Chapter 22
NICK
Rhi perfects telepathy with ease, just like I knew she would. She insists we keep practicing, so we spend the next hour speaking telepathically.
“It’s getting easier,” she says, taking a bite of an apple. “Reaching for your Thread is almost effortless now.”
“Good.” I hand her the torn fabric of her gown. Luckily, there is just enough material left to cover her lower half. I place my jacket over her shoulders, since I demolished the corset she’d worn.
“I can’t believe I have to do the walk of shame through your palace,” she grumbles, drawing a laugh from me.
“At least you aren’t shirtless.” I gesture to my naked upper body.
Rhi rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Like anyone would mind seeing you walk the halls without a shirt.”
She stills as I step into her. “And do you think anyone would mind seeing you walk these halls looking freshly fucked?”
The most beautiful blush paints her cheeks, and as soon as I say it, that black rage consumes me. I don’t want anyone to see her like this—not the crimson that stains her cheeks or her swollen, rosebud lips. Certainly not the body barely concealed by my jacket.
“On second thought, stay here. I’ll have Aurelia and Mira bring you a change of clothes.”
She sidesteps me with another aggravating eye roll and walks toward the door.
“Don’t be such a caveman.”
“Don’t be such a brat.”
Rhi turns, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. I reach her in a few quick strides. “It would be a shame for innocent passersby to lose their eyes because they couldn’t avert their gaze.”
That sexy mouth of hers parts. “You’re serious.”
I brush my mouth over hers, loving the way my scent is all over her, marking her. “As a poison-tipped blade.”
After a challenging stare-down, Rhi finally relents, crossing her arms over chest gruffly and muttering, “Fine.”
“Good girl.” She shivers beneath my lips as I place a kiss on her forehead before I leave.
Smirking, I ignore the curious stares of members of my court as I head towards Rhi’s room.
It seems she was right. Both men and women gawk at my shirtless physique, scrambling to bow as I rush past them.
It only makes me give myself a mental pat on the back for the decision to leave Rhi and bring her proper clothes.
I open her door to find her ladies’ maids anxiously pacing.
“Your Highness!” Aurelia squeals and curtsies. Mira follows suit, nearly falling in her haste.
“The Lady Liv hasn’t been seen since the ball, Your Highness,” Mira says shakily. “We—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “I’m well aware. Put your worries to rest, both of you. She has been with me since last evening.”
Mira blows out a relieved breath while Aurelia’s cheeks flush, the girl obviously understanding my implication.
“Please bring a new gown to the second floor. She will meet you outside two doors located at the end of the third corridor.”
Though the women look puzzled, they don’t question me. I nod my head in thanks as they again quickly curtsey.
A new gown is on its way to you, I send to Rhi. Give them about five minutes before you step out of those doors to greet them.
Of course, my liege. Her answer is immediate, which sets a smile on my face, almost as much as the audible eye roll in her tone. Gods forbid some poor soul gets a peek of my exposed wrist, you insufferable caveman.
Watch it. Unless you want me to punish you, I bite back, winding my way up the stairs towards Baal’s room. I need to pay the Demon of Debauchery a visit so he can fill me in on what transpired after I left the ball.
A pause. Then, what would this punishment entail?
My smile widens. Do you want to find out firsthand?
Silence greets me on the other end, which I take as a ‘yes.’
I don’t bother knocking when I reach Baal’s room, the lack of usual grunting on the opposite end alerting me it’s clear.
Baal glances up from a paper he’d been scrutinizing, dark eyes widening upon my entrance.
“Fuck, Raph. Where the fuck have you been?” The Demon of Debauchery takes a few steps towards me then scrunches his nose. “Never mind. You reek of sex.” He pauses, eyeing me with a smirk. “And her.”
My chest puffs out a bit, because if Baal can scent Rhi all over me, there is no doubt in my mind every demon in this Court will recognize my scent all over her.
He claps my shoulder. “Glad you finally got your dick wet, because we have some dire business to attend to.”
That deflates my mood. “Dire?”
Baal looks at me like I’ve sprouted horns. “Well, yeah. You ran out of your own wedding announcement, so Argos threw a fit. He practically dragged Isadora out after you did the same to Liv.”
Shit. Shit. In my jealousy over Azrael and Rhi, I hadn’t stopped to think of the aftermath. I had just wanted to get Rhi as far as possible from the Angel of Death, and well, one thing led to another…
“Have you seen Isadora?”
Baal shakes his head, and my stomach sinks at his somber expression.
