Chapter 51 Costly Truths
Costly Truths
Artton’s rage was palpable as Thaddeus closed the distance between us, his familiar earthy scent enveloping me from a pace away—and I hated how that one detail remained me that there was no waking up from this.
No, this was real. I’d forgotten he smelled like home and a part of me wondered if that was spellcraft too.
Reaching a hand up to me as if to caress my face, I held my breath, knowing the summer commanders would pay if I didn’t play nice. Just before the touch landed, Artton’s large hand wrapped around the king’s wrist and held tight.
Thaddeus looked down at the contact, then up with a smirk. “You’ll mind your place before I mind it for you.”
The commander shifted his weight forward, his grip now punishing. “You’ll keep your fucken hands off of her,” Artton snarled.
“Or what?” he scoffed. “In case you haven’t realized, Com-man-der,” he said, the honorific dripping in mockery, “you’re not in a position to make demands—of any kind.”
Faster than Thaddeus could react, Artton gripped him by the throat, thumb and forefinger digging into the hollows of the vulnerable juncture that could drop a man with enough pressure—even a king.
I watched wide-eyed as the two stared each other down.
“I said,” Artton all but growled, “hands off.”
The sides of Thaddeus’ lips tugged up with amusement. He leaned into the commander despite the grip tightening, and lowered his voice. “I knew she’d fuck anyone who looked at her.”
Wait? What?
Artton’s nostrils flared, and while I’d been on the other side of his anger, I’d never seen him like this. Letting go of the king’s wrist, he drew his arm back, fist closed. Thaddeus shot his hand out and pressed his thumb into the fae’s shoulder, hard.
The commander gasped as the fabric of his shirt blooming with marbled black-and-crimson blood.
“Artton!” I cried out and reached for him as he stumbled back like he’d been struck with an arrow.
Fuck. An arrow! Hadn’t Kaelun said that’s how they captured him in the first place?
That the poisoned weapon had stolen his magic?
Stars above, he’d been healing Sidrick while still being injured himself.
Stupid male. Stupid fucken male.
I watched in horror as his face contorted with pain, and he tripped over his own heels, stumbling backward. Firm hands gripped around my arms as I lunged to catch him, and I flung them off, sliding to the ground just in time to stop Artton’s head from crashing against the unforgiving ground.
From the corner of my eye, Thaddeus crossed his arms.
I shot him a warning glance, only to find him looking down his nose at me with an amused glint in his eyes. Gods, everything was a game to this man, and he didn’t care what happened to the pieces on the board.
Ignoring him, I shifted my focus. “Artton, talk to me,” I said in a panic.
His eyes were squeezed tight, and he held a hand to his wound. Most concerning were his ragged breaths and the damn bleeding. “I’m fine,” he gritted out.
“Like hells you are, you stupid male.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up the tiniest fraction before a grimace stole it.
Frantically, I looked around the cell like an idiot for something to staunch the wound with.
“Problem?” Thaddeus taunted as if this was the best entertainment he could ask for, and it took every ounce of control I had to ignore him and focus on the problem.
Knowing there was no fucken way I was stripping out of my leathers to offer up my shirt, I stood up on my knees, leaning over Artton’s chest. “Remove your hand,” I ordered. His eyes fluttered open just enough to let me know what he thought of that idea. “Now.”
He did as I asked with a grunt, and a fresh wave of blood seeped into his shirt.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. “This is going to hurt.” Without warning or mercy, I grabbed at the neck of his shirt and tore it open, revealing the peaks and valleys of his sun-kissed skin below.
That was the easy part. Gingerly, I pulled the garment over to the right, revealing the wound.
I hissed when I saw the full extent of what the arrow had done.
Prodding around it with my fingers, Artton smacked the obsidian ground hard with his other hand to stop himself from moving.
My mind reeled as I looked down at the familiar spidery veins that marred his skin.
Chest pounding, I made quick work of slipping him out of the shirt.
My heart cracked every time he squirmed from the pain, and I had to stop myself from thinking of just how much pain this injury had already caused him.
The white fabric of his shirt was marred with my bloody handprints as I folded it to the right size.
“Ready?” I breathed, looking down at him.
