Chapter 70 Jace
JACE
Derek’s study is as he left it. His scent still lingers in the air, clinging to the scrolls of parchment neatly stacked on his desk. On the last book he read, splayed facedown on the smooth wooden surface. My finger trails along the edge, where already a light layer of dust has begun to congregate.
I couldn’t bring myself to move anything. To touch anything. I’ve ordered the maids not to enter, either. As if keeping everything as it is would negate the truth of the way things are. That this room no longer belongs to him. It belongs to me. And I’m expected to do all he did. Be all that he was.
An impossible task.
A knock on the door shatters my reverie.
“Come,” I command.
A steward pushes into the room and bows, a small stack of cream envelopes in his hand—each sealed with a crimson press. “Letters, Sire, from Vod.”
I stalk around the desk, snatching them from his shaky grasp.
They’re addressed to the Queen of Vod.
She’s been back two days and already the bastard has written her a pile of letters?
Snarling, I rip open the first, and my eyes land on curling black ink.
My dearest wife,
News of our impending nuptials has spread throughout the land. Our people are eager. Too long have they been without a queen. I trust your affairs are in order. I patiently await your return.
Adoringly yours,
Kylian
I toss the letter aside in lieu of the second.
My love,
The days are long without you, the nights, infinite. The halls are dull. I grow tired of the views. Without you in the frame, the cliffs have lost their majesty. The sea no longer dazzles beneath the sun. The sand is cool, and the palms wither and sag. Even the wine is more bitter.
A fortnight has never before felt like an eternity.
Your betrothed,
Kylian
My Queen,
This bed offers little comfort without you here to warm it. I’m haunted with yearning. Sleep continues to evade me. I’ve abandoned any hope of apprehending it until you return. I toss and turn, cruel dreams plaguing me, reminding me of your scent, your taste…
This bed is yours now. As is every part belonging to me.
Kylian
My wife,
Why do you not return my letters?
What can I do to atone for that which I know not what I am atoning for?
Will it be jewels? I will shower you with them until the sight makes you ill.
Silks? Gowns? You shall have entire wings dedicated to your wardrobe.
Will it be servitude? Every male, female, and child in the kingdom shall kiss the ground beneath you.
Is it adoration? I vow to worship your body, day and night, on my knees at your altar, until you are sick of my hands, my fingers, my mouth, my—
Unable to read another nauseating word, I gobble up the letters in my fist, crumpling them into a tight ball before tossing them into the fire.
“Send for Lord Gronwen and Sir Max,” I bark, seething at the surging flames.
“My King.” Gronwen enters the study, Max at his side. “You sent for us?”
I nod, gesturing for them to sit as I lean against the desk.
“There’s something I’ve been considering. I didn’t want to involve the entire council.”
“Of course,” Max nods, his face solemn.
Shifting my eyes between them, I say, “I want to launch an attack. Before the two weeks are up, before Vod can strike first. I want to obliterate them.”
They remain quiet, weighing my proposition. Gronwen crosses one spindly leg over the other, his chalky fingers curling over the carved wooden armrests. “Should we not wait for Berringer’s armies to arrive?”
“We don’t have time to wait. By the time they arrive, Vod’s forces will be here, and it will be too late.”
“I understand your desire to act, Sire, but doing so could backfire.”
“Captain?” I turn to Max.
My friend. One of my only friends at this point.
“Vod has already reached our shores. Their forces are marching as we speak,” he answers regretfully.
“Exactly. And here we are, waiting with our thumbs up our asses. We cannot just do nothing,” I fume, looking back to Gronwen.
“You expect me to wait until he shows up here with his fleets and armies and Serena hands herself over? No. I will end this before it comes to that. I refuse to put her at risk.”
Gronwen peers at me from beneath dark brows, a grave warning in his eyes. “Sire, forgive my saying so, but it is the Dragon Rider’s choice.”
“Because for some gods-damned reason, she feels it’s her responsibility to fix this! She is hell-bent on sacrificing herself, and I will not allow it.”
Gronwen clears his throat, exchanging a glance with Max. He continues in a measured voice, “While I agree that things should not be left to chance, I feel that we must proceed with caution.”
I grip the armrests of his chair, a cold, calm rage creeping over me.
“You misunderstand me. I called you here as a courtesy. But make no mistake, I am not asking. I am telling.” I lean in, letting my voice sink in volume. “This ends tonight. I will destroy him with my bare hands if I must.”
An image of my fingers wrapping around Kylian’s throat and squeezing until he turns blue swirls around my mind. It’s a beautiful thought.
Max rises from his seat. “Say the word, and we’ll dispatch.”
I hold his gaze for a long moment. Straightening to my full height, I give him a curt nod.
“Do it.”