CHAPTER EIGHT #5
I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking again of Finlay and Thomas.
And Cecelia—Cecelia who moved through the world so scared, her face scarred.
Cecelia who saw what I was, who no longer trusted me.
There were others over the years. People who’d come in and out of Geoffrey’s Tavern.
Friendships that I’d formed and lost when they moved on.
There was good in Eskalon. And there was good in Azeal.
But could I really do this? Was this why I’d survived? The reason why I had been born this way? Part princess, part monster. Witch and Demonos.
Azete.
Already the thought of the deception was making me ill. The idea of merely seeing Jaron again made me feel nauseated. But having to smile like I loved him, talk to him, kiss him … Gods, fuck him ... The room began to spin.
I’d worked at Geoffrey’s for seven years.
I’d lied and cheated and whored. But I’d never slept with a man I did not wish to.
Being Azete had lent me that power. It wasn’t perfect.
I had to take them upstairs. Many I kissed unwillingly.
Many I’d touched, many more I let touch me.
But I never let it go too far, not without draining them first.
But … I could. I could go all the way—if I had to.
The last night I’d been with Jaron, I’d brought him to my bed as I had done so for weeks.
The sleepless nights our bodies tangled together had felt endless, his body joining with mine again and again, bringing me such pleasure as I fed from his lust, and listened as he professed the sweetest and most romantic endearments into my ear.
He used to hold me afterward, brushing sweat from my forehead as he told me how beautiful I was, how he saw my soul shining through.
I’d believed him. I thought he’d seen me.
The real me. And my heart had swelled in a way I’d never known.
Never dreamed possible. Until I realized the harm I was causing him.
Every time we slept together, every time I took him inside me, I was taking days, weeks, months of his life away.
He grew more passionate with each visit, his desire for me intensifying.
My feelings only grew. And so did my dread.
Because I knew months would turn into years, and years into decades.
And far too soon, because of me, because of something that felt so good and so right, his life would be over.
I loved him. I loved him so, so much. And I’d feared for him.
Already I was sick with guilt for all the time I’d stolen.
He was so drained and exhausted the last time we’d had sex that he didn’t wake until noon the next day.
I’d watched over him for hours, worried I’d gone too far.
I wanted him more than anything in the world.
I wanted to wake him, rouse him to make love to me again.
I wanted to kiss every inch of his body and whisper the secrets of my heart into his ear.
But I also knew I’d already touched him for the last time. Because I loved him too much to hurt him. I could not bear to take even another second away from his existence.
And the moment I tried to end things, the first time I had ever said no, he changed faster than I could change my face.
The warmth in his personality was gone, the tenderness of his soul vanished, leaving behind nothing but the cold, heartless man beneath the facade.
He threw me onto the bed. Slapped me and strangled me as he pushed up my skirts.
My heart was breaking. I was too shocked to move. To even process what was happening.
At least at first.
He undid his belt, the metal clanged to the floor, and he pushed my legs apart.
I snapped back to myself then. The Azete had awoken—not just hungering for a meal, but needing to survive.
Claws burst out of my fingers, and I slashed at his back until he roared in pain. He reared away, ready to punch my face, but I hit him first.
Blood splattered from his nose as he called me every foul name he could think of. Then he grabbed his things, stomped out my door and into the hall, looking back at me one final time to call me a “worthless whore.”
After he was gone, hours passed as I sobbed alone in my room, the grief and pain unbearable, incapacitating. I didn’t think I’d survive, didn’t think I’d ever leave my bed again.
Until Cecelia screamed.
If I took Princess Olivay’s place, I’d have to swallow my pride, my hatred, and disgust. Instead of cursing him, I’d have to kiss him. Caress his skin instead of cutting out his putrid heart. Kiss the very lips that I had scarred when I went into Cecelia’s room.
By fucking Batrir. I eyed his statue, mentally tracing the shape of his horns, and then Kavrir’s sword and shield, the seven-pointed star etched across its center.
Orsete’s wings of fire, missing from the room, felt like they were fluttering through my belly.
