Chapter 51
NIKIAS
Nikias woke up.
He startled straight up, hissing at the pain flaring in his neck from the awkward position he’d been in. He reached up and rubbed his palm against it as his vision cleared.
Dawn was breaking outside the window. Aimilia was still fast asleep in the cot set up in the infirmary room.
Nikias sat back in his chair, shifting to try and ease the stiffness that had accumulated from falling asleep in it, sitting beside Aimilia’s bed.
Her arm was wrapped in a few bandages, but the biggest problem, according to the healers Nikias had hounded the night before, was that she’d exhausted her reservoir on top of the blood loss.
She was going to be fine, they had said, but she needed rest.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep and spend the night in the room, but since no one had caught him, Nikias supposed no one needed to know. If anyone asked, he’d left and returned. If he was honest, the number of times they’d been alone together scandalously late would condemn Aimilia forever.
He tried to push the nightmare from his mind, but the weight of it lingered.
Thankfully they weren’t supposed to receive a messenger today, so Nikias didn’t have to worry about catching the rider before they reached his mother.
Most of the letters he’d been able to pass on without issue, but the last one had included an urging for one or both of them to return to Areator because of Nero’s condition.
Nikias had used a little bit of magic to recreate the letter and remove that line. If his mother got word of it, she’d try sending him back, and if Nikias wasn’t around to stand between his mother and Aimilia…
Besides, if his father was finally going to die, Nikias certainly didn’t care to be at his bedside. The sooner the better, if anyone asked him.
Aimilia stirred, shifting from her back to her side, tucking her good arm under her head and burying her head deeper into the pillow. Her bad arm shifted, and Nikias started to rise from his seat, but he was too late as she jostled it and woke up with a wince on her face.
She blinked her eyes open, immediately seeing him and asking, “Nikias?”
He sat back in his chair, pulling it ever so slightly closer to the cot. “How do you feel?”
She grunted and started to sit up, but before she could, Nikias was already there, helping her up and adjusting the pillow to prop her up fully. She said, “Sore, tired, hungry, nothing awful.”
The winding tension in his shoulders eased slightly hearing her voice and seeing that she wasn’t lying. She looked fine, just tired.
She looked up at him and asked, “Commander Eleni? How long have I been out? Is she alive?”
Nikias blanched, turning his attention to the blankets and pretending to fix them just to stay a little bit closer and not think about the far too familiar scene he’d seen the day before. “I don’t know. I was focused on you the whole time.”
When he looked up, Aimilia’s cheeks were pink and she was staring out the window while her fingers twisted the edge of the blanket. Dare Nikias take that as a sign?
Did she truly not want him at all?
“Right,” Aimilia whispered. Then she looked back at him. “What did they say about my arm?”
Nikias sat back down. “No lasting damage.”
She grinned for a moment, starting to sit back, but then her eyes widened and she sat back up. “Wait, who was eliminated?”
He was a little surprised it had taken her this long to ask. Maybe she was growing as a person too.
Although it might be easier for him if this weren’t the case, he smiled and said, “Commander Eleni and the last one of your cousins to finish. You easily passed with the most points, Commander.”
His heart had been in his throat and his mother’s bruising grip on him had been the only thing keeping him from making a fool of himself running in there to save her.
Every time those fangs or claws had gotten too close, Nikias had almost shouted.
At one point, he was certain he’d called out her name.
Aimilia ran her hands over her face and into her hair, beaming, and the warm pride in Nikias’ heart swelled more than the anxiety he’d felt watching her in danger. He said, “You didn’t hear it from me, but the judges were quite impressed with your paralysis rune.”
Aimilia shook her hair out and smirked at him. “I knew they would be.”
His breath caught in his throat and the words were on the tip of his tongue, just about to disastrously spill out.
“I love you.”
But they stayed in his mouth. What would happen if he said it?
He wouldn’t hear it back. He wouldn’t, would he?
Why would she be competing if she loved him?
He didn’t need to say it. His father was finally dying, and when he breathed his last, Nikias would be free of the deal he’d made. He would have options again. He could be patient in winning Aimilia’s love.
Or… if his worst fears were true, he could keep his vow and never marry, leaving the line of succession to Gavril and his future children with Marcella.