With no small effort, he opened his eyes and stared at me; his cerulean irises almost completely hidden from his blown pupils. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment. Taking a breath, I nodded in confirmation, then turned my focus back to his wound.
Gingerly, I placed the fabric over the wound. Then, shifting my weight, I placed one palm atop the other before slowly leaning my weight onto the wound.
Artton thrashed as he cried out in agony, and I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. I didn’t move, not even when one of his hands wrapped around my upper arm, his eyes pleading for me to stop. I winced as his fingers dug in hard enough to leave marks, but I didn’t falter.
I silently counted to a hundred, every muscle straining as the seconds dragged. By the time I finished, the blood had slowed to a sluggish seep. It hadn’t stopped, but for now it was enough.
Releasing most of the pressure, I shifted back on my heels. Artton’s grip finally relented, and he dragged a finger down my arm.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Looking down, I saw the bruises that had already begun to bloom.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my forearm, my chest heaving as I caught my breath and my thoughts.
I was tired. Emotionally exhausted. Angry. And over it. All of it. Suddenly, the weight of everything settled over me.
I knew then I’d never hated someone so much.
“Were you always a monster?” I whispered into the silence after a long moment.
“Excuse me?” Thaddeus said, like he’d heard me wrong.
“Spark, don’t,” Artton said, his eyes pleading with me.
Ignoring him, I looked over my shoulder at the king. “Were you always a monster?” I said, my voice still impossibly low.
his light brows knit together as he uncrossed his arms. “How could you possibly say that to me?” he asked, sounding genuinely hurt.
Slowly, I pressed my hands against my thighs, then rose.
My steps were soft as I closed the gap between me and the man I’d naively let into my life and my heart. Stopping a couple of paces away, I looked into his molten silver eyes that churned with emotion. I wondered then if devils feel emotion the same as the rest of us.
A second passed.
Then two.
Then three.
The sound of my hand striking his freshly shaven face rang out. And honestly, I thought I’d feel something more, but the stinging sensation of my palm far surpassed anything I felt in my heart. No. I was lost to numb fury as I faced the man that had stolen too much of me.
“How dare you act hurt after what you did?” I said, voice lethal.
His furrow deepened. “Because I injured him?”
I breathed in and then out as the words played in my mind again, and again, and again until I finally gave them life. “No,” I said slowly. “Because you murdered my parents.”
His eyes went wide. “I didn’t mur—”
“Don’t you fucken lie to me, you piece of shit!” I roared, and the dam that had been keeping my emotions at bay shattered as I pushed him with both hands. He stumbled back a step, and I followed in his wake. “Don’t you dare pretend like you weren’t the one who signed their death warrants!”
Face hardening, he muttered, “I knew it was Tarrin.”
“Is that why you stripped him of his rank and left him for dead? Because you think he told me? I seethed.
Thaddeus’ eyes went wide before he masked his surprise like the lying expert he was.
Clearly, he’d intended his comment about Tarrin to be under his breath—only, he still didn’t know I was fae.
And gods, it was just like him to underestimate me.
“Tarrin,” he said, dragging out his name, “no longer held himself to the standard befitting his rank.”
I scoffed. “You mean, he was no longer your puppet.”
“Watch yourself, Nyleeria,” he warned.
“Or what, your Ma-je-sty? You’ve already taken everything from me that matters and intend to take my power too—no matter the cost.”
His eyes narrowed as if truly assessing me for the first time since he stepped into this cage—and possibly since we met outside the cabin that fateful day. “You told me that in a choice between fae versus humans that you’d never apologize for defending your people. Do you remember that?”
He nodded. “That’s still true.”
Shaking my head, I said, “But it’s not.” I leaned in closer.
“The second you chose my power over me, when you called for more, called it to kill Tarrin for intervening—in that moment, Thaddeus, it was no longer fae versus humans.” I shook my head again, the truth sinking in as I continued to voice my truth.
“It became you versus anyone who doesn’t agree with you—even those you’ve vowed to protect for centuries. ”
“That’s not true.”
“No?” I challenged. I stared him down, my heart racing with this next truth. “Tell that to Katherine and Bryan Leighmullan, who bled to death on a threadbare couch in a rickety hunting cabin because I was their daughter.”
“Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth, and I knew I’d hit my mark.