Chapter 39
MARIK
Elle sits on the terrace, legs tucked beneath her and a knitted blanket wrapped tightly around her slender frame.
I’ve spent the entire morning watching her from the balcony, hidden from view.
She’s been sitting there for hours, her only movement that of her eyes as they track the comings and goings of the guards.
Her hair blows in the frigid wind and she makes no attempt to tame it.
A knock comes from inside, pulling me from my watch. The fire in the bedroom’s hearth died long ago, but the warmth of the room sends a shock to my system. I yank the door open.
It’s fucking Vicente.
“What?” I demand.
He shifts on his feet. “Sir—”
“Your Highness,” I growl in correction.
His gaze shifts downward as his cheeks turn pink. “Your Highness, I thought you should know there was another message written on the castle stairs.”
I clench my jaw. If I’m being honest, I don’t care about the ominous, blood-written messages anymore. I close the door, but Vicente puts his hand up, stopping the door before it can shut.
“Apologies, sir,” he says nervously, “Her Highness requested your presence.”
My jaw clenches so hard that I swear I just cracked a tooth. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
Vicente, again, lowers his gaze to the floor like a child being chastised. “I apologize.”
I close my eyes for just a moment, then snap them back open as I force myself to play the character I’ve been playing for Cora. It gets harder every day. “Well? Where is she?”
“The formal living room, sir.”
The relief at his words is a palpable thing. Her location is a small mercy, one that doesn’t send me further into the pit of despair that I keep sinking into, that pulls me further and further into its depths with every stroke of my tongue, every pump of my finger, every thrust of my—
Vicente clears his throat. “She did ask me to inform you of the urgency, sir.”
I fling open the door and shove past him before storming down the hallway.
Cora is, in fact, in the grand living room.
She sits on the velvet couch, pale skin aglow in the light of the blazing fireplace, her arms sprawled across the back of the couch.
Through the deep slit in her black gown, her long, slender legs are crossed.
She stares at the flames with a calculating gaze that sets me on edge.
“What is it?” I ask as I walk toward her. It comes out sharper than I intended, but she doesn’t turn to look at me as she responds.
“The ball will be in a few days’ time.”
I place my hands behind my back and clench them into fists. This is what she called me here for?
“Lovely,” I say, trying my best to inject some semblance of happiness into my tone.
Again, she either doesn’t care, doesn’t notice, or I pulled it off. “Mae escaped,” she says.
That gets my attention. I freeze and consider my words carefully. Previously, the news would have devastated me. I worked so hard to manipulate her. But now, the fallen queen is my best shot at getting Elle out of here and in safe hands.
But I have a part to play. I channel the fury I felt the day I found Asmo broken and bleeding on the floor of the throne room. The day I realized my brother was someone who could be broken, and how far my father had to go to do it. “How?”
One of her bony fingers taps along the back of the couch. “Someone incapacitated the guards by her cell and helped her escape.”
Based on the hatred in his glare the last time I saw him, my first thought is Koa, but I don’t say that.
If Koa is helping Mae, that means he’s on my side.
I nearly choke on the thought. At the realization that I switched sides.
Because I did, didn’t I? Elle’s side is now mine, and the witch in front of me is now my enemy. I’m so fucked.
“Are there any leads?”
“It had to have been that bitch of a princess,” she spits. “I warned them what would happen to their children if they didn't fall in line."
That bitch of a princess must mean Cassia. I inhale, then slowly exhale. “We’ve talked about this,” I say, my voice measured. “If you murder their children, you will never have their support.”
She stands, black flames dancing in her eyes as they turn to meet mine. “I care not about their support anymore. I’ve given them plenty of chances, but the ball will be their last one. If they don’t support the witches after that, they’ll all be killed.”
“What about Elle?”
She freezes. Her gaze narrows. “What of her?”
“We cannot continue to parade her as Mae. What is your plan for that?”
“We can and we will continue to use her as Mae.”
Every muscle in my body is tightening, but I roll my shoulders back to ease the tension. “I have already warned you of the risks of using black magic for so long,” I counter, trying my damndest to sound bored.
She sits back on the sofa, relaxing against the plush velvet backing.
“I don’t care if she is a shell of a thing.
We will use her until she believes she is Mae.
