21. The Prince of Thorns
The Prince of Thorns
I’m not particularly worried about the feelings of others.
Rosalina, my mate, is the exception.
Her pain, her sorrow, courses into me through our bond until there is a single thought in my mind.
I will not rest until everyone who hurt her has suffered tenfold what she has.
The mirror shatters on the floor. One of Vespera’s torture devices. I know it intimately, as I do the hood, the crown, and the string.
My mate gasps, her beautiful gown torn, face wet with tears.
With a deep snarl, I pierce Vespera with my gaze. Thorns sprout, dragging her to the ground, and shadows gag her sickening mouth. With a clench of my fist, an inferno of fire sprouts around the witch.
She’s a creature of torture, so a painful death would only delight the old crone. Better to kill her quickly.
“Stop,” Sira snarls. “I command it.”
My shadows and thorns and fire fall away. The bargain clamps down on me, controlling my every whim. Ragged breaths claw out of my throat.
Vespera writhes on the ground, clutching the burned flesh of her spindly legs.
“Vespera will be invaluable in the war to come,” my mother says and strolls over to the grand table, righting a goblet and pouring nectar. “It was I who called her up. Surely you can appreciate a little torture.”
It wasn’t Vespera who hurt my mate or me all those times. Over and over. It was her.
Queen of the Below.
Kill her, a deep voice rings in my mind. Kill her and ascend to your throne as lord of the Below. Take the fae woman as your queen.
Finally, something we agree on, Father, I answer.
A ball of fire appears in my palm, and I register the moment she sees the reflection in her goblet. Quick shadows snap up to block my attack and send the flame careening across the dining hall.
“You would not—will not harm me,” she stammers, changing from a question to a command at the last second.
Clever.
That bargain stills my hand, and I snarl through my teeth.
“What was that?” Sira’s eyes are wide, watery. “You would never hurt me. My son?”
I huff and begin to pace. “Your son hesitated to kill you because he had a soft heart. Thankfully,” I say with a smile, “your command to embrace the Green Flame burned away all parts of him. I would gladly pike your head outside this tower.”
“Why do you care so…” Sira clutches her heart, then her gaze shifts to Rosalina. “She’s your mate.”
A voice inside me screams. Terror floods my being.
Not for myself. No one in the realms or all the worlds could harm me.
But for her.
Sira’s stare is furious as she pierces mine. “Kill her.”
“Caspian!” Rosalina cries.
A scream echoes in my mind from somewhere deep within. No, not a scream. An answer. Calling out to her. Her name.
“Cas, I love you,” Rosalina says, staring at me. “You’ll never hurt me.”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants,” Sira snarls. “He is under my control. Kill her.”
All I know is this—every ounce of my power, every flicker of magic in me, was made to protect her. To protect my mate. So even as the barbs of the bargain pierce deep and thoughts of her death strike like arrows through my mind, I grit my teeth. “No.”
It’s like two fibers of my being are at war with each other, and I have just enough strength to keep them at bay.
Sira blanches. Then that beautiful face, so similar to my own, shifts into a snarl. “I commanded it. You are under my control.”
Fae can only make bargains with other fae, right? It’s my mate’s voice, invading my thoughts. Even within my head, she sounds weak. But as I look at her, I see she’s assessing the situation. Searching for a way to help me.
What a good little queen you are, I purr in her mind. Then I turn my attention to my mother.
“I am the son of Malekai Furiondemius, Baron of the Green Flame,” I say, prowling forward. “I am half fae…and half something greater. Power that the fae of the Above can only dream of. And the strength of that blood will not be commanded. You do not have control over me as you do Aurelia.”
Sira stumbles back. “Kill her,” she snarls. “Kill your mate.”
The more this new command beats against my willpower, the more it lessens her other commands. Do not harm her.
“Kill her? Keep the witch alive? Or do not harm you? What is your command, Mother?” I snarl. “Because you can only hold one, and I could kill Rosalina in the same sweep of fire that would devour you.”
My mother’s lip trembles.
“Choose.” Flames grow at my feet, lighting every inky space of this cursed tower in green.
Sira finds her back flat against the wall.
“Choose, Mother,” I growl.
“Y-you…” she gasps. “You will not harm me.”
“Pity,” I say.
With a snap of my fingers, Vespera erupts into a pillar of ash, the smoke turning a sickly blue gray as her rotten corpse burns.
I look down at my mother. “Kneel before me.”
Her eyes widen in indignation. “I am your queen. You should kneel before me.”
I raise a dark brow. “Is that a command? By all means, change it.”
Her breath is raspy, fury near unkept, but inch by inch, Sira drops to her knees.
I regard her for a moment before turning to my mate. Then I scoop Rosalina into my arms. She’s barely conscious. I hiss through my teeth. I will have vengeance for this.
With heavy steps, I carry her toward the door, her little goblin attendant scurrying at my feet. I pause and look back over at my mother. She’s still on the floor.
Good.
“If you lay a hand on her again, Mother, I fear nothing in this world could keep the green flame from burning through your pitiful fae bargain and consuming you.”