Chapter 30 #3
But Dorid knew of her power. And she was certain that the fear she smelled emanated directly from where he sat.
“What have you done with the bastard?” The king asked.
Yes. There, in the slight tremor of his voice, was that fear she scented.
“He is enchanted. He believes she’s given herself freely—that she’s simply run away.” Everand pushed her in front of him, jerking the smelly sack from her head and tossing it aside.
She could only imagine how she must have looked. It felt oddly reminiscent of when she’d first been presented to him, all those years ago. Except there were no runes blocking her power now, just the iron shackles around her wrists and neck.
Eyes squinting in the onslaught of brightness, Nymiria clenched her teeth.
Rage swelled deep in her core, that flicker of power within her wanting so badly to be unleashed.
Dorid’s lips curved into a smile that she was all too familiar with.
He looked as if he’d won—as if he were a mere child that got his favorite toy handed back to him after a tantrum.
“Hello, Nymiria.” He crooned. “Welcome home.”
A low growl rippled up her vocal cords, her hands tightening around the chains of her shackles. “This is not my home. I do not belong here.”
He leaned forward in his throne—so confident and so sure of himself that Nymiria almost laughed. “If not here, then where? Where else could you belong other than by the side of the man that owns you.”
Confused, Everand stepped forward. “That is not what this is. I didn’t bring her here so that you could reclaim ownership of her. You agreed—”
“Yes, I agreed that if you returned Nymiria to me, she would be your consort. But it is written on paper that she is still in my possession. She belongs to me. You can marry her, fuck her, or do whatever the hell you please with her. But she is and will always be mine until this kingdom crumbles.”
Nymiria had a feeling that would happen sooner rather than later. She despised Everand, but Dorid seemed to have no idea what he was getting himself into. His pride would always lead to his demise. And Everand was too spoiled to allow that to stand in his way.
“The agreement was that she would make offerings to the God Stone quarterly.”
“And for the ring.” Dorid smiled. “Can’t forget about that.”
Nymiria glanced between the two of them, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Is that all this is for?” She asked. “My lifeforce? You want to be able to channel my power whenever you wish?”
Everand had already made it perfectly clear that he hated when she spoke, so it came as no surprise to her when he pinched the bridge of his nose.
As if it could stave off an impending headache.
“We’ve found that wearing the blood of the gods does, in fact, allow the wearer to channel certain lesser abilities. ”
“If given willingly.” Nymiria retorted. “If given with intent.”
“Oh,” Everand grinned. “You’ll be willing.” His eyes flickered up to Dorid, giving him a curt nod—a command that only the two of them understood.
There was commotion from one of the side doors of the throne room. Nymiria’s blood drained from her face, her heart dropping to her stomach when she saw Desi being escorted into the room, flanked by Dorid’s men. Two of them held her arms, but Desi was not fighting. She looked almost complacent.
Nymiria turned to Everand, prepared to spew every hateful word she could think of right in his direction. Until she saw it—a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a satisfied smirk on his face.
“This is the healer girl?” Everand asked. “Are you sure?”
Dorid looked insulted. “She’s been living under my care since she was born—of course it is!”
She watched as Everand strode towards Desi, her feet moving forward, only for the chains around her to pull her back into position. “Everand, please. She has nothing to do with this.”
Desi only stared at the god, her features hard. The purple of her eyes now bleeding to an odd shade of maroon.
“Desiree.” Everand humphed, taking up a lock of Desi’s hair and flicking it over her shoulder. “Funny, I don’t recall that being your name. Every time you and I had the grand pleasure of becoming acquainted with one another, I believe that Inasha called you Ovella.”
Nymiria had experienced various forms of heart break in her years, but this one delivered such a blow to her body that she was left confused.
It hurt, but the hurt only made it even more unbelievable.
Desi’s eyes found hers, her chin lifting and her brow arching as if she’d done something she was not ashamed of at all.
Every moment, every conversation, every question, and every tender moment they’d shared felt like a lie.
“If I hadn’t taken a different name and face, I could not pose as her maid and still be accepted as a friend to her enemies.” Desi said clearly—loudly. With not a single ounce of remorse or shame.
Everand looked between Nymiria and Desi, his eyes gleaming. Why wouldn’t they, Nymiria thought. He fed off of betrayal. This was his realm. He loved this.