And that is that. You know that for this to work, the people have to believe Mae is on the throne.
” She cocks her head in thought, then says, “I suppose you could find someone else to use as her shell, but you’d have to kill the girl. ”
Previously, the thought of killing Elle filled me with apathy. But now, the words spark something in me…I rein it in, table it for now. To react would endanger Elle.
“Fine,” I say with a nonchalance that feels like a betrayal.
She smiles, then beckons me closer with a finger. Tiny prickles of unease begin to crawl along my skin, like dozens of tiny spiders awakening.
“Do you grow tired of me, Marik?” Her voice is pleasant, but it fills me with horror. “You are but a young thing, and I worry that you have forgotten the bargain.”
I walk toward her slowly, keeping my gaze fixed on hers. “Never,” I lie.
She raises a dark brow. “Never is a long time.”
The concept of time has never been something I truly considered, other than in vague concepts.
But now, I’m disgusted with myself to realize that I would rather spend an eternity in hell with Cora than let her use Elle any longer.
I kneel before the witch, bony knees landing on the hardwood floors. “It’s true.”
“Good.” She removes a hand from the back of the couch and grips my jaw, jagged black nails biting into my cheeks. “I would hate to see this pretty face in the fire.”
I stare at her, willing myself to look at her lovingly, to hide the hatred that I truly feel for her. Her grip along my jaw eases and she shoves me away from her. “Leave me. I have a ball to plan.”
As much as I want to skitter away like the coward I am, I know she wants me to grovel for her. This is the time to show her how much I want her, how much I still love and need her. I slide a finger up her exposed thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in the wake of my touch.
Her legs part for me and I continue up her inner thighs, tracing the dark veins as they thrum beneath her pale skin.
I used to love these veins, the way they shone through her translucent skin.
I would spend hours staring at them and tracing each one.
All my life, I felt so different from the other princes and princesses. So different from Asmo, even.
When I met Cora, I felt seen. Like she was made from the same darkness as I was, sick and twisted and filled with everything that is wrong. When I learned who she truly was, it felt like a gift from the heavens. Like we were fated to be together and rule.
But now, as I stare at her, I realize that I was right and wrong. She was a gift, but it didn’t come from the heavens. She came from Hell.
And I think I made a blood deal with the devil.
When I get back to the balcony, Elle is gone.
I storm from my room and reach for the bond that links us.
It’s still there. As much as I want to peer into her mind, I don’t.
Now that I know what it truly is, it feels like a violation.
I let my feet guide me, following the invisible tether to my mate.
Leaves crunch as I cut through the dead forest. A light breeze drifts past me, stirring barren branches.
The sound of trickling water grows stronger.
Just ahead, the backs of two black uniforms come into view.
I pass the guards, who mutter something that I don’t care about.
I could ask them where Elle is, but I can sense she’s close, so I save my breath.
Finally, I see her.
And the sight of her makes me want to rip the throats from the guards.
She lays in a shallow creek, her white nightgown clinging to her sallow skin. A knife sticks from her arm, blood trickling and flowing into the water. She stares at the sky, eyes barely open. Empty and dull.
I turn, slow and controlled. The guard on the left—surprise, it’s the same gnat I threatened the last time—straightens.
“Your Highness, what’s wrong?”
I gesture to Elle. “You’re supposed to be protecting her,” I hiss.
“All due respect, Your Highness,” the guard says, “our duty is to ensure she stays alive.” His gaze shifts nervously to her. “And she is alive.”
I take a step toward him, and they both back up. I throw a hand out, freezing them both in place. “Did you forget our conversation?” I ask the one on the left.
His pupils are blown wide open, and he shakes his head vigorously. “N-no, Your Highness, but—”
I dart toward him, gripping his meaty neck in my hand. “And what did I say?” My voice is low, barely audible. But I know he can hear every word. He trembles in my hand. Good.
His mouth opens, but I slam it shut with the butt of my palm.
“Agh!”
“I’ll remind you. I told you,” I say through gritted teeth, “that the next time you disobeyed me, you could ask your maker where I got my flames.” The scent of urine assaults me, and I chuckle. “Pathetic.”
His screams are garbled as my flames lick every inch of his skin, a writhing kiss of death. The smell of his flesh burning has my nose crinkling.