Chapter 55
Fifty-Five
Tigris Oculus
Moros relaxes in the plush seat, his feet kicked out and ankles crossed while his hands rest lazily on the cushioned armrests. His head is tilted back against the tall winged-back seat as he looks down on us.
“Welcome home,” Moros drawls. Instead of directing this at Adrian, he holds my gaze.
Fire curls in my stomach; even with this thing around my neck, it begs to be set free. Like it wants to make him pay. For aiding Reichardt in stealing me from Penyth, for sparking the rebellion and cursing the realm, and for Opal’s screams that still haunt me.
Adrian takes a stiff step forward, shifting Moros’s attention off me and over to him.
“Uncle,” Adrian bites out.
Moros leans forward, propping his chin on his fist, lips pursed like a parent waiting for their pouting child to finish their tantrum. My nostrils flare—Reichardt directed that exact expression toward me for years.
Graylen’s pinky briefly loops in mine, giving it a quick squeeze before anyone notices. Even without looking at him, I can picture his serenely calm expression—his unfazed, loose posture that screams of privilege and confidence.
The posture of the Prince’s Snake. Or, rather…the King’s Snake now.
But Adrian isn’t like Graylen—he wears his heart on his sleeve with his emotions written clearly across his face. So instead of thinking through his words and hiding his feelings, he explodes.
Which was very much not part of the plan.
“First, you convince me to go to Penyth—woefully unprepared, I might add,” Adrian half-shouts. It’s the first time he’s said Penyth without spitting it out like a bad taste in his mouth. “Then, you send my guards to treat me like a runaway child and sit on my throne?”
Moros’s grin only grows. Adrian is playing right into his hand.
“Even as acting regent, you don’t have a right to sit in the place that’s reserved for me,” he continues breathlessly. “Now that Lu—”
“Adrian,” I hiss.
His head jerks back, chest heaving as his gaze meets mine. I give him a look that says calm down, and his eyes widen, realizing his near-slip of tongue. He was about to call me Lunaria in front of Moros, which would cause our plan to crumble before it even began.
Moros still needs to believe I’m Amira. That I unknowingly stumbled into Penyth with untrained magic and decided to come back when Adrian showed up. That I had made a mistake.
And me coming back as Lunaria would certainly complicate that.
“Ah, Amira Ramsey, a pleasure to see you again.” Moros’s slimy voice drifts over to me.
Behind me, Soren lets out a low growl—so quiet that Moros doesn’t react, as if he didn’t hear it at all.
Our last conversation in the trial flashes into my mind. Of him telling me Moros sends his regards.
I know who he is. He knows that I’m aware of it, too.
There’s no hiding. I know that I’m fae—that I have magic and enough knowledge to take the trial, even if he and Vidaris interfered before anyone could complete it. I swallow, reminded of the need to find Nightfall.
I can’t feel my magic right now, can’t feel if it’s slowly growing quieter and further from my grasp. This has to work. But all we need to convince him of is that, despite leaving, I came back for Adrian.
Moros shifts in his seat, perched on the edge as he continues, “I see you came home with my nephew.” His eyes flicker to Graylen before adding, “As did you, Snake.”
Graylen’s hands slide into his pocket with ease as he tilts his head to Moros.
If there was any infallible part of our plan to trick Moros into believing I’m still just Amira—foolishly in love with Adrian and playing the role of Royal Merchant’s daughter so well—it’s Graylen’s ability to stay relaxed beneath pressure.
“There was nothing for me in Penyth,” Graylen replies with a shrug. “Following Amira to keep her safe didn’t end when Adrian found us.”
Moros narrows his eyes. “You followed her?”
My heart begins to race, but Graylen just hums lazily with a nod.
“Leaving my supposed fiancée to fend for herself wouldn’t have been a good look,” Graylen says with a smirk. “Not that I have a reputation that needs to be upheld, but I did what I had to for my king.”
The lie rolls so smoothly off Graylen’s tongue that if I didn’t know the truth, I’d believe every word he said.
Moros’s brows slowly raise, his gaze bouncing between the three of us.
“What?” Graylen shakes his head with a chuckle. “You couldn’t possibly think I wasn’t aware of her and Adrian’s relationship. Whose idea do you think our fake engagement was when King Avalon announced Adrian was to wed the Penyth princess?”
