Chapter 36
Pain radiated from her knee-caps to her thighs when she collided with the ground.
A small yelp drew the attention of the revelers, all of them wide-eyed and wan when they took in the young woman’s terrifying appearance.
Gloved hands covered parted lips, whispers fluttered from person to person.
There were a myriad of reactions, but none of them seemed to be very positive in nature.
They were terrified and shocked, for the last story they'd ever heard of Nymiria Celentas was of her slaying her mother and the vast majority of the royal court. And there she was… her hands stained red and her skirts all bloodied, just as they had been the day she left.
The crowd slowly parted to reveal a man with golden curls and the fanciest brocade jacket Nymiria had ever seen.
He stood out amongst the revelers, even in their finest attire.
Though the word demon was whispered into the quiet, it was not directed at the one who deserved the title, it was directed at her.
“She killed my father!” Oran called out from behind her. “King Dorid is dead!”
The shrills that followed the prince’s announcement fell upon deaf ears—Nymiria’s focus homed in on the smirking mockery of a prince that was now walking in her direction.
His eyes, those cruel black eyes, gleamed as if he knew of a secret she harbored, or as if he’d been faced with an exhilarating challenge.
Oran’s hand curled gently into her hair, and when his finger pressed lightly into the side of her neck, Nymiria gave the impression that she was being jerked to her feet. “I, Crown Prince Oran Yaarborough and heir to the Golden Throne, hereby sentence this treasonous beast to death!”
No one moved. The entire party of people stared stupidly, open-mouthed, and at a loss for words as Everand approached them both. “This should be a matter of discussion between you and I after a proper investigation.”
“Investigation?” Oran seethed. “His throat was slit and the knife was in her hands!” He released his hold on her hair and reached for her hands.
With a swift jerk, they were lifted, eliciting more petrified gasps from the on-lookers.
“There is no need for an investigation. Not when the evidence of her crimes are right here.”
“That is to be determined.” Everand’s eyes moved from Oran’s and dropped to Nymiria’s.
Her heart was in her throat, her mouth far too dry for her to swallow.
“Did you kill Dorid Yaarborough, Nymiria?” He asked.
When she fidgeted at the question, her gaze flickering around the room, Everand leaned closer. “Think carefully.”
The underlying threat was more than evident. Still, Nymiria waited, pondering her response.
“There is nothing for her to confess to, Alvaros! Look at her! His blood is still wet on her skirts!”
Despite her better judgement, Nymiria reached forward and snatched the knife at Oran’s hip. Faster than anyone could blink, the knife was poised at Oran’s throat. Desi had already drew her sword and pointed it at her, just as Everand’s fingers curled around Nymiria’s upper arm.
Nymiria’s lip curled in disgust when she looked at Everand.
The knot in her stomach twisted, fear coursing through her.
Though her hands shook, she found just the right amount of bravery to release a breathy laugh.
“You look at me like you don’t think that I am capable of killing something with my own bare hands.
” Everand’s eyes narrowed. “But I have news for you, Everand. You were greatly misinformed about my role here; I was not a courtesan in this palace. I was an assassin, disguised as a courtesan. An assassin that was trained to kill men just like you. I was trained to feed into your disgusting egos, turn myself into some sort of confection that slimy, greedy bastards such as yourself drooled over.”
“I’ve killed noblemen and priests, politicians and peasants—anyone who threatened Dorid’s vision or spoke against him.
He did not want me because he cared for me, Everand.
He wanted me to be here, with him, forever under his watchful eye because of the fact that he could not kill me.
And if I could not die, he at least wanted to be able to control what I was able to tell. ”
Everand released a long and low breath. “Is this true?” He asked Oran. “She was not your courtesan?”
Oran released a scoff, his face twisting into a scowl so hateful that it should have hurt.
“I’m just as surprised as you are.” He shook his head, those dark blue eyes dragging over her before settling onto her face.
“But I suppose it makes sense, considering that she tried to poison me. After all, her mother pretended to be Camalia for years. Their entire bloodline is nothing but hateful, lying monsters.”
Though the words were all for show, Nymiria couldn’t help the bite of pain she felt in her chest upon hearing them.
When they’d traveled around the continent together, she’d informed him of the plan that her mother concocted—that she was ordered to kill Oran and Dorid, ending the Yaarborough bloodline once and for all.
At first, Nymiria had her sights set on completing the task.
But then she met Oran and grew to love him in the way that a friend should love a friend.
“I will make a deal with you,” Everand said quietly, only loud enough for the four of them to hear. “Let her come with me. Let her be bound to me, and I will see to it that she suffers immensely for the grief that she has caused you.”
Nymiria looked at Oran and watched as he appeared to weigh his options.
His eyes flickered to the back corner of the room and then to Everand once more.
