Chapter 12 The Plot Thickens
TWELVE
THE PLOT THICKENS
“You’re brilliant,” Zilo says with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen the brooding man possess.
He’s cute when he smiles. Boyish eyes light up against the brutishly handsome face of a man who’s long forgotten true happiness.
The approval in his features sears through my chest like warm chocolate, and I can’t explain why he has that effect on me with a mere meager amount of acceptance.
Perhaps their puppy training is working and I’m finally preening beneath their simple praise.
The safety of their bedroom holds a long stretch of quiet for a moment.
“Thank you,” I beam at him, and Avian nods along with his normal sweet, sincere smile.
Too bad when I peer over at the third little puppy, he isn’t as kind.
“Could have gotten yourself killed,” Roman spits, his arms folding hard over his bare chest as he looks me up and down.
“And you three could have made me look better instead of trying to cock block my bonding time.”
“Bonding time!” Rome lashes out and is storming over to me from across the bedroom with rage booming into his every step.
Each of these men seem to have a love-hate relationship with logic. Logic tumbles out, and rage rolls right on in during the blink of an eye.
It’s true for Roman, and it’s true even for Avian. Speaking of, Avian flashes between myself and his friend so fast I don’t know if I could spot his superhuman speed if he warned me first.
Not that he ever does.
His palms slam into Roman’s chest, and his fingers spread wide as the two of them seethe unshed aggression into the heated breaths between them.
“Move,” is all Roman says on a gravelly growl.
Avian’s glare becomes slightly less violent, and his silver eyes sparkle with the affection he always hoards in that shining knight heart of his.
“Calm down,” Avian whispers, and I can feel the moment his hands turn from being a defense stance to an intimate stance.
It’s in how the tension in his hard lined shoulders and back melt into total calm.
It’s like he just wants to feel Roman’s heartbeat against his fingertips rather than nearly shoving him away.
Maybe it’s both.
Roman’s pale eyes are still hard piercing when he looks at me from over his friend’s shoulder. I hold that stare for as long as he lets me. I hold it for so long the anger between us fades, edging little by little into begrudging understanding.
But the real thing is, why does he care? Why does he care if I die? If I die, they continue on. They find a new me. And their ultimate goal is still intact.
I’m the one risking something.
I have a purpose here. And I’m not about to fail it.
“We need real plotting. I need in on the actual destination for this little adventure you’ve pulled me in to.”
“No,” Zilo says, surprising me with the gruff rumble of his tone that I had nearly forgotten he was capable of. We were making such progress with his kindness.
Where are his glasses? Why has he taken off his reading glasses that were clearly what helped with his personality.
Right now, it’s shit. This personality is shit; I much prefer the other.
“No?” I cock my head to the right like I can’t fathom holding it up while he disrespects me so blatantly.
“No,” he enunciates. “You’re not authorized. Another person knowing our full plan, is another person willing to repeat it.”
“You think I’d rat on you?”
The synchronization of all three men shrugging at the same time burns disgust all through me.
Woooow.
I expected this childish distrust from Roman. Maybe from Zilo too if I’m honest…but Avian? Avian doesn’t trust me.
I may as well be alone here.
“You three came to me. I didn’t beg you to take me to the fucking pits of hell.”
“Might as well have. What else did you have waiting in your future?” Roman cuts that statement out so hard it hurts. It sinks into my chest like a knife with the honesty of it all bleeding into me.
“Fuck you.” My jaw grinds shut, and I want nothing more than to kick him in his dick and walk away.
But I have nowhere to walk to.
And it’s clear Roman’s entirely dickless anyway.
“We should give our report.” Avian doesn’t look at me when he says those quiet little words, but I can see the guilt in his gray eyes.
Good.
He should feel guilty.
Zilo though, he’s staring at me like he finally wants to call a truce. The set of his lips is uneasy like he wishes to say more but he doesn’t possess the kind of words I’d want to hear.
And we both know that.
Finally, Zilo gives in. He does. He just does it wrong. And instead of amending the broken relationship we’ve never fixed, he turns away and leads the other two men out to give that Goddessdamn important High Hell report.
One by one they exit through the glossy door frame. It’s a slow leave of them walking away, so slow that Roman has time to glance back my way, his lips parting without sound. The hurt in the room is a living, breathing thing that presses down on me.
