21. Mercy
21
MERCY
“ S o no matter who the gods chose between us six, you would try to steal their rule?” Gemini asks casually as he strolls into the large kitchen which is located near the atrium in the East Wing.
After the day I had with Wolfgang, I needed a … friend. Gemini jumped at the opportunity to visit the ruler’s quarters, and after a few hours of gossip and martinis, he dragged us out of my rooms for a midnight snack.
“Yes,” I answer with no remorse as I follow him into the kitchen. Gemini heads straight for the wall of state-of-the-art fridges, his black boots squeaking on the polished floor. “Even you.”
“I always knew you were a cold-hearted bitch,” he says with amusement while opening a fridge at random and poking his head inside.
“Don’t pretend you ever wanted to rule in the first place,” I volley back as I approach him from behind.
He swivels around to look at me, now holding a bowl of cherries. “I am a slave to chaos, love,” he says with a grin, shooting me a wink with his green eye, a subtle smear of eyeliner tinting his lower lashes. He pops a cherry in his mouth. “Besides, power doesn’t suit me.”
Placing the bowl on the marble island, he turns back to the fridge, continuing his search for the perfect midnight snack.
“I don’t know if it suits me either.” The words stumble out of my mouth before I can even process them while Gemini yells out, “Jello cake!” I freeze and hope to the gods he didn’t hear me.
Closing the fridge with his hip, he places the green cake beside the bowl of cherries.
“That looks revolting,” I say, pretending I didn’t just admit something vulnerable.
“It’s a delicacy.” His gaze lifts to my face, his eyes narrowing. “Something’s wrong.”
My chest tightens and I suddenly feel like crawling out of my skin.
I try to unclench my jaw before I speak. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Gemini pushes himself up and sits on the marble top. His legs, clad in black and white striped pants, swing idly as his head tilts to the side, studying me. “You’re lying.”
His comment is nonchalant, but it makes me want to smash every breakable thing in this place. I turn to the drawers to have something to do, away from his prying gaze, and begin to search for a fork so he can eat his ridiculous jello cake.
“Your power doesn’t work on me, Gem,” I mutter, getting more and more flustered with every wrong drawer I open.
“Good thing I can read body language then,” he says with a laugh.
“Nothing is wrong ,” I repeat through gritted teeth, fruitlessly opening another drawer. “It’s just that—” Nothing feels right . “Why can’t I find one single thing in this godsdamn place!” I jerk the handle far too hard and the drawer flies off its tracks, dozens of kitchen tools clanging to the floor.
The silence settles between us, my breathing much too loud for what I’ve been letting on.
Slowly, my gaze slides back to Gemini, and he flashes me a sly lazy smile. His tone is innocent when he asks, “Looking for this?” He holds up a fork having already started to eat the cake. “If I had to guess, Wolfie is getting under your skin,” he mumbles around his bite.
The mention of Wolfgang’s name has me stomping my heels like a child, kicking at the fallen whisks and large metal spoons just to tame some of the fire burning behind my chest.
I soon realize how ridiculous I must look and stop. I avoid Gemini’s gaze, smoothing my hair back into place while the silence returns in the kitchen.
“I know you’d rather never share your secrets, love. But at least give me one ,” he says smoothly.
My eyes fall closed as I take a long deep breath and slowly exhale. Finally, l look over to Gemini. Leaning on the counter facing him, I cross my arms.
“Nothing is … easy,” I relent with a slow sigh.
He offers me a fork and holds out the cake between us. I press my lips in irritation but grab the fork, stabbing it into the gelatinous monstrosity and take a half-hearted bite.
It’s not as bad as I expected.
“What, exactly?” Gemini responds with a small puff of laughter. “Working with a Vainglory?”
My throat tightens recalling our last encounter, earlier today. I could have fought harder, kneed him in the groin at least. But something about his touch made me pause. His exploratory fingers between my legs felt almost … familiar. His hands on me should make me want to kill him. Instead, I was mortified that his touch had aroused me and that he could feel how wet I was.
I shove the thought away before glancing up.
“The gods are punishing me, Gem. That’s the only explanation as to why I would be stuck ruling with the man I hate most.”
Gemini snickers. “Maybe start with owning up to your mistake.” He twirls his fork at my face. “Cunning Cee-Cee, thinking she could outplay the gods.”
“Careful,” I say, “or that fork could end up in your thigh.”
He grins while eating another bite, studying me, then finally says, “What’s troubling you most?”
“Wolfgang,” I grit out, crossing my arms again. “This all looks effortless to him. The endless meetings, interviews, photo ops,” I add with exasperation. “I’m not good with people.”
I brace myself for another of Gemini’s flippant remarks but instead, he says, “I don’t know, love. Sounds to me like maybe the solution is as simple as actually becoming a team, instead of simply pretending to be one.”
My laugh is bitter. “Don’t be so foolish. There won’t ever be a time when Wolfgang and I will be friends, let alone partners.”
When Gemini leaves an hour later, I’m heading back to my rooms when I hear a noise floating up the stairs leading to the lower floors.
It’s more than just a noise …
It’s—
Violin?
Intrigued, I walk down the flight of stairs, my chiffon robe drifting behind me as I descend. I end up on the fourth floor and while I head down the drafty corridor, a prickle starts to tingle at the base of my neck. I realize I’m walking straight for Mount Pravitia’s bathhouse.
The violin notes become clearer with every step I take. The slow realization that it must be Wolfgang playing makes my heart speed up in itchy anticipation.
Still, I’m unwilling to believe that a Vainglory is capable of such raw beauty—such enrapturing melodies.
On soft feet, I approach the arched doorway and peer inside.
The room is lit with countless candles, the flames flickering alongside the shadows as if swaying to the melody. Wolfgang, wearing his customary silk pants low on his hips, has the violin tucked under his chin, eyes closed shut and eyebrows squeezed in concentration. A few strands of brown hair fall over his forehead as he plays with abandon, his torso swaying with the music, abs contracting with the movements as if the violin dictates what his body should do or go next.
He looks … so unlike himself.
Like a devotee kneeling at the steps of musical worship.
As if the music itself has cracked through his perfect image to reveal something much, much deeper. As if his mask is missing. And all that is left is … Wolfgang.
And he is breathtaking.
My stomach flutters. It makes me want to turn around and run. Pretend I’ve never witnessed him like this. Pretend that all that exists is the Vainglory persona.
But I can’t move.
I’m transfixed by Wolfgang and his violin.
Standing under the moonlit window, barefoot. He plays with abandon.
And still, I can’t move.
The melody stirs something deep inside of me. It makes me want to rub my chest and try to soothe the ache.
Wolfgang’s eyes suddenly fly open.
My heart slams against my lungs as he pins me to the spot somewhere between the shadows and the darkened doorway. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was using his power of persuasion on me.
Wolfgang continues to play, hooded gray-blue eyes burning a hole through me as I dig my fingers into the cold stone of the archway next to me.
The music halts.
My breathing stops with it.
Slowly, his hand holding the bow falls to his side. Phantom notes still waltz between us, our eyes interlocked. The echoes of his music whisper to me a story I long to hear more of.
The silence turns deafening. Wolfgang continues to stare, his expression a stone facade. Betrayed only by his darkened gaze and quickened breaths as his chest quickly rises up and down with exertion.
I force myself to blink.
To break whatever spell this is.
Without saying a word, I turn around and leave.