After a few moments of silence, he shoved her into Everand’s chest with such force that it knocked the air from her lungs.
Her bloodied hands took purchase of Everand’s jacket, the knife wrangled from her grip so quickly that she couldn’t fight.
“Call the captain of your guard forward.” Everand said, each word clipped as he turned her and pressed the knife to her neck. “It is my understanding that each of your higher ranks are ordained to perform marriage ceremonies. Call him forward now.”
Oran gave a firm nod, his hand coming up to smooth away the wild dark hair that had fallen into his face.
He stepped around them and Everand turned to face the crowd, dragging Nymiria with him.
She tried twisting free from his grip, but his hold on her only grew tighter, his large arm nearly cutting off all air supply with how tightly it was bound across her chest.
Everand leaned his lips close to her ear. “If you are so skilled in killing, why did you never think to kill me?”
“Because,” she gasped. “Your army was ordered to strike Eadyn the moment something happened to you.”
He let loose a dry chuckle. “How noble of you.” The humor in his voice roused a shiver from inside of her, her eyes screwing shut when his breath fanned across the side of her face. “But I bet you didn’t know—”
“That you were going to attack Eadyn regardless? Oh, yes, we knew.” Nymiria released a laugh of her own.
“And that is precisely why what is left of your men are retreating from their orders, running like cowards, as we speak.” She didn’t need to look at him to know what sort of expression he wore.
She could feel the horror and disbelief radiating off of him in strong, angry waves.
“What are you talking about?” He growled.
It was at that moment that the crowd collapsed, their bodies all falling to the floor, bloodless and grey. Everand’s spine went rigid, his hold on her growing tighter as he dragged her towards the dais. In the corner, with horns and a wild grin, Trio and Desi on either side of him, was Aziel.
Nymiria’s breath caught in her throat, her heart quickening as she watched him step languidly over the bodies he’d ripped the life from. Oran was walking ahead of them, his jaw rigid. “You asked for the captain of my guard. Well, here he is.” The prince snapped.
Everand bristled. “Y-you can’t—”
“Can’t, what?” Oran asked, his deep voice filled with boredom. “Can’t have my own brother amongst my high-ranking officers? Of course I can. I am the new king of Yaar, afterall.” He turned to Aziel then. “He wants you to perform their marriage.”
She couldn’t feel the blade at her throat, the weight of Everand’s arm didn’t feel quite as heavy as it had mere moments before.
Even with the runes on her body that kept her power contained, Nymiria was not defenseless.
She had already calculated three different ways she could escape Everand’s hold on her.
It was disappointing, she thought, that Everand had become so sure of himself that he let his defenses drop.
But it was also a relief that she no longer had to pretend to be the damsel in distress any longer.
“I cannot perform such a ceremony.” Aziel shrugged. Nymiria saw the wild pulsing of those darkened lines that spider-webbed beneath his eyes. There was not an ounce of kindness in his gaze and Everand, bereft of color, could hardly believe what he was seeing.
“I command it!” Everand snarled, attempting to regain leverage. Nymiria felt the pulse of his power, the power he used to distort reality, but it was met with another force so strong that the Alvarian prince nearly lost his footing.
Desi.
Her purple eyes were narrowed in focus, her hands held out in front of her, forming an iridescent shield around herself, Aziel, and her brother.
“Your commands are meaningless, as they have been for a few days now.” Aziel continued. “You’ve lost, Alvaros. It would be best if you drop your weapon and concede now.”
Everand stepped back, hooking his arm tighter around Nymiria. “Perform the ceremony now, or I will kill her. I’ll do it!”
A dark silence spread across the room when Aziel came to a stop.
His eyes were focused solely on the blade pressed to Nymiria’s throat, one that she’d forgotten was even there to begin with.
Her defenses raised, her mind becoming a whirlwind of tactical thoughts.
One sharp drive of her hand at his crotch and she could snatch the knife, turn it on him, and then she would have the upper hand.
But she knew that now was not the time for her to react too quickly.
Just a little while longer, she told herself.
When Aziel spoke again, his voice was full of such ominous fury that Everand began to tremble.
Whether with rage or fear, or a mix of both, Nymiria was not sure.
“I don’t think you understand.” The god of death began.
“There is no possible way for me to perform a ceremony for someone who is already married. That being said,” he grinned.
“Get your filthy fucking hands off my wife.”
Everand’s face was nearly purple with rage, the blade in his hand trembling so fiercely that it scraped a small portion of skin off of her neck.
She hissed at the sting, already knowing that blood was blooming to the surface, eyes going wide when she saw the black of Aziel’s pupils flare outwards, leaving not a single smidgen of color or white left.
He looked more beast than fae, not unlike a god, but entirely like a walking nightmare. “Now.” He snarled.