Chapter Three
Haide
I wake with a gasp, flying to my feet so fast my vision blurs before catching up, adrenaline flooding through my veins like liquid fire.
Sickening pink and white palette glare back at me from the walls ahead.
I stumble backward until my hands collide with something solid. What the fuck even is this?
It’s cold beneath my touch. Pristine white, with veins of marble snaking through it like arteries. A mirror stands at the center, caged by a line of bulbous lights. Delicate bottles of glass filled with mysterious liquid lurk in the corner.
“Wha—” I lose my footing, crashing onto my ass. A cascade of crystal rains down on me from above in an obscene display of wealth.
And the fucking smell.
The scent of sulfur and stone is obliterated by rose and something disgustingly expensive. But there is another smell: smoky, rich, familiar. I can’t name it and that’s annoying.
Whatever it is, I want to devour it.
Where the hell has he dragged me?
How did he take us off the island?
How the hell did he get on the fucking island?
In the four hundred years of the island’s existence, not a single gifted has ever managed to make it past the magical wards that imprisoned the exiled.
Except for me.
A fact I accidentally discovered a few months ago and that I have since strived to keep hidden for my own safety.
The ease with which he came and went makes no sense.
A sharp static crackles through the air, jolting me back to the present and off the ground. My attention snaps to the frame on the wall opposite where a picture flickers to life in a glass box. I step back slightly, my senses razor-sharp.
“Have you managed to take a look around, little menace?” My fingernails carve crescents into my palms when the kidnapping king invades the frame. He’s sprawled in a chair, a fire breath stick of some sort dangling from his arrogant, perfect fucking mouth.
“I have.” The corner of mine curves into something wicked.
“Tell me, Lord Dickship. Am I to be…” I gesture around the room with a dismissive sweep of my hand.
Dirt and dried mud crust my skin, and I know my hair has never tasted the kind of luxury his has, but I don’t give a damn. All I see is crimson fury. “Impressed?”
His laughter burns acid down the back of my throat as he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. He truly is devastatingly beautiful, even if he does look a little paler than normal, with a darkness under his eyes that wasn’t there before.
I wonder if these royals decay the same way we lesser gifted do. Whether their bones crumble to dust and their blood nourishes nature the same way ours does.
Or whether it just has a direct pipeline to hell.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, our little Haide,” he starts, and my fingers carve deeper into my flesh. “You have two hours to be dressed and ready.”
My arms cross over my chest, one brow lifting in challenge.
“Really? Mmm, I don’t know?” I saunter around the room, ensuring to take my sweet time at the small desk with all the mysterious bottles.
I slide open a drawer revealing a hairbrush and creams, before using my hip to slam it shut with satisfaction. “What if I don’t want to shower?”
I bat my lashes back at him with mock innocence.
His smirk is as wicked as it is threatening. “Then by all means, stay filthy.” His lip twitches with dark amusement. “Prefer mine that way anyway.”
“Again, should I be impressed?”
“What you should be is compliant, but river rats will do what river rats will do.”
There’s that smug look. It’s kind of pathetic, really, that he thinks he’s— What? Hurt my…
I can’t even say the word.
Feelings?
Does he think I have those?
A laugh bubbles out of me and his stupid baby blues narrow. “Have you ever even seen a rat?” I ask. “Like a real one on the street? Not when feeding your little demon dogs or whatever people like you keep as pets, mister silk sheets?”
With his jaw clenched, he leans forward, eyes blaring into my soul while his lips part—blowing smoke into my face.
Fuck. I step back, covering my face from the assault and coughing until tears sting my eyes. It takes a moment before the haze clears and I can blink the blurriness from my vision.
Just to find Legend right there.
The surprise at his appearance is immediately followed by the desire to reach for him, drag him closer and…I don’t know. Lick him. Maybe.
I must really want to strangle him or something; and my subconscious knows it before I do.
What was that saying the Huntress of Harrowgate used to recite before allowing fallen souls to ascend?
If he made you wet, you won’t forget. The follow-on was cryptic, the book too water damaged to read further.
I’m pretty sure it translated to something like: “Don’t take chances. Kill him just in case.”
And honestly, I love that.
Don’t love that his pretty smile might have just earned me a permanent spot in the Do Not Ascend pile of the damned, though. That won’t win me any brownie points with my ancestors. You know, assuming I have any.
