Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Kong
The air is dense with the earthy scent of damp soil and decaying leaves. Trees loom tall around me, acting as a natural barrier from the Redwind. Their branches intertwining like ancient fingers reaching for each other.
I watch from behind a tree as an Aquilla Cat crouches low to the ground, observing a family of marsupials bounding around the forest floor. Across his back, a slash of fur is missing, but there is no wound, only bald flesh. Perhaps scar tissue from a fight.
He has been hunkered there for some time and does not appear to be in any hurry to make a kill, watching them, learning.
Some inner creatures must lie dormant. A predator stalks, slow and steady, eyes piercing and mouth parted, teeth bared, until it claims its prey.
I decide I like him.
And let him live.
Turning north, I stride toward Rome, who is six paces ahead of me. It is barely first-light on the day of the queen’s campaign. We trudge back through the dense forest, long branches lancing in on us.
Twigs crack beneath our boots. Birds call, warning the Aquilla cats and cubs that we are close.
We have been out here for many hours. Naturally, we have kills. Over our shoulders, we carry the weight of dead cats, their sleek bodies hooked around our necks, legs dangling down our chests.
We grip our rifles tightly.
Today, the hunt feels heavier, more burdensome. Rome is biding his time; he wants to speak with me in private.
I can always tell.
Without Odio soaring above us, scanning the landscape for prey, we haven't been guided. That damn bird’s infatuation with Aster has changed him, leaving us alone to navigate this wild expanse.
The king's voice slices through the sounds of the forest like a blade. “You are to keep her away from the ruins and the Common Communities!” The tension in his tone is palpable, a storm brewing just below the surface.
I’ve been anticipating this conversation. It only took him half the night, multiple kills, and a decent trek, to loosen the king up enough to have it—apparently.
“Show her the pretty dam," he goes on. "The forest, hell, take her to the Silk Aviary, but stay on the charted path.” He glances back at me.
Though a man, with his bright blue-eyes, a chiselled face framed by dark hair to below his ears, he still retains hints of the temperamental teenager I once knew.
When Turin of The Strait ordered me to be his Guardian, Rome was but a ten-year-old—a boy.
I was twenty-one and felt a hundred, so I called him “boy” to provoke him, to challenge him.
He needed at least one role model who would mock him, connect with him, who would make him challenge what he sees and hears.
I nod. “Of course, Sire.”
He continues stalking onward, shuffling the forty-kilogram cats over his shoulder as if they weight no more than a few rabbits. The king is strong—powerful, nearly a pure Xin De—but he is full of humanity, unlike his father. Though he pretends he has none.
“You know I'm trusting you with the only girl I've ever loved, except Aster, of course. I failed my sister many times, didn’t see what they were doing. I don’t want to fail her again. This campaign is my birthday present to her.”
I keep my expression neutral, though inside, a knot tightens. “She wants to visit her people,” I remind him.
And I want to see what freedom looks like on her, whether she’ll feel liberated away from the place that held her spirit in chains.
“I don’t like people,” he states plainly.
“She does,” I reply.
When she isn’t hiding, when she isn’t triggered, she loves people, places, and food. I know she is in there. I see—glimpses.
He sighs roughly, and I can hear the weight of his thoughts.
“My sweet sister. Too sweet for this world.” Old wounds rear up, a strain in his tone.
“I would have done more. If I could do it all again, Kong. I would have stopped them.” He clears his throat aggressively.
“I know you are in love with her, Kong. You are not subtle.”
He stops dead in his tracks, then rounds on me with a fierceness that would intimidate anyone else. But to me, he is still that moody teenage boy—the one I’ve seen grow into a king. A king I am proud of.
"Say it, boy," I state, holding his gaze as he scowls at me. I allow him the silence and respect, to vent the turmoil that’s clearly building inside him.
“She is the queen and off-limits." Tension thumps from him. "I know you cross boundaries with my sister already. Tell me the truth now, once and for all, and I will spare you. I will not punish it.”