Fuck.
I turn to leave, but Baal stops me with a squeeze of my shoulder. “Raph, wait. There are other things we need to discuss.”
Facing him, I raise my brow. “Can it wait?”
“I’m afraid not, but I’ll be brief.”
I nod for him to continue.
“First, I take it things with the Angel of Death are not resolved?”
“No. He’ll be back.”
“And you’re certain he’s here for her?”
“Yes.”
Baal blows out a breath. “Ok. We can revisit that. Second, now that you and your lady are…fucking…” I snort at that. “Are you privy to whom she is looking for?”
I hesitate, knowing I have to tread carefully here. “Yes. He is no longer of consequence.”
Baal holds my stare, those dark eyes scanning for any misstep in my demeanor. Even now, I considered him a friend, but I wonder if he had always known I wasn’t just Raphael.
“Good,” he says at last. “Because The Harrowing begins in three days.”
The Harrowing. Shit.
Baal must see the horrified expression on my face, because he says, “You know her name will be included. So will Isadora’s. It’s custom.”
I run a hand through my hair, cursing internally at dropping the ball.
“And there is no way to keep either woman from being exposed to the trials?”
Baal shakes his head.
Fuck.
Blowing out a breath, I nod. “Fine. Then I best prepare Liv for The Harrowing should she draw the black.” Inwardly, I shudder. There has to be a way I can keep her and Isadora from partaking in these trials. I’m the Devil himself, for fuck’s sake.
“I know what you’re thinking, Raph, and should you meddle in the choosing in any way, you know there will be consequences,” Baal warns.
Consequences also known as death for either one of them, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
A sudden chill ices my blood. Is that why Azrael is here for her?
I push the thought away. No. She’s finally back in my arms, and my memories are whole. I won’t lose her to this.
“I’m assuming it will happen tonight?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “Then I should go prepare…Liv—” I still hate calling her that— “after I check on Isadora.”
Baal nods, and I leave, heading straight to Isadora’s chambers.
Have Aurelia and Mira take you straight to my chambers, I send to Rhi.
Why? Have I been a bad girl?
Even her teasing can’t lift my sour mood. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about your punishment. But I’m serious. Go straight to my room, nowhere else. Got it?
A pause before she says, Is everything ok?
No, but I’ll explain when I see you.
Isadora’s room is the only time I knock, not having the desire to see her bare, even though she couldn’t care less.
A soft, “come in” travels through the wooden door, and my hands shake slightly, wondering what state I am going to find her in.
The room is cloaked in darkness, the curtains drawn shut. Caliste sits beside a rumpled bed, the azure comforter wrapped tightly around a small frame.
“Your Majesty,” she says as I approach, and I raise my hand to keep her from curtseying.
“How is she?”
“She’s…” Caliste casts a somber glance in Isadora’s direction. “Tired.”
Moving closer, I gingerly grip the top of the comforter to slowly peel it back.
“Your Majesty, I wouldn’t—”
An outraged hiss escapes my mouth, cutting off the rest of Caliste’s sentence.
A barely recognizable Isadora lies beneath the comforter, her breathing shallow.
Her face, already fair, is pale as moonlight, the only color a mosaic of purple and blues around her left eye, swollen shut.
Her mouth is puffy and caked in dried blood, a gruesome cut splitting her top lip.
I peel the comforter back even more, exposing what I already anticipate: a bruised throat marked by large fingerprints.
I tuck the comforter back around Isadora, letting it swallow her small frame. Wrath swirls inside me like a raging inferno, and I turn to Caliste.
“Why did you not summon a Healer?”
“Her-her father forbid it,” she stutters, tears rolling down her cheeks. “He said if he received word I called a Healer, I would pay the consequences.”
I bite back my retort, which was to scold her for being a coward, to just sit and watch while her friend suffered.
But the truth is, this is all my fault. I have no doubt Baal and others searched for me, but I was unreachable, locked away in blissful ignorance behind closed doors with Rhi.
I had forgotten that while I am Nick, I am also Raphael, the King of Hell, and there is a kingdom that depends on me—people who depend on me.
“Grab her hand,” I tell Caliste.
She does as I ask, though her brow lifts in question.
“I am going to heal Isadora, but it will be painful,” I explain.
Caliste nods, her eyes wide as I again pull back the comforter and place one hand on Isadora’s forehead and another over her heart.
Fever courses its way through her body, a heat that seeps into my fingertips as I draw it from her. I close my eyes, forging a connection to her life force and searching for all the places that need mending.