CHAPTER TWO #2
Disgust rolled in her gut. Emmery, too, had once had her freedom stolen, had her body belong to someone else, which is why she’d sworn she would rather die than be someone's pet or plaything again.
The King’s compliance with the flesh trade shouldn’t have been a surprise, not after all she’d heard of his immoral, vile, behaviour.
While Vesper had engaged with Scarlets, at least he’d shown remorse. And while it didn’t excuse his behaviour, Emmery had felt his shame that frigid night at the inn when they’d spilled their secrets to one another. In contrast, the King paraded the Scarlets around his castle.
Soren ran for Destonne as fast as his stubby legs would carry him and Emmery had to wonder about the boy’s judgement in character.
When the King snagged him by the armpits and tossed him into the air, the boy squealed, his delight colouring the bland, sad room.
Destonne caught him with ease, then spun in a circle until she feared they both would be sick.
Emmery stared, mouth agape.
“Again?” Destonne asked, slightly winded.
Soren nodded before he shoved two fingers into his mouth. He giggled as Destonne tossed him back into the air.
The King almost smiled, shown only through the twitch of his lips. If Emmery had a silver for every time he withheld any emotion, she could buy King Silas’s palace, tear it down, and construct a dozen taverns named in her honour. Or rather slate, since silver was worthless.
“Drop him and it’ll be the last thing you do,” Cyrilla warned. She slunk toward her child in that silky way she moved. But when she reached for Soren, the boy snuggled into Destonne’s neck.
The King didn’t pull away. She’d never seen anyone touch him uninvited—unless they wanted to lose a hand, of course.
“Oh, lighten up. He likes it.” He gave the boy a squeeze before he set his feet on the floor.
Soren blinked sadly at him. Though the two shared similar dark eyes and curly hair, Emmery hadn’t dared to ask if Soren was his son. That was one aspect of this messy court she wanted no part of. Though if he and Cyrilla had ever been intimate, no visible affection remained between them.
Destonne squatted down and placed his hands on Soren’s tiny shoulders. “Go see your mother before she beats me over the head with the closest blunt object.”
“Don’t give me ideas, Dez,” Cyrilla muttered. When her boy came within reach, her features softened to a mother’s love.
Emmery hugged her middle as that familiar ache resurfaced.
After Cyrilla gathered Soren into her arms, Aera saw her opening, leapt off the couch, and darted towards the King.
She pawed insistently at Destonne’s leg until he stooped to give her fur a tousle.
The fox clambered up his body and perched on his broad shoulders while Emmery glared with utter disdain.
Why the fox adored him, she couldn’t understand.
Cyrilla grasped Soren’s hand and tugged him along as she strolled to Destonne. “You needed me?” she asked, her voice low.
The King spoke in equally hushed tones. Cyrilla’s eyes widened, but she gave a quick nod before she and Soren exited the way Vera had left.
Destonne turned to Brennen, his dark brows furrowed.
Unfathomable boredom filled his eyes as the wolf gave silent updates Emmery once again wasn’t privileged to.
Irritation flared and she exhaled a hot breath.
This was all so … typical. Likely feeling the weight of her stare, Destonne’s gaze slid to her, and she relished in the narrowing of his eyes on her dress.
She smoothed the tattered skirts of her hideous garment then shot him a knowing smirk.
Destonne’s attention snapped back to Brennen. “That’s unnecessary.” The King paused and ran a thumb over his bottom lip. “I’m not sure I—” He broke off, caught up in Emmery’s blazing golden stare again. “Something you would like to say, angel?”
She clenched her jaw at that other stupid nickname. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak as if I’m not here. Am I not a participant in this plan?”
Recognition filled Destonne’s dark eyes, though his face barely twitched. “Old habits.” His attention shifted back to the wolf. “Brennen was saying he’s unsure if Reize is coming. She’s rarely tardy.”
Emmery suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Even if Reize had arrived on time, the King was two hours late. She couldn’t decipher if he lacked time management or the ability to care for anyone or anything other than himself.
While she stared down at her clasped hands and the multicoloured marks that contained her magic, her khaos flame clawed hungrily beneath her skin.
She refused to beg for the removal of the restraints.
They wouldn’t get that satisfaction. After she’d attacked Brennen that first day, it was probably wise.
With how little she’d been sober, her emotions were erratic at best.
She glanced up to find the King, once again, staring at her ratty skirts. When she pinched the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, he reacted with a cock of his brow, though it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
“What’s the plan if she doesn’t show?” Emmery asked in her most deceptively sweet voice.
The King sauntered toward the sofa. “We go to her.”
“And where would that be?”
“A short ride from here.” Destonne stroked Aera’s tiny snout. “A small house on the east coast.”
Emmery stared vacantly at the floor and tried to recall the map she’d studied months ago. With Asaella’s northeast location in the valley and distance from the coast, it could easily be a day’s ride.
“I suggest we wait a few hours, then send word.” As Brennen spoke to both of them this time, he shot Emmery a smug look.
Her eye twitched. Between the ticking clock and the premise of days alone with these two, she needed space before she lost her damn mind. “I’m going for a walk.”
She stormed from the room before Brennen or the King could react.
Emmery ambled through the garden, Aera at her heels, and followed the quiet plink of water.
The fountain was a fascinating feature made of ivory stone carved into the shape of a jaw-droppingly gorgeous woman fleeing from a beastly man.
A depiction of Kahlia and Deimos. She couldn't fathom why they always depicted Deimos as a monster, because how could a man who gave up everything for the woman he loved be all bad? Besides, she’d seen other paintings of him done by Hollows, and he certainly didn’t look like a beast in those.
In fact, he was the portrait of perfection in all his godly beauty with his black hair and deep crimson eyes.
Emmery meandered to the white roses and propped herself against a colossal oak tree that must have lived there for centuries.
She shivered against the cold nip in the air as the dampness of the ground seeped through her skirts.
Asaella was certainly chillier than Ellynne with its proximity to the mountains.
Aera climbed into Emmery’s lap, circled, tucked her snout beneath her bushy tail, and fell asleep in seconds.
A rustle from behind Emmery startled her, but a frustrated sigh rushed out as Destonne came into view. She prayed he wasn’t coming her way, but the gods weren’t that gracious.
Emmery held no doubt, the King was headed straight for her.