“We have never spoken about this, boy.” I feel the heat of his anger, sense my own stirring, but as always, remain calm. “I assure you,” I offer, my voice firm, “the only hands I lay on her are for protection.”
“And comfort?” he goads, lowering his voice, an accusation tightening his jaw.
“Security. To make her feel safe.” I can see him grappling with my words, trying to read my intentions, but I don’t break.
My intentions are genuine. Were genuine. Fuck. They were always about protecting a sweet girl from her fate— I love that girl. As a child, I loved her like a big brother, a protector, a father even.
Until that night…
The fact that she is impossibly beautiful, and every inch of my body vibrates when she is near… is new. Distracting. Disturbing.
That level of attraction… Fuck. It only reared its demon head one night when I fell asleep with her in my arms. Her body was womanly. Her moans, her smell—it was as if I hadn’t noticed before. Dammit.
I adored the little girl who needed a father, needed a saviour, protection, and now… I am obsessed with her as a woman I want in every way.
I swallow the truth and hold level the king’s searing gaze.
I'm not afraid of the boy I helped raise, even if he is The King of The Cradle. This man before me is a fucking warlord, a nightmare for anyone who challenges him or this land, but it is my morals that have kept him in check. My lessons made him see through his stamped conditioning.
Not that it’ll ever end.
Not in my lifetime.
But with each generation, perhaps we see our flaws. Improve. Evolve. Isn’t that what we are all about? The Xin De are a fast-tracked evolutionary species, and yet… I feel humanity was left behind in the pursuit of survival and control.
I hope it is Athens, Rome’s son and heir, who becomes the revolutionary for The Cradle.
Who sees the failings and who has the intellect and station to implement ethical change.
It will not be my king. Not Rome. His conditioning is too deep, but Athens will have his mother, Aster, to loosen its crippling hold.
I like to think… I played a part.
Over a game of chess, I told Rome the history of the old-world Athens, the first democracy as it was. It wasn’t lost on me that Rome named his son and heir after this famous ancient city.
After a long, heavy moment of scrutiny, he resumes walking, heading toward the entrance to The Estate’s southern courtyard.
“Several months ago, you gave me some advice while I was fighting my feelings for Aster. Do you remember?” he asks over his shoulder.
I huff a laugh, tension easing slightly between us. “You’re a stubborn prick; I give you a lot of advice."
He shoots me a sidelong glance. “You implied my sister has become the main character in your life. You all but said it. I’m wounded. Shouldn’t it be me?”
“You don’t need me anymore, boy,” I reply, though the words carry a weight of sadness, more so pride.
“Yet you’re still going to die for me,” he says, a challenge woven into his tone.
Defend, Guide, and Die.
That is my Meaningful Purpose.
“One day, if I don’t die for her first,” I state matter-of-factly, the gravity of my truth hanging heavy between us like the thick canopy above.
“Good. Don’t let anything happen to her. I care for you more than any other man in The Cradle, but if she comes back with a single extra crack in her heart, I will execute you.” His eyes blaze with fierce protectiveness.
And I know the threat is true. “I would expect no less,” I assure him with a tight nod, the resolve settling into my bones.
As we exit the forest, finalising our last hunt together for a while, I remember our conversation from months ago. Recall the exact moment Rome speaks of and the exact advice and wording.
‘You start to feel like an individual, that your motivations are not a collective thought, but for your very soul. It’s as though you just woke up.
’ I remember the weight of them on my tongue, how saying them aloud cemented the truth.
I couldn’t swallow them back down; they were free.
My Meaningful Purpose takes a backseat to her.
.. To everything she needs, to fight her monsters as best I can without rousing suspicion.
In the past, I dreamed of taking her away, but the truth is, she is…
She was too afraid, too broken, too fragile, to leave with me.
And if I die too soon, if they see my obsession to keep her safe as a threat to the regime, she will have no one.
I am her shield, her solace.
Until I die for her.