Chapter 22 #2
Nikias glanced at his mother, who turned her head toward the curtains. Nikias took a few slow steps forward.
Aimilia was perfectly still. She didn’t understand. What did the king want him closer for?
“Kneel.”
Nikias did so, bowing his head. One knee drawn up to his chest and the other on the ground. One arm wrapped around his leg, his hands curled into fists, knuckles ghastly white.
“She might be a skilled commander, I will grant you that, but your mother is right. She is not beautiful enough to be worth any extra favor. She is a waste of time and has disrespected the crown. She is lucky her heroic actions yesterday have ensured we can’t hold her accountable.
I have been more than lenient. The second you set foot in Areator again, you will marry, and since she will not have you, I will choose for you. ”
The silence that followed was deafening.
The word that broke it even more so.
“No.”
Aimilia held her breath.
“What was that, son?”
The way Nero said “son”… Aimilia had never paid much attention before, usually because the way Nero and Clelia always called Gavril “boy” always took precedence.
Nikias looked up, eyes burning and hands trembling.
“I said: no.”
It all happened so fast.
The glass shattered. Nikias’ head whipped through the air, straight for the wall Aimilia was crouched behind. She was frozen as his head hit the stone, his hand coming up too late to catch himself.
Nero dropped what was left of the glass, just the stem, so it joined the other pieces on the ground.
The blood was already pouring down Nikias’ face.
The cuts were mostly on his forehead and cheek, moving into his hairline.
It was impossible to tell the severity of them as the blood rushed down his skin, mixing with the wine that had been left in the glass, all of it falling and staining his clothes.
He had his right eye screwed shut, the side that had hit the wall, and he was breathing through clenched teeth.
He didn’t look surprised. He looked…
He’d been bracing for it.
He’d known.
Then he was jerked back, and Aimilia could see more of the room again.
Nero’s hand was around Nikias’ throat, dragging him back to the side of the bed, glass crunching under Nikias’ legs as he scrambled, choking for air.
One hand grabbed at his father’s and Aimilia could just barely see Nero, pale and panting at the effort all of this was taking.
If Nikias wanted to, he could overpower him.
Couldn’t he?
Nero hissed, “The words you were looking for, son, were ‘as you command, Father.’”
Nero didn’t say “son” with any fondness. He said it the way a man collared a dog.
“Father—”
“Do not let these last few months go to your head. You answer to me, and I will do what is best for Imperia, even if I have to drag you down the aisle black and blue.”
Nikias gave a slight, weak tug at the hand wrapped around his throat. He opened his mouth, making a wheezing, horrid sound. “I—”
Nero’s grip tightened but he nearly fell off the bed, his other hand grabbing the post and being the only thing keeping him up as his strength was failing. Nero said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Nikias gasped out, “Yes—Your Majesty.”
Nero released him, flinging him to the ground again as he dropped back into his pillows, devolving into a coughing fit.
Nikias curled in on himself, coughing and choking as he breathed again, blood still running down his face.
His eyes were closed tightly, one of them swelling and sure to blacken.
His head was bowed, hair falling into his face and hiding most of it, part of it matting and sticking to his skin where it was wet with blood. His palms were flat on the stone, slick with wine and blood.
Aimilia pulled her gaze away from Nikias, expecting him to be pulled up at any moment, but Clelia stayed where she was, one arm wrapped around her stomach and the other fiddling with her necklace.
She watched the whole scene with the same marble expression she’d seen Nikias wear time and time again.
Nero was still coughing, slumped and horribly pale, and Aimilia wanted nothing more than to pour more of her poisonous variant down his throat because she hadn’t given him enough last time.
But what she had done was give him a tea that had given him strength enough for this. Aimilia stared at the blood on the ground. Nikias’ blood now on her hands.
Nikias slowly pushed himself up, rolling to the side and off the glass as he shifted to a sitting position. He used his palm to wipe some of the blood out of his eye as he looked up at Clelia.
Finally, the woman moved, cutting across the room and over to Nero’s side, helping him sit up, easing his coughing. “Look at what you’ve done.”
But her gaze didn’t stay on Nero. She looked back over her shoulder at Nikias… as if…
Nikias just took a deep breath, gaze fixed on her.
“Don’t look at me like that. You know better. Especially when he’s in this state.”
Nikias’ only response was to hide his face behind his hand before running his fingers through his hair. Then, he brushed the few pieces of glass off of his legs and stumbled to his feet. With a few quick movements of his fingers, all his injuries disappeared.
Behind an illusion. Not healed. Nikias was nowhere near skilled enough to heal himself of anything. He could barely heal anyone else.
His hand brushed over his chiton, gripping fabric right over his heart. Then he was gone.
Clelia didn’t look at him once on his way out, focused on Nero.
Aimilia’s palm slipped the first time she tried to wipe her cheek. She hadn’t realized how blurry her vision had become until she started blinking furiously to clear it. She didn’t stay a second longer either.