Chapter 29
Pasts Connected
ROHEN
What I was feeling wasn’t a high that one could achieve from liquor or any of the promising drugs that swathed our land. No, this was something completely different, and I basked in it.
Fucking indescribable bliss.
Manic laughter continued to roar from me as I shook my head, hair still damp from my dive. Running my hands down my thighs, I cherished the feel of the fabric that’d replaced what Caspian had offered me. It was softer, nearly silk to the touch, and fit far better than his oversized linens.
When I’d woken, utterances of assumption had greeted me, words of Caspian’s past and suggestions that I was a Marked Daughter—a descendant of Ellira.
While the former intrigued me for a variety of reasons, the latter was a bold claim, one even I didn’t believe when I met the goddess in my dreams. But now that I’d witnessed her protection, guided from the hands of my captor to another crew, I knew.
What I’d seen during my slumber had been something far more than a mere concoction drafted up by my subconscious.
It’d been real, which made me wonder whether Caspian Vayne knew something about my lineage, given the nickname he’d elected for me.
Unfortunate enough for him, the only thing I wanted to do with him was carve his godsforsaken heart from his chest.
The four individuals standing in my room looked at me with a mix of intrigue and, perhaps, fear for my faltering sanity. Either way, I didn’t care about their perceptions.
Scanning the room, I landed on the stunning woman who leaned against the wall to my right.
She seemed to carry some understanding of my distress, some shared wrath, and with the recognition, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
The sound sparked a layer of judgment that cast its gleam through the vibrant seafoam irises of the familiar blonde, the one joined by the handsome raven-haired man I’d seen him with in the alleyway.
I settled my glare on him. “Don’t they teach you royals manners? Was staring too long never part of your lessons?”
He blinked once. “How do you know—”
“Oh, gods spite me.” The groan came from the strawberry-blonde whose cock I was more than willing to cut off with his own dagger. “I explained that she—”
“How do I know? I’ve seen you within the godsforsaken walls of that wretched palace just as I saw you during your night out with him.” Gesturing toward the man I referenced, I craned my head to the side. “Are you that oblivious, Prince?”
Striations danced across his jaw, indicative of his discomfort.
Good. I wanted all men to fucking squirm beneath my boot, to quiver beneath my indignation and kiss the godsdamned ground I walked on. I was done being taken advantage of, and if any of them elected to try, their execution would greet them just as swiftly as it had Caspian’s men.
Yet I continued to seethe over that tantalizing draw pulsing beneath my flesh like a river of… intrigue? Longing? Loathing? Some form of… feeling?
It was the draw that had kept me from slaughtering Caspian’s crew for far longer than it should have.
None of them deserved my mercy, and even so, against my better discernment, I’d permitted a little under half of them to live.
And for fucking what? I’d never hesitated in moments of execution, especially with vile men whose bodies I wished to carve into until not an ounce of their lineage remained.
So why the fuck had I whenever it came to him?
It spared some of his men and granted him another chance at life.
Because, while I was perched outside of his cabin, thirsty to glide my blade across his throat and watch as he choked on every drop of his life force, those tendrils of unease in committing something so insidious against him had won.
The insatiable hunger I carried to end his existence had, yet again, been halted by an annoying surge of reluctance.
It’d prevented my retribution on multiple occasions with Caspian Vayne, but I would not allow myself to falter now that I’d tasted the addicting bite of freedom.
“Is that true, Rohen darling?” The haunting, lure-filled timbre crooned from the back of my mind. “Or are you finally willing to uncover what lies beneath your waters—?”
“I believe he asked you a question.” The deep voice ignited in front of me, its layers carrying something entrancing of its own accord—a temptation to bet on the chance of salvation.
Forcing myself from whatever trance I’d stumbled into, I gazed up at the man whose orange bandana served as a mockery of the one I’d so deeply desired to escape.
“Or did you?”
Gods, shut the fuck up.
“What?” I snapped, my agitation with whatever inner bullshit I was battling slipping out with my query.
As if the prince desired to test me further, he prompted again once he had my attention. “You are one of Malrik’s assassins, aren’t you?”
“Was,” I snarled, my grip on the hilt of the dagger tightening. “By all means, continue testing my patience, so long as you don’t mind if I butcher you. I have a thing for executing pretty men.”