Insult Moros’s intelligence by insinuating he let something that major slip past him? Brilliant.
It works perfectly.
Moros’s eyes flash, and he clears his throat to say, “Of course I knew the engagement was a ruse.”
I hold my breath as Moros looks Graylen over from head to toe, searching for evidence of a lie. But Graylen doesn’t so much as blink.
“And you just…what?” Moros drawls, twirling his hand in the air. “Managed to survive in a kingdom of cruel magic and ruthless creatures?”
His gaze is on Graylen, but it’s Adrian who answers.
“I managed to survive,” Adrian says evenly. “Not only get back here alive, but bring both of them home safely, too.”
Moros considers this, his eyes drifting to Adrian.
“You went over there with a lot more than just a girl with uncontrolled magic,” he answers.
“None of which I see made it back with you to confirm any of what you’re saying.
And out of everyone that went on the rescue mission with you, Reichardt is one who wouldn’t have stayed back by choice. ”
I bristle at the term rescue mission, but we expected this. We knew Moros would question us, and would need to believe the story we had spun. And if I learned anything from Reichardt, it’s that the best-told lies are woven in with the truth.
“My father won’t be coming home.” My voice rings out, causing Adrian to shift nervously beside me. The words my father feel like acid on my tongue, but Amira’s father was Reichardt. So my father has to be him right now, too. I lock eyes with Moros as I say, “Because I killed him.”
Moros’s nostrils flare, and he shoots to his feet, energy crackling around him in a quick movement.
I tilt my head to the side, playing the role we decided I would play. Pretending to love Reichardt, to be a grieving daughter, would be something Moros would never believe. So instead, I tell the truth. Partly.
“My father was a monster,” I whisper, voice hoarse, the five words filled with nothing but the truth, no matter if I’m Lunaria or Amira.
But here’s where the deception needs to be wound in.
One carefully laid lie after another. “Why did you think I left Crea to begin with? My father was forcing my hand, pressuring me to marry Adrian and become queen.”
Part truth, part lie.
Reichardt did want me to marry Adrian, but he wasn’t why I left Crea. Not entirely.
Moros raptly watches every muscle I move, every breath I take. “But you didn’t want that?” he asks carefully, his words dripping with suspicion. “To be queen and be with your darling Adrian?”
I swallow, averting my eyes to my feet as I play the part of a girl who’s ashamed of what she has done.
“Of course I wanted to be with Adrian.” The words feel like sand in my mouth, but I push ahead.
“But becoming queen?” I look up at Moros, meeting his gaze once more.
“That terrified me. Especially if it meant doing it for my father.
He once almost let a guard kill me just for trying to leave the camp. His own daughter.
“So I panicked. Fled the castle and made the biggest mistake of my life by leaving Adrian behind.” I turn toward Adrian, taking a beat to give him a delicate smile.
His face is blank. Hollow.
I knew this would be hard for him, but he agreed to it—a means to an end that Penyth desperately needs me to be successful in. Find Nightfall. Kill Moros. I wordlessly chant those four words over and over, letting them fuel my next lies.
“And in my fleeing, Graylen found me trying to escape. He tried to convince me to come back, but I wouldn’t listen—couldn’t listen.
My magic…it was out of control.” The words spill out of me, and I pray to every fucking Divine that he’s believing it.
“I tried to get Opal to come with me, but…she wouldn’t. ”
I let true, raw anger flash in my eyes at that. He’ll remember how I came to her the night I left. Keeping things as close to the truth as possible is the only way this might work.
“Speaking of Opal…” I say slowly. “I’d love to see her now that I’m back.”
Moros grins, the smile making my stomach turn sour. “She’s away today, but I’ll send word of your arrival.” His grin widens. “I’m sure she’ll hurry to the castle the moment she hears.”
Away.
My stomach tilts uneasily. The sinister undertones to that single word have my fingers itching toward my blade. As much as I want to demand Moros to let me see her, there’s nothing I can do to force his hand right now. Not when I still need him to believe our story.
“Then I’ll see her the moment she returns,” I grit out.
He watches me closely, a wry smile dancing on his face.
