39. Chapter 39
39
Casimiro
P ain seared in my veins as I reached for Zara’s waist, pushing her behind me. Everyone in the room dropped to a knee in a wavelike movement, including Zara, as my father’s magic compelled reverence.
His eyes landed on me, the only one still standing. He frowned. Behind him, six guards marched through the arch, followed by two men wearing the liquid black half-cloaks and ghoulish masks of the Wild Hunt.
“Lords and Ladies of the Shadow Court,” one of the guards announced, “bow before the King of Shadows, King Rykar Oscuro.”
The room hushed, save for the white wolf in the corner emitting a low whine from his cage. Among animals, he might be a prince of night, but he trembled at the king of shadows. Felipe swept toward the golden archway, along with Viro and Erik, pressing the crowd back so all could see and make way for the king. As my righthand man, Felipe was expected to do this, and he was likely only trying to save his own life, but watching him fawn over my father fanned the rage inside me.
My father stepped silently through the crowd toward me.
Zara clutched her fists against my back. She deserved to burn brightly for years to come, but she’d chosen this darkness—my darkness.
I lifted my chin as my father neared, running through the next few minutes in my head. The members of the Wild Hunt sneered at several members of my court. The Hunters belonged to no court but were welcome in all, unlike most solitary fae. They wore their ridiculous black capes like crowns and carried their precious helmets under their left arms, like soldiers.
My father wore a high-collared deep blue jacket with silver buttons and filigree thread stitched across his broad chest. Black, he’d always said, was what he’d worn proudly after the war of Sun and Shadow, but he’d left the color behind a thousand years ago, choosing deep blues and purples and grays instead, the true color of shadows.
I swallowed any indication of the pain in my blood and met my father’s gaze. Only when he was chest to chest with me, did he look down at my darkening skin, hungry to see the black lines.
He took a long inhale of breath, making me wait. I cracked the knuckles on my right hand and then my left.
“Father,” I finally said, thankful that my height allowed me to look down at him.
“Ah, son. I see that you are looking well.”
I translated that as his displeasure to find me still standing. His eyes shone with the same hatred that had been there since I was a boy. As I’d matured, I’d watched my siblings die as they received this same greeting upon his return from an extended absence.
But what he didn’t know was that my siblings, his own children, had been quietly rebelling against his magic for centuries, crafting an antidote to his incurable curse that improved as each heir perfected its properties. It allowed us to endure the pain of the curse, although not the end result—our deaths. Survival was only possible if the curse never entered our bodies.
I’d found comfort in the knowledge that Alba would not inherit the curse that had killed every other Shadow Heir. But now, as Zara’s small frame stepped boldly around mine, her face firm and fearless, I wanted so badly to stay by her side. To protect her. To live .
My father glanced around the room, nodding at the faces silently watching us. “It looks like you have pulled together a rather magnificent celebration tonight, son. And on such short notice.” He eyed the pointed dome above us. “An interesting choice, this ruin.”
I did not blink. “An homage to the kings of old.”
My father cocked me a merciless grin, then lifted his hands and placed them on either side of my head.
I stiffened as he pulled my head down toward his.
I hadn’t even kissed Zara goodbye.
“Was it worth it, son?” he snarled, not bothering to keep his voice low.
I jerked my head from his grip, ready for his attack. “Every bit,” I shot back, ripping off my suit jacket and plucking at the buttons on my sleeves. I’d watched my father kill two of my siblings and read the accounts of all the others. If there was one commonality in how Rykar killed his heirs, it was that he preferred not to use magic until the very end and always started with a showcase of his incredible skill with a blade. He was a fan of blood.
He sniffed. “The pain wasn’t a good motivator, then,” he declared, flicking away an invisible piece of fuzz from his jacket sleeve. “It never quite seems to do the trick with any of my children. Pity.”
“No, it’s you I pity,” I said, and before he could say anything else, I turned my back to him. Several murmurs pulsed through the crowd as I grabbed Zara’s face and kissed her once more.
“Then I shall have to think of something else,” my father growled from behind me. “If my son has found a way to deceive me.”
I turned to face him once more. The last dose of my antidote was wearing thin against the fierceness of his anger. “You’ve taught me nothing but deception. Like any loving father, you should be proud.”
My father’s fist was on my collar, choking me. Rykar hissed in my ear. “We do not love, son. The shadow heart is black. There is nothing inside of it but power. Love weakens. Power strengthens.” With a shove, he let go of my shirt, and I stumbled forward. “The moment that you love is the moment that you become powerless.”
He brushed past me, pushing my shoulder hard. At first, I thought he’d attacked, and my hands balled into fists.
But he hadn’t been aiming for me.
His hand reached out and clamped around Zara’s chin. She stumbled in his grip.
“Let her go!” I shouted. Magic sizzled off my father’s frame as he swallowed the two of them in a shield enchantment. No magic could make him let go now. Rykar chuckled, a sound that drew needles into my veins.
Rage blazed through me. I should never have kissed her, never given my father a reason to hurt her. He would use her to prove his point, that love made us weak.
Rykar’s fingers squeezed, drawing a small moan from Zara. “This mortal was not supposed to be alive,” he growled. “I thought I made myself clear.” Zara’s cheeks had turned white where his fingers dug in, but she didn’t make another sound. “However, it will be more fun to punish her now, so my son can see what his choices have done.”
A few goblets rattled against the tables. My father shoved Zara’s face away, nearly knocking her to the floor. As I lurched forward, he peered over at me. “And then you will die.”