Chapter 6 #2
Upon hearing the clicking of the door as it closed, Thorn looked up from his reading material and quickly moved to his feet.
Nymiria was surprised that he embraced her rather than immediately reprimanding her. She hesitated when he closed his arms around her, but once she came to terms with what was happening, she relaxed into him, breathing in that familiar smell of leather and mint.
When he finally released her, Thorn lifted her hand and observed her knuckles. “Are you alright?” He asked.
Nymiria nodded. “I think I’ll survive.” She chuckled, eyes trailing to where Aziel was occupying himself on the other side of the room before looking back at her father. “How is the man that I punched?”
Thorn glanced over his shoulder at Aziel. “Dead.”
“I killed him?” She exclaimed, jerking her hand from his grasp.
“No,” Aziel chimed. “I did.”
Bewildered and her heart pounding erratically in her chest, Nymiria drew in a deep breath. “You said you wanted to slit his throat, not that you did!”
“I didn’t slit his throat. He was hanged.
” He shrugged, his tone carrying the air of someone talking about a game of cards rather than murder.
“His crime against you was not the only crime he’d committed.
Sometimes, bad people slip through the cracks.
But when we find them, they are dealt with accordingly. ”
It was enough of an explanation to calm her down a fraction.
But even as Thorn motioned for her to take a seat in one of the leather, swayback chairs beside his desk, she couldn’t bring an end to the intense emotions flooding her.
Whether or not this man’s death was justified, she did not want Aziel killing anyone in her name or in her defense.
As much as she wanted to hate it, the mere thought of him doing anything to defend her made her chest fill with a demented sort of pride that she did not like.
Thorn leaned against the sturdy frame of his desk and gave her a worried smile.
“I’m glad that you decided to come back, Nym.
And I know that this is all quite overwhelming for you, but I brought you here today to ask something of you.
” When he paused, she nodded, urging him to continue.
“The last thing I want is for you to feel any sort of obligation towards me or this kingdom, but you are my daughter, and I am a king. I would like for you to resume your title as princess. If you wish.”
The words struck like a punch to the gut, nearly rendering her entirely breathless.
There were days in the last eleven years when Nymiria believed that if she’d been given the opportunity to do it all over again, she would do it differently.
She believed that she could redeem herself, that she could be the leader and the face of the kingdom and bring hope instead of pain and suffering.
But those thoughts and fantasies had long-since been washed away, leaving not a single ounce of hope inside of her to even begin to imagine what it would be like for her to wear the crown.
“I can’t.” Her voice was small, almost inaudible as she spoke.
She could feel Aziel’s eyes on her, the growth of some heavy aura seeping from his pores as he looked at her.
She ignored it, swallowing thickly as her eyes dropped to her bruised knuckles.
“I am in no position to resume my title. And, unfortunately, I do not think that I will ever be ready for that again.” She let out a humorless laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, but I must refuse.”
The silence that followed that final sentence seemed to stretch for an eternity.
And though she wanted to lift her eyes and see the looks on their faces, she wasn’t quite sure that she was ready for that either.
She didn’t know if there would be pity or disappointment, but neither seemed palatable at that moment.
“If ever you decide that you are ready or if you change your mind, all you have to do is tell me.” He sounded so gentle and so genuine that Nymiria almost burst into tears.
The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him, to disappoint anyone.
Perhaps, she thought, she was not meant to be a princess. Perhaps her redemption came in the form of offering Life to the land that she loved so much. Her title as the Anam offered so much more than her title as princess ever did.
“Thank you.”
It was all that she could manage to say. And while she expected for Thorn to dismiss her, having found her useless, she soon felt the hardened parts of her heart softening when a knock on the door led to a few women coming into the room with tea and pastries.
Thorn handed her a plate and saucer before his large hand came down between her shoulders. “You must be starved.” He sighed. “Go ahead and enjoy your meal. Aziel and I have a meeting with Everand here shortly.”