“And how do I know you won’t pose a threat to my delicate wife?
” he asks with a frown, brows pulled together in faux concern.
“If your magic is unstable as you say it is, I can’t take a chance on you harming anyone here at court.
” He gasps with faux horror, gaze flying to Adrian.
“Certainly can’t let you near the king.”
The guards around us angle their bodies toward me, and the sound of metal screaming against sheaths fills the air.
Adrian jumps in front of me, arms waving as he shouts, “She has the suppressor on!”
He spins around, gesturing for me to show them. Suppressor sounds a lot nicer than collar.
My nostrils flare, and I can feel the weight of Graylen’s eyes burning a hole into my soul as he watches me.
I step up beside Adrian, my fingers fumbling to unhook the clasp tying the cloak to my shoulders. The fabric loosens and falls to the floor with a soft thump. I’ve never felt more exposed than standing before someone who knows I’m defenseless.
Even in my years at the camp, I had my weapons. My wits. But this…facing a human who possesses dark magic while I don’t have access to mine? When the dagger at my hip is useless against his vile shadows?
It’s my nightmare.
Moros tips his head in my direction, eyes fixed on the collar around my neck. He hums, tapping his fingers against his chin as he asks me, “You agreed to this?”
I force my head to nod, muscles stiff. “I didn’t want to at first.” The lie slips out easier than I thought it would. “But then Adrian explained that it was to keep others safe around me. Keep him and Opal safe. So I agreed to it.”
Moros holds my gaze, and a tense silence stretches between us. Even with Adrian being the king, we still have to play this game. And if there’s anything I know about being back here, it’s that there’s always a game to be played with politics.
“Two guards will be stationed outside both your and the Snake’s room,” Moros says finally. “For your safety, of course.”
My heart pounds as I scramble to think of a way out of this. We can’t search the castle at night if there are guards keeping us in.
But before I can think of anything, Adrian nods his head.
“Lovely idea, Uncle,” he agrees. My eyes widen as he turns to me.
“I’ll send for your old chambers to be made up for us.
I think you’d feel more comfortable there.
” Then he spares a side glance at Graylen.
“You can take my old room to conserve the guards covering. The doors are nearly side by side, so two soldiers to both should suffice.”
To be made up for us.
“Would that be wise?” Moros cuts in. Adrian lifts a brow, waiting for him to elaborate. “To put a woman of her…standing in a position like that.”
I bristle. Right—how could I forget about the archaic patriarchy that bleeds from every pore in this kingdom? How dare anyone—even the king—suggest tainting a reputation such as the daughter of the Royal Merchant?
“Then it’s a good thing the castle is so empty today,” Adrian says with a wave of his hand. “We’ll be discreet.”
Moros’s gaze narrows, but Adrian forges ahead, his eyes briefly flitting to me.
“I’ve since moved into the king’s chambers, but I can’t imagine sending you to your own rooms after everything that’s happened,” he adds, voice delicate and light for his uncle’s benefit.
“Having a guard outside of our room should help you relax enough to get some sleep, right?”
Our room. The full weight of his words settles against my chest. He’ll have my old chambers set up for us. For me and him.
He nods to one of the guards by the door, signaling for them to pass the message along, without waiting for a response from me.
What is Adrian doing?
We all agreed to sell the story of me coming back for him, but I didn’t agree to this. I try to catch his eye, to force him to meet my gaze, but he avoids looking at me.
Suddenly, the collar around my throat feels suffocatingly tight. I knew having it on meant staying close to him, but anticipating something and actually experiencing it are two very different things.
“We’ve had a long journey,” Adrian says briskly. “If we’ve satisfied your questions, we’ll take our leave.”
My skin prickles at Adrian asking Moros if he’s ready for this conversation to be done. Adrian is the king, but his entire demeanor has shifted. He went from furious at Moros to asking his permission.
A weight sinks in my stomach. Is he suggesting this so he can watch over me? I can’t sneak out at night to search for the dagger without him questioning me, and I’m not ready to trust him with that knowledge yet.
He’s still playing along, but to what end? To learn more about why we’re really here, so he can run off to his uncle and spill everything?
If we’ve lost Adrian, then any luck we’ve had up until now just ran out.