
“Everyone knows the Captain of Corinth.”
I retract my hand at Ivy’s venom-laced retort. She drags her eyes up the expanse of my chest before they lock onto mine. My breath freezes in my lungs. My entire life—every want, every desire, every hope, and every fear—stares back in me in her glimmering emerald irises. Our pasts and our futures weave together into a tapestry so tightly spun that even the most skilled weaver could never extract us fully.
But she cannot see that yet. All she sees is the slanderous nickname, the deadly persona. So I veil my true response, hoping she’ll one day see the irony in our first introduction.
“The same way they all know Poison Ivy,” I respond.
We stand there in pointed silence. I count the number of freckles that adorn her cheekbones while she sizes me up as an opponent. Fire burns in her blood, her magic singing to me even now. I wonder what will happen the first time we touch. Will she feel the unrelenting call of fate, too? Will she be as thoroughly ruined as I am?
Quinn clears her throat, reminding us of her presence. “I’m going to grab us some cake. Don’t … run away, I guess?”
I fight to keep hold of my magic as I step closer to Ivy. From this distance, I can tell my count is accurate. There are thirty-seven freckles across the bridge of her nose and on the tops of her cheeks. And if I’m ever asked to name my favorite number, the answer will always be thirty-seven.
Ivy squares her shoulders, defiance etched permanently on her face. I prepare myself to shoulder whatever scathing remark builds on her tongue, but she surprises me. Magic floods into her waiting palms, invisible to everyone, but I sense it nonetheless. My eyes flit closed momentarily as I struggle to grasp my own magic, the rain outside intensifying. When I open them again, they burn with barely contained desire.
“Are you planning to run away?” I ask. As if I would ever let her.
Ivy’s jaw clenches. “I don’t run away. Not from anyone or anything.”
My head dips toward her on instinct, and I allow myself the briefest moment to teeter on the tightrope of propriety. I inhale her earthy scent of rain and wild ivy and let my breath warm her skin as I speak low against her ear. “Your reputation precedes you.”
Time slows again, the sound of the crowd fading into the background. She is poison— this magnificent, marvelous creature who will incapacitate every foolish mortal man in this realm before she turns her sights on the wicked gods of the Golden Pantheon. She will be their destruction, and I will be by side every step of the way.
Thunder of my own making booms outside the windows as the reflection of lightning dances across her green eyes. It’s unnatural to step back from her, but if I don’t, I could jeopardize everything.
There will be time—time to reveal our connection, to convince her that my feelings are real, to show her who she was always meant to be. Still, it takes every ounce of restraint I possess to make my feet move.
“Any enemies besides the Lord General I need to be aware of before we leave, poison?” I taunt her, casually reclaiming the nickname so cruelly bestowed upon her.
But the spark of fury in her eyes tells me I’ve misjudged, that the wound is deeper than I realized. “Anyone who calls me poison is my enemy. Does that clear things up, Captain?”
Ivy’s enemy is so far from what I plan to be that I can barely contain my smirk. Especially when her thorns are so godsdamn sexy. So instead, I nod and choose my next words carefully.
“See you at dawn, my lady.”
I disappear into the crowd, blending in with the swirling nobles but never taking my eyes off her.
“She’s a magnificent creature.” The voice startles me. Too enthralled with Ivy, I never sensed the man approach, inadvertently letting down the guard that should have been on high alert.
I scan him, assessing him from the tips of his polished brown boots to the sandy blonde hair, slightly askew. There’s an air of casual arrogance to him—as if he could have the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand if he wanted it. His blue eyes cut to me, twinkling with amusement as he reads the tension that I try to swallow down.
Ivy’s dinner companion and co-conspirator is easy to recognize. He’s the subject of most rumors that seep out of the Emerald Region—and I’ve heard more than my fair share about the rake and poisonous woman.
Very intimate rumors.
My magic bristles, a primal, base part of me wanting to eliminate the man it perceives as a threat to securing the one thing I want: her.
“She is not what she seems, Captain.” He steps closer, his shoulder bumping mine as he tilts his head towards me. “I am more of a lover than a fighter, but if she doesn’t kill you, I will.”
“And why would I need to be killed?” I force the words through clenched teeth.
“Look.” Miles Yarrow grasps me on the shoulder brazenly as if he hasn’t just poked a deadly beast. “Ivy deserves to have some fun on this trip, but she’s nothing like the women who throw themselves at you.”
I scoff at his assumption that anyone could ever be idiotic enough to think Ivy was like anyone else. He mistakes the noise as denial of my own actions, and waves it off with an exaggerated eye roll.
“I’m not one to judge … I’m just saying …” He lifts a finger and points toward the goddess in the far corner of the room. “She doesn’t need anyone to be rough on her unless it’s in bed.”
Rage ripples through me as my mind rapidly sorts through a demented, spinning carousel of reasons that he could possibly know what she likes in the bedroom. “Why are you telling me this?”
The storm outside intensifies, rain pounding against the glass so loudly I barely hear his words over the sound as he slinks away.
“Payback.”