The royal guard beside him piped up, “You’ll have to get through—”
Flipping my hold on the blade, I sent it sailing. The sharp hiss it carried became the only warning call of my attack; I’d always used the silence to my advantage. Sinking into the wood beside his head, the steel settled against his cheek without leaving a scratch.
“You’re just as gorgeous, and I’d love to see if your insides match.
Though I’m sure Prince Kael would heavily prefer your intestines remain in your gut based on how quickly his skin blanched.
” Without giving either of them a second more to reply, I craned my chin back to the pirate standing in front of me. “And you are?”
“Alastair Seridean, Captain of the Scarlet Tempest.” His irises darkened with sinister intent as the corner of his mouth curled, my expression quick to match his. “Tell me everything you know about Caspian Vayne.”
Swallowing another mouthful of soup, my eyes lifted to meet Alastair. Seated across from me, he rested against the back of his chair with an arrogant nonchalance, and yet, I found nothing about it distasteful.
He’d demanded the others leave us alone, and after helping me from the cot I’d rested on—the stitched wound in my side beyond a hindrance—we’d gone to the galley.
Food landed in front of me before I’d even been able to blink, and he nestled into the position he now held, waiting until I’d devoured most of it before even looking in my direction.
Craning his neck to the side, it popped in protest, but the sound hadn’t even fully penetrated my fixation. Observing the gentle sway of his auburn-blonde locks, I counted the varying strands of beads that he, or someone else, had braided into them.
They were a mix of sky blue, cobalt, and glistening gold, but it was the small one, shaded in a wine-purple, that caught my attention—the colors of the crown.
As if to confirm my assumption, he gathered a handful of his hair and pulled it to the side, revealing the branding of the royal crest on the right side of his neck.
“Since you seem to have prodding eyes,” he hummed before allowing the strands to fall back into place. “I do, in fact, bear the mark of our corrupt king’s ruling.”
“So you work alongside the prince’s father?”
“Fuck no.” Scoffing, he bit the inside of his cheek. “Well, it’s complicated.”
“I don’t believe there is any complication in answering with a simple yes or no,” I responded, bringing another spoonful to my lips. “Do you have rightful access to his throne room and gather with him for discussion?”
“If we wish to discuss the nuances, then I suppose I could ask you the same about Malrik, correct?”
My jaw feathered, brows narrowing to cloud my eyes. “This isn’t about that bastard.”
“And I don’t believe our discussion is pertinent to the stain that resides on the throne.
But since I feel you and I will get along, I’ll entice you.
” Folding his arms over his chest, he trailed his tongue across his teeth.
“I was an orphan growing up, and I met Caspian Vayne when I was six, and he was eight. I’d been sold off to the king before he arrived in Serevalen, and once he stumbled into the talons of corruption, I finally felt like I had someone I could rely on.
We are only two years apart, and that fact sparked hope in me for an intimate connection at a young age.
“King Marellan wasted no time crafting the two of us into weapons, and we quickly bonded through that anguish. Little did we know, it’d been intentional, and he ensured our closeness became a lever he could pull—we became each other’s weaknesses.
He threatened to execute either of us if we disobeyed his orders, so we became the very tools he used to do his bidding: mercenaries.
“Which, in a fucked up sort of way, we still kind of are. His mercenaries, I mean.” Striations danced across his bearded cheeks before he continued.
“I’m sure you’re familiar, but you do what you have to do in our world to survive.
But the only thing I do for that vile sack of shit anymore is report back when I see Caspian.
Though I’d much rather be the one to execute him myself than give that pass to the man who made my life a living hell since before I could remember. ”
A sharp pang reverberated in my chest with his admittance, and I felt… sorry for him?
It came from a place of relatability. My past so closely mirrored his, and I couldn’t help but wish that I had someone with me during the countless years I’d been tormented by Malrik’s hand.
Perhaps an unwavering camaraderie would’ve helped me process the trauma more easily or even molded me into someone not as spiteful.
Yet, in the same breath, the loathing that plumed from Alastair when discussing the man he once would’ve sacrificed himself for had me doubting even the slightest possibility of benefit.