Chapter 33
MARIK
The taste of Cora coats my tongue, nearly as vile as the taste of my shame as I lay beside her. She’s sprawled on the bed, her midnight hair wild on the crisp white linen sheets. The scent of sex permeates the air, and I long to shut off my senses.
We lay in silence as her breathing calms. I fight to control my own as my mind wars with itself, just like it does every time.
This is what you agreed to.
This is what must be done.
This was the price you knew you’d pay.
A knock raps on the door to the bedroom. I ignore it, but it comes again. “Your Highness,” someone says on the other side. “It’s urgent.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and throw a robe on before padding to the door. I crack it, careful to shield Cora’s nude form from our visitor.
“Your Highness, sir,” the messenger says as he bows his head. “My apologies, but the Panthera Court has arrived with urgent news. They request an audience immediately.”
Anger flares at the surprise visit. I stoke it. It’s so much easier than the abyss that beckons me every time I lay with Cora.
“What do they want?” I ask.
“I’m not sure, Your Highness. All they said was that it’s urgent. They’re waiting in the throne room. Would you like me to tell them you’re…” He glances over my shoulder. “Indisposed?”
I summon the writhing shadows that I rarely use and create the illusion of my own black aura.
I hate using them, if I’m being honest. They remind me too much of the miseries that lurk in the depths of my mind.
The male takes an involuntary step backward, and a corner of my mouth ticks upward in satisfaction.
“I’ll be down in a moment,” I say in dismissal, then shut the door behind me. Cora is up, already pulling a black gown over her slender frame. She looks over her shoulder and beckons me to help with the buttons that line the back.
I button each one, her knobby spine slowly disappearing with each movement. I don’t bother to ask if she heard what the messenger said. She hears everything. She is everywhere.
There is no escaping her.
I throw on my black trousers and the white linen shirt that’s now rumpled. A combination of fire and water is all I need to fix them, and I hover my hand over the wrinkles to smooth them out.
Cora watches me with a satisfied smirk. She steps closer, runs her long fingers through my black locks.
“So handsome,” she mutters before turning and walking out the door.
I shut my feelings away, forcing them into the room in my head where I send them to die.
Cora is already halfway down the hallway by the time I exit, but my long legs have me by her side in moments.
“Should we bring Elle with us?” I ask.
“Why?” she asks disdainfully.
“Why wouldn’t the High Queen be at this meeting?”
The truth is, it’s been about a week since I last saw her at our disaster of a dinner.
Cora has kept me busy with her pets and useless tasks that have prevented me from visiting her.
Even so, I’ve been keenly aware of Elle’s movements because of the necklace.
She’s been a good girl—no murder attempts on the guards, no screaming at the walls, no attempts to drown herself.
But her silence has been too loud, and every day that passes without seeing her makes my skin crawl in an unfamiliar way. An unpleasant way.
I can’t stand it. I need to see her.
“But they already know that’s not Mae,” Cora says.
“Do appearances no longer matter?”
She gives me a long look, but mutters, “Fine.”
We walk in silence to Elle’s wing. Two guards are stationed outside, one on each side of the double doors, bowing as we approach. I knock on the door, and as usual, Elle doesn’t answer.
“Why do you bother knocking?” Cora sneers.
Because I want her to choose to open it.
I ignore the question and open the doors. The answering stench is foul, like unwashed body odor and stale food.
Cora gasps. “What is that smell?”
“Elle?” I call, but only silence greets me.
I turn toward the guards. “When’s the last time anyone checked on her?”
The one closest to me grimaces. “It’s been several days, Your Highness.”
An image of the guard’s head on a stick flits through my mind. “Days? You’re supposed to be checking on her multiple times a day, you fucking morons,” I snarl at them.
“She’s a prisoner,” the guard says with a shrug.
My pathetic attempt at self-control vanishes. I turn to him, black flames already in my palm. His face pales, the whites of his eyes glistening. To his credit, he doesn’t back away. I close the gap between us and hold my flames to his face. Sweat begins to bead on his upper lip.
“Do you consider yourself above my rule?” I whisper.
“N-no, Your Highness,” he stammers, gaze fixed on my flames as they purr in my palm.
I’ve always found solace in them. Whenever Father left me in the dungeons, they would comfort me like a friend. A friend that could never leave me. They’ve always been quick to listen to me, my earliest power that developed.