Does it press into him too?
His attention stays locked on me, his hand lingering on the doorknob.
Say something!
Anything.
Say fucking anything.
Please.
He lazily pulls the handle, and the door glides closed behind them with a quiet, whispered click.
Then the dampness in my eyes hits my cheeks, and I can’t seem to stop it all from coming. The pressure in my chest is too much and forces out the tears faster and faster until I can’t hear anything but my racing pulse in my ears.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I scold myself.
“Yes, you should have,” an ominous faraway voice answers.
My shoulders tense as my hands fist at my sides, and I’m on the defense in the silent bedroom.
Alone.
The beast deep inside me vibrates against my chest with a roaring warning that doesn’t translate against my lips. I suddenly wish my father wasn’t so adamant about hiding my natural form. I should have shifted at a young age and embraced that side of me.
Now I’m twenty-one, and the creature is lost inside myself.
And I’m just a fool for thinking my own strength is enough in a realm of immeasurable power.
I scan the room from left to right. The dark colors of the walls, the floors, the furniture and bedding, it all bleeds into one blanket of blackness. Nothing’s there.
Her face flashes white right in front of me, and I lash out without hesitation. The sting of my palm against her face is a snapping sound.
I flinch harder than she does from the realization of what I’ve done.
I slapped the Night Witch…
Fuck.
Her pencil thin eyebrows lift high, and she blinks away whatever she feels from the hard sting of my skin against hers.
“I-I’m sorry, Creatchin,” I say with my shoulders held tight and my words tasting far more formal than I’ve ever tried to be in my entire life.
“Don’t be.” A hint of a smile pulls at her black lips.
“Don’t ever be sorry, Cersia. Don’t drown in your emotions of uncertainty.
Uncertainty solves nothing! Actions do.” Her thin hands fold one over the other, and I notice how slender her frame is and how beautiful the glittering black lace is that covers her in a wafting floor length gown.
In a way, she’s beautiful. And tragic. That tragic beauty is a haunting image to stare dead in the face. Is that what I’ll become as well as the years pass by: a tragic beauty?
“So.” She seats herself at the center of the velvet settee, long legs crossing in a fluid motion that sways her gown. “What’s your plan, Cersia?”
I don’t reply but simply let that question grow in my mind until it fills every little space of my thoughts.
“My plan…” Images of how easily I could gain the Prince’s trust spark one after the other behind my eyes. “It isn’t my plan.” I answer instead.
Because it’s not. This isn’t my war. It’s theirs, and I’m just here to help.
I want to help.
“You know as well as I do, you’re the heart of this little plot they’ve created. Tell me what the heart wants.” Long black hair cascades around her sharp features as she looks at me like an alluring nightmare.
“I want to be useful. I want purpose—”
“Lies!” She snaps the word out in a rattling tone, but her features remain stony and poised. “Everyone wants something. Even if they don’t know it yet.”
It feels like an accusation, but what she’s accusing doesn’t immediately settle in, it slams in. And it occurs to me so suddenly that my brows rise high. “You think I want the crown of hell?”
Thin eyebrows lift on her pale face in a sort of questioning don’t you? appearance.
“I don’t want to be queen of this realm that I know very little about.” And what I do know, it isn’t looking fucking good here.
Goddess no. I don’t want this responsibility.
“Then think about who should have the crown.” She waits patiently, but it’s like she’s leading me around to questions she knows all the answers to.
With heavy confusion clouding my thoughts, I actually take a moment to consider what I do know about the realm of hell…
The Prince is a deadly asshole… The people live in tattered clothes and could be better taken care of… The dynamics of the guards—the High Hell—it’s a nice set up, but the proud warriors abuse one another all because the Prince is obviously threatened by his brother. His brother.
“Roman,” I whisper like a treasonous sin.
Her eyes widen with a glinting, knowing look.
She brought me here because Roman should own the crown. I can help him do that. But the three of them are constantly watching their backs.
As they should.
One wrong move, and they could all be murdered for their crimes against Prince Ravar.
Unless someone else does their dirty work for them.
It all clatters into place in my messy thoughts.
“I’m going to kill the Prince.” I look up at her suddenly, and those thin black painted lips carve up in a pleased, gruesome smile.
“Good.” That smile widens until vicious, inky teeth reveal her happiness. “And I’ll help you.”