Probably shouldn’t kill him, though. Him being one of the four crowned kings of Rathe. That would likely end in my execution, because they wouldn’t just exile me like they do with the rest of their unwanted trash. It would be a gift rather than a punishment to return me to Exile Island.
Unless Rathe’s newest royal edition could save me. London does owe me one.
Hmm…no, yeah, I think if I killed him I’d still be shaved of my skin and gutter, then put in a trophy case left to float in the center of Rathe as an example.
That’s what I would do if I were them.
“What is going on in that fucked-up head of yours?”
Blinking, I refocus on the man in front of me. “What?”
Legend shakes his head with a scoff, pulling his fire breath stick to his mouth again. The end burns a deep red as he fills his lungs, his wide chest expanding, and with every second that ticks by, his gaze hardens. “How are you so chill about this? You should be losing your mind. Begging by now.”
His blue-black hair falls over his forehead, making his fair skin look even whiter, just as silver as his glassy blue eyes.
I nod slowly. “Yeah…not following.”
“That’s the fucking point!” He gnashes his teeth at me like a rabid dog.
“You’re a goddamn stray with no true training.
I’ve been beaten and had my mind fried from the inside out repeatedly to manage to gain the slightest control over myself and my gifts—and I’m fucking vibrating right now being this close to you.
I want to shred your artery with my claws and hold you until you’re bled dry—just so I’m the first thing you see when you come back to me. ”
I suck my lips between my teeth, nodding. “That’s…weird. But I’m not on the island, so if you bleed me dry, I’m not coming back to life out here.”
His frown deepens, his gaze snapping across my features. “What?”
“If you kill me, I’m dragon meat, as in dead. No magical island to refuse to let me die.”
A shadow falls over his face, and his features harden even more. “It’s part of the ritual.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t know anything about a ritual, pal.”
“Do not call me pal.”
“Buddy.”
“Stop.”
“Pampered prince?”
He growls. I barely have the time to register his movement before he’s shoving closer. A strange little thrill slithers up my spine at the sound. At the nearness.
My lips curve and he gets louder. Angrier. And I can’t help it.
I laugh.
I laugh so hard tears fill my eyes and I cover my mouth with my hand, watching and wondering if he might actually—I don’t know—explode into a big puff of demonic smoke or some shit.
Eventually, he’s had enough of me. Long fingers wrap around my throat, and my back hits the wall.
His breath is hot against my skin and there’s that smell again. Only it’s stronger, richer.
Intoxicating.
What is it coming from?
“I am no prince. I am a king. Your king. And you, you infuriating little brat, are my queen.”
I laugh, but then his words slam into me, and I freeze.
Wait, what?
My head tilts as much as it can with his fist locked around it, fracturing the strange tension and breaking my thoughts in half, but doing nothing to escape that scent.
It stings slightly, the kind of smell you taste in the back of your throat.
There’s a coolness to it, almost slick and oily, like steel wrapped in silk.
It fucking burns. It’s triggering allergies.
Before I respond to his whole “my queen” lie—because I mean, be so for real—–he clicks his tongue, sauntering backward until he hits the bedroom door.
“What? No hocus pocus where you vanish through the wall?” I tease.
His hand grips the frame, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was using it to keep his legs from buckling.
“Nah. I’ll save all that for my next tricks.
See you soon, little hellpet. I sure hope you like chaos as much as you act like you do.
” The door slams shut before I can curse him out over the ridiculous nickname.
…
I’m not little at all.
And what did he mean I was filthy?
Tracing the footsteps toward the large tub in the center of the room, movement catches my attention from the wall that’s suspended there.
What the fuck is this?
Reaching up, the girl copies my movements. Her hand is my hand. My face is her face.
I shove the small bottles on the counter aside, desperate for a closer look.
My hair is dark and cascades down over slender shoulders.
Beneath the grime coating my face, I can see the color of my skin, tan from the sun.
I touch the two jewels embedded at the edges of my temples—one red, one blue, both having been there since I was born. Or so the island witch had said.
Is this what a mirror does? Shows you a different side of you? A weaker, softer side?
Is that who I become if I don’t get out of this fancy fucking castle? Back to the dirt and decaying trenches that make my life make sense?