“You know,” I whisper as we both watch my flames inch higher, now darting wildly beneath his chin.
“I used to think I was Mother-damned, and that my black flames were more Sister-given, that they belonged in Hell. The next time you disobey a direct order from me, you’ll meet one of them and you can ask them which one blessed me. ”
“Y-yes, Your Highness.” His eyes are basically as wide as dinner plates by now, and I want to shove my flames into them.
But I don’t. I turn and stalk back through the doors.
Cora follows behind me. “Your father would be proud,” she croons.
I used to yearn for those words. How ironic that they make me sick now.
I once thought of my father as strong, but it turns out, he’s as weak as the rest of them.
He is a boot-licking excuse of a man who craves the scraps of power that he is allowed.
And I am his son, through and through. I am no better.
I am worse.
I take a deep breath and clench one hand into a fist, smothering the fire that threatens to return. Sometimes, my anger feels like a living extension of me, like it might take over any day and ruin everything I’ve worked for.
I follow the bond to the bedroom and fling the door open. The stench is even stronger in here. I rip the curtains open and yank open the window. Elle doesn’t flinch as a cold gust of wind floods the room. She lies on the bed, eyes wide but vacant.
“What do you want?” she asks, but it’s weak. There’s no fire behind it.
“We have visitors,” I say as I assess her. Her red hair is limp and tangled. She’s so fucking thin. Her cheeks are sunken and her shoulders look angular inside her sleeping gown. It’s only been a week.
“Get up, girl,” Cora orders from the edge of the bed.
Elle just stares at me, those lifeless amber eyes shredding into me. Until they’re not. Her head snatches back as she’s yanked up by an invisible string.
“I said get up,” Cora says. “We don’t have time for this.”
“Cora,” I say placatingly, despite the way my muscles have gone rigid and how my entire body flushes with that fucking anger I’m barely keeping tame. “She can’t join us like this. She’s a mess. She needs to bathe.”
She cocks her head to one side and purses her lips. “And? They’re waiting.”
I force myself to breathe. “I would appreciate not having to force her to do every little thing so I can concentrate on the conversation with Koa,” I lie.
Cora stares at me with a blank expression. I’m ready for her challenge, but it doesn’t come. “Fine,” she says, then turns on her heels. “Ten minutes.”
The door slams, and Elle’s body collapses against the bed as Cora relinquishes her control.
She looks so small. So different from the fiery female I first met all those years ago.
I don’t know what in the world compels me, but I scoop her from the bed.
She’s all bones and sharp angles. I carry her to the bathroom and set her in the oversized tub, flip the spigot, and warm the water with my magic.
She leans her head against the edge, the column of her neck exposed.
“I feel sorry for you,” she croaks.
I snort. “No, you don’t.”
She doesn’t respond. The water weighs down her sleeping gown, clinging to her skin.
I grab the lavender soap and lather it on her hands, across brittle fingernails and blue-green veins.
I rinse the soap away with warm water, watching as it washes away the suds and reveals the freckles that line her forearms.
I set down the bar of soap and exchange it for the bar of shampoo. It smells of lilies, just like Mae’s hair. When I look back up at Elle, I find her in the same position, neck still exposed as she stares at the ceiling. Her throat bobs. A single tear tracks down her cheek, then down her neck.
I can’t resist the urge to brush it away with my thumb.
Her hand snaps forward, and she grabs my wrist with a speed I didn’t know she possessed. At least, not in this shell of herself.
“Don’t.” Her command is full of power, and it stops me. I remove my hand slowly and instead offer her the bar of shampoo. She takes it from me and slides down into the water, dousing her hair. She emerges, beads of water clinging to her long eyelashes as she blinks the water away.
“I’ll let you finish on your own,” I mutter, knees aching as I rise and exit the bathroom.
Isit on the wooden throne that I fought so hard for. That I keep having to claw for.
King Katze and his family stand in front of me. Elle sits beside me, a glamour hiding the bags under her eyes. Cora stands on my left, looking at House Panthera with disdain.
Something is different about Koa today. Cassia looks at me with her usual hatred, but Koa now seems to have joined her. The last time I saw him, he appeared apathetic, but certainly not full of rage.
“Your Highness,” Katze begins, eyes locked on me. “Thank you for meeting with us. We are aware it is a surprise, but we come with urgent news that we think you will be happy to hear.”
I motion forward with one hand, wishing he’d spit it out already.