I took a deep breath. Maybe I couldn’t choose my fate—maybe I even deserved it for what I’d done. But I could choose how to meet it.
“When this is over,” I said, “what happens to the prince?”
“He will die,” my aunt said.
The Hermit nodded. “Upon the conception, there will be an end to House Lafir as they know it. Never to rise again. From what I have seen, his life all but ends as soon as the conception is complete.”
Jaron would die. And I would have a hand in his demise.
Good.
I swallowed roughly, just needing to know one more thing.
“The child,” I said. “My child. What will happen to them?”
I’d never thought I’d be a mother before.
Truthfully, I didn’t think I could be, though I’d wished for it.
I always wanted to love someone as deeply as my mother had loved me.
To have someone to teach and show the wonders of the world.
There was an emptiness in my heart so deep it bore a hole in my chest, one that would never fill.
A love dwelled within me with nowhere to go, no one to offer it to.
I wanted to love. I wanted it so much I ached.
But the truth was—I couldn’t. I could not safely love another. Not another man. Certainly not a baby.
Bearing a child as an Azete would mean harming them with every touch, hug, and kiss. I’d already killed my mother with her love. I could not let that happen again.
“I wouldn’t … I wouldn’t be able to raise my child. Would I?”
“No,” my aunt said plainly.
I nodded, biting my lip. “Do you swear to protect them?” I asked. “Swear they will be safe? Taken care of, and …” my voice caught, “loved for their whole life?”
Not just loved, I hoped, but adored. Hugged and kissed and held without harm. Tucked into bed without the threat of their lifeforce being stolen away. Without having to watch their mother leave for their own safety.
For they would be without a single parent–neither mother nor father.
“They will be loved deeply and treated like royalty. Like they are my own.”
“And me? After I’m done? What will happen to me?”
“You would be welcomed back to court, reinstated as princess, and forgiven.”
“Forgiven?” I asked, my voice hushed. Forgiven didn’t seem possible. Not when I couldn’t ever forgive myself.
But maybe there was an in-between. A place built not of hope or goodness, but peace. Acceptance. A place where I wasn’t constantly hiding in fear and on the run. Where I could be left alone. But more importantly, a place where my people would be safe, where Eskalon would be, too.
“Do we have a deal?” the queen asked. She wrapped her fingers against the leather armrest, leaning forward. “If you are to agree, you will swear a blood oath with me.”
My mouth went dry, my pulse racing. There was no going back after this. Once sworn, a blood oath could never be broken. And if it was, the binding itself would kill you. On pain of death, I would become Olivay. I would face Jaron. And I would bring an end to House Lafir, to my enemy.
I met my aunt’s eyes, the same blue as my mother’s. “We have a deal.”
“Then it’s settled. You will take the face and body of Princess Olivay. You will marry her prince. And you will come to his bed, as many times as needed, until you are with child, until his lifeforce is spent, and he is no longer needed.”
Something began to awaken inside me, to untwist and unfurl. It was a feeling I only got when the Azete sensed a way to feed, a way to take. When it knew the hunt was near.
With my marriage to the prince, the Azete would be able to feed freely and frequently.
But so would the mortal part of me. Because if I had to sacrifice my body and soul on the altar of this prophecy, give up my child, and shun everything that made me me in order to do this, then I wanted something else. Something more.
Revenge. Not just on Jaron for what he did to me. To Cecelia.
I was going to go after a bigger prize. I was going to hunt the man who’d betrayed my mother, who’d gotten her killed. King Tirian.
I could clearly see Jaron’s life ending with the conception of our child.
The very act, once performed enough times to become pregnant, would drain him.
But the king—the king I would not touch.
Not in the way. But I’d find another. I’d find a way to end him, too.
If there was to be an end to House Lafir as they knew it, I was going to ensure that King Tirian’s name was part of that prophecy as well.
There was a final flash of blue light in the black crystals surrounding my aunt’s throne. And the sensation of wings fluttering inside of me began to burn, turning to flame.
I held out my wrist and offered it to my queen.