Nymiria glanced at Aziel again, only to find that he was staring impassively out the window, his own cup of tea looking hilariously dainty in his gloved hands. Turning back to her father, she nodded. Thorn left the room then and she waited, her stomach in knots, and watched as Aziel approached her.
He placed his cup of tea on the table at her side and then leaned down, so close that his lips brushed against the shell of her ear.
“People in the Otherworld can experience two deaths, Nymiria. One on this plane of existence, and one there, down below.” Her body went still, chills crawling along her skin.
“If I slit that barkeep’s throat in the Otherworld, he turns to nothing.
His soul, his energy, they both vanish completely.
If you so much as blink in my direction, I will do it—erase him from this world, this universe, entirely. ”
She slowly turned, her breath hitching and her eyes dropping to the beautiful swell of his lips. He was far too close. The slightest move could bring complete devastation to them both. Nymiria blinked when she met his stare and with that, Aziel merely smiled.
“Might I add,” he whispered. “I believe that you would look absolutely stunning in a crown. Should you ever decide to wear one again.” It was far too sensual.
Everything about him just radiated something that made her insides boil.
Even that damned smirk he wore made her feel as if she would combust. “I look forward to seeing you at home, moonflower, as I’d prefer not to be forced to retrieve you from any more dungeons in the near future. ”
“I don’t intend to get into any more trouble.” She offered weakly.
Aziel let out a small humph, eyes gleaming. “Good girl.” And with that, he shoved himself away from her.
His absence was felt immediately. The air in front of her suddenly chilled, already drained of the warmth he emitted. It took every ounce of strength inside of her not to turn and watch him leave, but she wanted to. Desperately.
Nymiria’s legs buckled underneath her, the impact from Dorid’s fist ringing through her jaw and up into her mind. It felt as if her skull was trembling, blinking her eyes rapidly in hopes to clear her swimming vision.
Dorid jerked at the lapels of his jacket, his eyes narrowed as he looked down his nose at her slumped form.
“Now,” he sighed. “I do not enjoy punishing you, Nymiria. It makes me physically ill to lay a single hand on such a beautiful little creature. But I will not stand for your ill-mannered behavior any longer.” He knelt down in front of her, his fingers clasping her chin and jerking her face in front of his.
She hadn’t realized her lip had split open until he brushed the blood away, shooting her a look of disdain as he plopped the smear of blood that now graced his thumb into his mouth.
His eyes fluttered closed, a sickening groan sounding at the back of his throat.
“Absolutely revolting.” He tossed her face away and righted himself again, quickly peering around at his guards.
“Take her to the little healer bitch in the servants quarters and have her fix her face. She has people to entertain tonight and I do not want anyone to believe that she requires discipline.”
No sooner than the words left his mouth, Nymiria was gripped by both arms and hoisted to her feet.
The guards didn’t even bother allowing her to get her footing before they led her out of the hall and down a small flight of stairs. She finally braced herself, tripping over her feet for a few steps, and straightened as they approached Desi’s room that she shared with the other servants.
They didn’t knock, they simply kicked open the door and shoved her inside.
“His Majesty has demanded healing for her lip. She must be ready within the hour.” The large guard said, his voice stern and gruff. She glanced over her shoulder at him, watching him closely as he turned and slammed the door behind him.
Waiting until the sounds of their footsteps dwindled to silence, Nymiria finally turned to where Desi stared up at her. Laid on one of the cots, arms tucked under his head, and his eyes screwed shut, was Owen.
“What happened?” She asked.
Owen winced again, letting out a small gasp when Desi fed her stitching needle through one side of the open gash on his back.
She paused, allowing him a moment to breathe and open his eyes.
“Horses got loose. Those imported ones.” He grit his teeth, fingers curling around the edge of the cot as Desi continued threading the wound closed.
Nymiria sighed, shaking her head. She turned to Desi’s shelves, already plucking some herbs and a tin of salve from their usual place.
This sort of thing didn’t happen too often, but it’d happened frequently enough that Nymiria already knew exactly which tins could help.
Owen watched her, hissing when Desi accidentally threaded too close to the visible meat in the valley of his cut. “What did you do?” He asked.