Chapter 2 #2
“I thought I told you to stop spying on her.” He snarled.
Aziel turned to his friend at that moment, his regret slamming into him immediately when he saw the darkened features on Trio’s face.
His hand clenched into a fist at his side, the other combing through the disheveled silver locks of hair on his head.
For once, he wished that he could feel the intense guilt that should have been accompanied with what he’d done, but the numbness he’d cursed himself with was stronger than ever.
The twisted dark roots that marred his chest and torso were pulsing with his indifference, pumping unwelcomed anger into his blood.
“I manipulated her.” He said in a whisper. “I seduced her to get her to come back. And while I don’t have the means to regret my decision, I do. In the only way I know how.”
Trio assessed him with brows drawn, slowly lifting himself to his feet. “You don’t want to intervene anymore?”
Aziel nodded. “Unless it is absolutely necessary.”
They sat in silence for a moment, both of them refusing to spare a single glance at the other.
It was useless for Trio to try and convince Aziel that he wasn’t a bad person.
Aziel had long-since come to terms with the fact that his moral compass was inherently skewed.
They’d had this conversation weeks ago, when Aziel came back from the harbor–that while Aziel had wanted nothing more than to kiss Nymiria– to feel her, it’d instilled a sense of self-loathing in him that he hadn’t been able to shake.
Aziel felt as if he hadn’t acted on impulse, that it wasn’t his innate desire to be with his mate that inspired his actions, but that it was the curse of his being that led him to leave her in such an indifferent manner.
He didn’t want to leave her on that ship, but one glimpse of the pain in her eyes made him…
Ashamed.
Finally breaking the pregnant silence with the clearing of his throat, Aziel lifted his eyes to his friend. “Where is your sister?” He asked quietly.
Trio gave him a knowing smirk. “Come on.” He sighed. “Let’s go home.”
“Was it all worth it?”
Aziel lifted his gaze to the gilded throne perched at the center of the dais.
Harsh blue eyes stared back at him. Inasha Celentas lifted herself to her feet and Aziel recoiled, bracing himself for the burn of the runes on his spine, but the pain did not come.
She folded her arms across her chest, wearing the smug proudness of someone who believed they had won a game no one was aware they were playing.
Aziel had been here before. Years ago. He’d been at the foot of this dais, wrists shackled, his heart aching for a princess that would be sequestered to a life of torment.
Was it all worth it? The witch queen had asked.
Aziel wasn’t sure.
The moment Dorid declared that Nymiria would become a courtesan, Aziel had felt every ounce of good in his soul leave his being entirely.
He’d been flooded with an overwhelming desire to destroy everything in his path.
But Inasha had felt that rage. She knew what lived inside of him and she’d done everything in her power to ensure that it was never directed towards her and her own personal agenda.
She’d carved runes into him—burned them into him. And he was forced to take it. He was forced to let her fingers trace over the scars she’d given him, forced to withstand the touch of her hands on his body. And it was all for nothing.
“I will ask you again.” Inasha spoke louder this time, the loud clacking of her heels against the marble ringing in his ears. “Was your attempted act of defiance worth all of this?”
He peered around the room at the guards, at Oran, and then to his father. Dorid Yaarborough looked indifferent, whispering joyously to one of his advisors as Inasha made her approach. His body grew more rigid the closer she came, her eyes narrowing and her lips twitching.
“I don’t want you near her. I don’t want you to touch her, let alone look at her. I don’t–”
“Why?” Aziel managed. He flinched at the sound of his own voice, fear souring the food in his stomach.
Just as he’d anticipated, Inasha lashed out.
Her claws were hot against his skin, tearing deep gashes into the skin of his cheek.
He hissed at the burn, at the feeling of the blood that welled up and spilled over the torn skin in deep red trickles.
Her breath washed over his face, the scent of her perfumed oils breaching his defenses–a sickening trinity of cloves, patchouli, and vanilla–and his stomach churned again.
“How dare you,” she snarled. “How dare you think that you are in any station that permits you to ask me anything.”
Aziel was just a child when this moment in history occurred–a young boy of fifteen years–but he was old enough to understand what her response really meant. She was either keeping a very dark secret, or she didn’t have an answer to his question. At the time, he believed it to be the latter.