Nikias was so focused on keeping the words inside, the silence stretched on, until Aimilia said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
A knock sounded on the door, and it was opening before Nikias was forced to answer.
He rose from his seat, turning to see Commander Cyprian entering with a tray in one hand, the same kind of strange pot and cups on it that Aimilia had always used in Areator for the tea she made, a specialty of House Mitis.
“Aimilia, good to see you awake. I assume His Highness has told you that you made it to the next round,” Cyprian said as he carried the tray over to the cot. “Ovidius told me it was imperative you get some of this in your system to replenish your strength.”
Aimilia started to reach for the tray, but Nikias took it instead, shooting a pointed look at her bandaged arm and earning an eye roll for it.
He set it on her lap and poured the cup for her, steam rising from the liquid.
She looked over Nikias’ shoulder. “Have you been to see Commander Eleni? What happened?”
When Nikias straightened up, he saw Cyprian wipe away the disgusted look he’d been giving the scene of Nikias serving Aimilia. He just looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, daring him to comment on it.
Instead, Cyprian looked back at Aimilia and said, “Last I heard, she was alive, but still comatose while the healers worked. It’s only been a day.”
Aimilia nodded, running her fingers over the metal on the tray.
“Your Highness, I believe your mother was looking for you. We should go and leave Aimilia to drink the tea and rest, and you can see what your mother needs from you,” Cyprian said, gesturing for the door.
Nikias might have already been pushing his luck with Aimilia—she’d been keeping herself at arms distance—but he didn’t like Cyprian’s insistence, nor the idea of going to see his mother.
A hand gently wrapped around his wrist, not even aggravating the bruises hidden beneath his illusion.
“My mother can wait, and I’ll thank you not to insert yourself into royal matters, Commander. I’m not finished here yet,” Nikias said.
He had no idea what Aimilia wanted him to stay for, but if she wanted him near her for even a second longer, he’d take it.
Cyprian narrowed his eyes at Aimilia, and Nikias shifted, blocking his view of her.
He relaxed his expression and said, “My apologies, Your Highness, for overstepping. All I ask then is that you ensure my niece drinks the tea so she can fully recover and the two of us can see who truly is fit to become the next Head of House Mitis.”
Cyprian left with a short bow, and Nikias waited until the door was closed before turning back to Aimilia, who was still gently holding his wrist.
She was staring at their hands, not looking him in the eyes.
“What is it?”
Aimilia finally looked up. “I just… wasn’t ready for you to go.”
“I’m here for as long as you want me.” His heart beat faster as he took his seat again. After barely getting to lay eyes on her for a week, Nikias was starved for her presence.
She ran her fingers over his skin and whispered, “What am I going to see if you drop the illusion?”
She saw right through him. She always did.
Nikias did so with a small wave of his other hand, and the skin beneath Aimilia’s fingertips turned mottled dark purple and yellow in the shape of his mother’s hand. A few more fingertip-shaped bruises were on his forearm.
He let her pull his arm a little closer as she studied the marks, fighting the instinctual urge to pull his hand back, to hide, deny and lie about them all.
He could trust her with this. He had to.
“Your mother…” Aimilia sighed, fingers stilling. “Your father, in hindsight, I can see it clearly, but you were always Queen Clelia’s obvious favorite. How can she do this to you when she loves you?”
Nikias, unable to quite overcome all his habits, could not meet Aimilia’s eyes as her voice from his nightmare echoed in his head. “That’s easy to answer. Because she doesn’t love me.”
The inamatus scar over his heart burned.
Aimilia’s grip tightened briefly and he let out a hiss before she quickly loosened it and said, “Sorry! I just—What makes you say that?”
Nikias didn’t pull his hand back. He didn’t care if she accidentally hurt him; it was worth it.
“She likes me, but less and less so ever since Faustina’s death.
Not doing what she wants me to tends to be the cause.
” It was a strange thing to put these thoughts to words, he’d never admitted any of this before.
His voice scraped the air, barely above a breath.
“If she really loved me, do you think she would be doing this to me?”
Aimilia brushed her thumb over a bruise of the same shape and size. They didn’t hurt as much when Aimilia was touching them.
“What would make it stop?” Aimilia looked up. “What would finally make her happy?”
Agreeing to marry a woman that wasn’t Aimilia.