Chapter 65 A Blind Eye To Violence
A Blind Eye To Violence
Desdemona
L
ucian and I stand before the two silver thrones, the room is filled with powerful people. The four guards stand shaking at the back of the room. The moment I’m queen, they will be the first I dismiss. But it’s Leiholan who acts as my visual anchor. His is the only face I can bear to look at.
The coronator stands with my crown resting on a velvet blue pillow in her palm.
“Lady Desdemona, you may now turn to face His Majesty, King Lucian.”
I draw in a steadying breath and lift my chin, turning toward Lucian. He looks over the crowd, appearing every inch the king he has become. The weight of the silver crown sits easily on him, and authority settles on his shoulders in a way I always feared seeing from him.
Slowly, he turns to me, reaching for my hands. I place mine in his.
The coronator bows before him. “Your Majesty, you may begin,” she says.
Lucian clears his throat. “Under the gaze of Sulva, goddess of the moon, and Ayan, god of the sun, I vow to forever be the shadow of Queen Desdemona. Her power and mine are bound by fate, forged as one. Her love and mine, entwined in spirit. Her safety and mine, sealed by sacred oath. Let no force but divinity undo the vow I offer to my queen.”
I repeat his vows back to him, my voice steady as I call him King Lucian, despite how unnatural it feels. I am Queen. He is giving me the most powerful position in the worlds—and despite all his explanations, I still can’t help but wonder why.
When I finish, I sink to one knee before the coronator. The crown settles on my head, a heavy weight.
I look at Lucian. He rests his hand on my cheek, thumb brushing just beneath my eye as if committing the shape of my face to memory.
As if he believes this will be the last time he gets to hold me this way.
I let him. I expect his kiss to be restrained—something careful and diplomatic for the crowd.
It’s anything but.
His grip tightens at my waist, fingers sinking into fabric.
His mouth moves against mine, gentle at first. Asking.
I lean into him, not meaning to. Answering.
The restraint fractures as he pulls me closer, our chests pressed together.
I tighten my grip on his shoulder, move to his neck.
I allow myself to have this moment with him, for his lips to move against mine without hesitation, for him to kiss me like he means to hold me here forever.
Like he knows it might be the last time.
Then Lucian pulls back, far too soon. I can feel the imprint of his hands on my waist. The warmth of his mouth on mine. I want to pull him back. To kiss him more.
If only fate allowed me.
Lucian tips his forehead down, resting against mine. He says, his breath uneven and shaking, “Why did you choose that dress?”
“You know why,” I whisper back. It’s the same red as the gown I wore the night I killed him. The night he remembered me. “Don’t forget me.”
“Desdemona,” his voice is a hoarse whisper, “never again.” His hand grazes my cheek, the tips of his fingers reaching into my hair. “You started a fire in me that even memory couldn’t cease.”
We stay like this—our foreheads touching, and me letting them. Lucian’s hands run up the back of my neck, threading through my hair. There’s a rush beneath my skin, everywhere he touches. There is no feeling better than this.
Better than him.
A crash echoes across the room, barely enough to pull my eyes from him. The back of his fingers rises up my arms, gooseflesh sparking where he touches.
Then the shouting begins. It echoes in my chest, churning in my gut.
I look forward just as the back wall explodes. Rock and marble fly through the room, striking the crowd as the throne room opens to the hallway beyond. The people left standing run, frantic.
Immediately, I search for Leiholan. Make sure he’s standing.
Lucian grabs my hand.
Lilac. I search the room for his sister. I don’t see her.
“Go,” I say.
He nods once, running into the chaos. I follow his movements with my eyes as long as I can. He disappears into the crowd, but I spot Leiholan.
He struggles with his crutches as the crowd runs around him.
“Leiholan!” I scream, running into the crowd. “Just get out of here!”
Through the dense room, Leiholan tries to run toward me. He’s not nearly as fast as the people around him, who jostle his crutches and nearly knock him off his foot.
Another bomb goes off. Leiholan is thrown into the air, landing somewhere in the distance.
I run to him.
The marble is hard against my knees as I drop beside Leiholan. He looks like he’s aged ten years in the span of minutes. I realize I’ve never seen him scared.