Inasha straightened herself, brushing her hands over the bodice of her dress before turning to where Dorid was now watching both of them, an unreadable look shadowing his features. “What is the verdict for his disobedience?” The king’s voice bellowed.
Inasha’s eyes flickered to young Oran.
At fifteen, Oran was already rather tall. He hadn’t acquired his muscular physique just yet, all skin and bones, but he towered over the guards that flanked him. He, too, wore the evidence of his own disobedience in the form of a yellowing bruise that crescented the underside of his right eye.
Dorid’s work.
“I suppose he will go with Oran to the stronghold.” Inasha sighed.
“Make use of them both and send them to Anarah and Alvaros for your missions. Let them learn—let them see the truth of what awaits them on the other side.” When she looked at him again, her features had softened.
Her eyes fluttered, her lips forming a sadistic pout as she extended a sharpened finger and ran it along his jaw.
Her voice was quieter when she spoke again, her mouth so close to his ear that her lips brushed over the sharp curve of his ear.
“You will meet with me monthly. Wherever you are, you will find a way back to me and you will fulfill your duty. Is that understood?”
Aziel swallowed, the bloodied and bruised face of Nymiria Celentas filling his mind. Plaguing him. And in his already disoriented state, the young man nodded. “Yes. I understand.” He stared up at her, lips moving around words he was too afraid to speak.
As if sensing where his thoughts wandered, Inasha arched a brow at him and let out a scoff that sounded through the near-silent throne room. “Yes,” she hissed. “That little bitch of yours will be just fine.”
One look at her guards, one simple flick of her wrist and they were hauling Aziel to his feet. One of the younger guards drove their fist into his stomach. Aziel growled, cutting his eyes in the direction of the guard, noting the sinister gleam in his orange eyes.
“You shouldn’t do that.” The guard to his right murmured in warning.
The one who’d punched him let out a gruff laugh. “What’s he going to do to me with those manacles on?”
Aziel turned his head and smirked up at the burly man, the blood from the claw marks on his cheek filling his mouth, moving through the cracks of his teeth. “They’ve got to come off at one point or another.”
The guard used the angle of Aziel’s body to his own advantage, delivering a swift knee to his nose.
A sickening pop echoed through his skull, leaving his eyes burning and pain radiating through his sinus cavities.
Blood spilled from his now-crooked nose, dripping along the floor as they dragged him closer to the doors.
Though the ache of the break left his head swimming, Aziel still smiled.
“Before I forget,” Inasha called out to the guards. They paused, both men glancing over their shoulders to peer at her. “Take him to Imil. He needs to be sterilized before we send him out into the world. We don’t need any more bastards running around, defiling our beautiful kingdom with his filth.”
Panic settled in the moment the laughter of those in the throne room reached his ears. Young Aziel did his best not to show an ounce of fear. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to spill, against the hurt that carved deep into his chest.
As they dragged him into the bowels of the castle, where the rats and other vermin came to shit and hide in the shadows, Aziel cried in silence.
The guards laughed at him, taunted him, as they carried his lax form towards the door that led to Imil.
Known for his barbaric practices in terms of torture, Imil was also the only one Dorid left in charge of sterilizing the courtesans.
And just upon seeing the dark wooden shape of the door, Aziel felt his pulse quicken.
He knew that if he tried to fight that the guards would join in this torture.
But, perhaps, they would beat him so thoroughly that he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain that Imil would inflict upon him.
Before he could decide whether or not he should fight or fawn in the face of his fate, the guards came to a halt at the sound of a deep voice that echoed through the darkened hall behind them.
Aziel lazily turned his head, his brow furrowing when he saw Oran taking long, angry strides in their direction.
Oran was not bad.
Though their relationship was strained and nearly non-existent due to their father, Oran had never been cruel to him.
Aziel believed, for just a small moment, that Oran would save him from this hell, that he would stop these men from defiling him completely.
There was no use in having hope, it seemed.
Oran was in front of him, suddenly, and delivered a punch to Aziel that was so strong and so impactful that the world around him faded into a complete and total darkness.