I clutch his biceps, trying to help him up as I look for his crutches. I don’t see them.
“You need to get out of here,” I say.
“You too, sweetheart,” he breathes.
Small granules of marble rain down from the ceiling. I look up. The pillars are cracked, and the damage is spreading through the ceiling.
Part of the castle is about to come down on us.
I pull Leiholan all the way up.
“Can you walk?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’m insane.
“Can you hop?”
“Yeah, sweetheart, I can hop,” he says.
“Good.” I loop an arm around his waist and hold his hand with my other.
He hops beside me as I walk as fast as I can manage with him toward the exit.
I search the room for Lucian and Lilac, wherever they are, when something sharp meets my back.
I inhale sharply and try to keep moving, but warmth spreads as the sharpness exits.
The pain hits. It’s familiar. I’ve been stabbed. Someone ahead, lost in the crowd, turns to face me. They’re shrouded in black, his face covered.
I glance behind me. Another person, dressed in black, is there, a sword in hand, covered in blood.
“Leiholan, come on,” I say, my voice shaking as I try to move forward. It’s hard to walk with him. The pain spreads up my spine.
Leiholan grunts at my side. I hold onto him as tightly as I can, limping through the throne room. He stops walking. I turn to see two men have him by the wrists. Blood drips down the front of his shirt. He’s been stabbed.
I jump, fast as I can, but one of the men raises a small metal cube. It drops to the floor. Fire explodes before me, blocking my path and vision. I step back.
“Release him now!” I shout. But I can’t see Leiholan anymore. He’s hidden behind the wall of fire.
Through the fire, there’s a glint—a blade. It comes flying for my chest. I roll away. Metal sinks into my shoulder.
I pull the dagger from my flesh. The wound summons heat. Sweat drips into my eyes as more men move around me, coming straight through the fire. Small sparks catch on their clothes, but their skin remains untouched.
I clutch the dagger tight.
“I can promise,” I say through ragged breath, “this will only end in your death.”
But I can’t kill them. They need to bring me to Leiholan.
One man draws a sword, glistening red in the firelight.
The blade swings through the air. I duck, missing by an inch, and run into another man.
He holds my wrists tight, forcing me forward as the blade comes again—this time slicing into my stomach.
Blood spills from my torso like a waterfall. It won’t last. It never does.
With a grunt, I throw my elbow back, smashing him in the nose. His grip loosens for a heartbeat. I thrust the dagger forward, pulling my wound taut. The blade should plunge into his chest—but it bounces off, refusing him.
And then my head splits in two. My legs wobble.
Stars fill my vision, my legs wobbling. The sword slices through the air again, lower this time. Pain blossoms across my shins. They’re cut nearly to the ligament. The pain moves up my legs. They’re dismantling me, breaking me piece by piece.
I collapse on my knees, the floor searing my skin.
I try to meet eyes, find faces, but the black boots and pants swirl.
I fall forward. From the corner of my eye, I see something twinkling.
Something cold slips into my veins, like frostbite.
It spreads up my body, through my throat, and when my mouth opens to cry out—only a thin, chilling mist escapes.
The twinkle. It’s one of the silvers Lucian and I found. The ones Jermoine stole and gave to Leiana.
Who are these people?
One of the men grabs my hair, pulling me up. My head tips back against my will, leaving my neck exposed. I can barely move.
My body is frozen, nearly solid.
A blade presses to my neck. They’re going to kill me. The blade begins to swipe against my skin, and more blood rushes out.
And I trust Leiholan. I trust what he said—that there’s a way out, one day.
That the anger doesn’t have to end me. But right now, it’s the anger I reach for.
It’s the anger that helps me find their bodies—their blood—and feel every vessel.
Each movement of their arms. Each jerk of their legs.
Their entire being, bubbling beneath the surface.
I told them I would kill them.
It’s a shame they didn’t listen.
Every vessel swells, swishing in my hands, growing bigger until their bodies can’t hold their blood.
The blade makes it halfway across my neck. I manage to open my eyes.
Their flesh ruptures all at once, tearing them into a million pieces as their blood mists the air like a confetti of red.
Something ruptures in my temples.
I close my eyes again, shunning the blood.