Chapter 22 Not the King They Wanted – Vexar
NOT THE KING THEY WANTED
VEXAR
SHE DOESN’T WANT to die.
As Amara sleeps, her words echo in my mind, increasing the ugly weight of my guilt.
Her ability to trust has been eroded into something sharp and brittle, and I feel those jagged points with every doubtful glance and word. She has experienced the very worst sentient beings have to offer, and I dread what will happen when she learns of my complicity in the horrors she faced.
The scent of her hair fills my nose as the shadow in my depths begs for vengeance. It repeats the same phrase, again and again, even as I try to silence it.
End them. End them.
Gaius placed Amara in my cell. That much is clear.
And Amara is convinced he will execute her for saving my life.
While I do not doubt he will try, he will not succeed.
No act of the gods or force of nature could tear her from my grasp.
There is no price I would not pay, nor sacrifice I would not make.
She is my Queen. My mate. Chosen by the gods themselves to bring hope to my people and shine a light into the dark places I once ignored. And yet, there is also a darkness in our bond. One I am beginning to fear.
The Zhyrrak is not what I thought it would be. A new violence lurks beneath my surface. A rage that sears my heart at the very thought of Amara being harmed.
If she is ever truly in danger, what will I become? A monster? A demon? A thoughtless killer?
An inner turmoil stretches through me. A mix of apprehension and dark curiosity. Until now, I had never considered how much damage I could do with my bare hands, but as I lay here, holding my Queen, I know the scale of destruction I am capable of has no bounds. No limits. And that is terrifying.
Is there anything more dangerous than a Vhorathi with no limits? A King with no limits?
The true danger of a Zhyrrak-bonded warrior is so much greater than I was ever told.
While I do feel stronger, the threat of my increased physicality pales in comparison to the threat of my restructured priorities and the shadow that has awoken in my depths.
It feels like Talrath incarnate—a demon with a singular purpose—and I know I will not be able to keep it caged forever.
Worse than that, I fear it is the reason my ancestors were so deadly.
Perhaps that is why the stories are all so vague: the truth was too horrible to share.
I wish I understood what this all meant, but I know so little, and with each passing moment, it seems I know a little less. My eyes lock on the outline of the cell door, just barely visible in the dim light. The only thing I am certain of is that getting Amara out of here will not be easy.
She is not on Calidus by choice, and that complicates our situation.
She is bound by a contract I have no power to nullify.
Securing her freedom will require Gaius’s agreement, and if my suspicions are correct, the only thing he plans on agreeing to is my death.
While killing him would be the easy option, it would ultimately cause more problems than it solved.
It would leave my Obligation incomplete and Amara’s contract intact.
A challenge to my throne is one thing, but I am not willing to risk Amara being tied to an incomplete contract.
She would become a fugitive, and nowhere would be safe for her.
No. If we are to leave this place alive and free, it cannot be achieved through brute force. We must be smarter than our enemies. We must plan carefully. And, we must ensure that Gaius’s actions are seen by many.
I trace the line where Amara’s hip meets her abdomen and watch the subtle quiver of muscle beneath her pale skin.
In sleep, her emotions flow unbidden through our tether.
Wordless cries echo through my mind as her dreams oscillate between unimaginable terror and steady unease.
I hate what has been done to her and the scars it has left behind, but I think I hate myself more.
I failed her. I failed to see what was right in front of me.
I knew about Gaius’s insane laws—I saw the fights where ‘criminals’ were ‘brought to justice’—and yet I refused to see the truth until Amara told me she was not here by choice.
Gaius is not putting ‘criminals’ to death; he is murdering slaves for sport and using his ridiculous laws to do it legally.
I was a fool.
When I first heard the rumors, I scoffed. The idea of the Tusku selling sentient beings was absurd. Impossible. But the rumors kept coming until I could no longer disregard them. And yet, I failed to prove they were true.
I wish I had pushed back against Marius harder.
He was so content to believe the Senate.
So fearful of disobeying them. I recall the words he spoke to me so clearly.
“If the Lysaer and her government have determined this investigation is pointless, we must accept that. Do not ruin your reputation for this.”
At the time, I accepted his wisdom, but looking back, I fear that was a mistake.
I grit my teeth and force down the wave of regret that threatens to overtake me.
Emotion serves no purpose. Do not let it control you.
What happened cannot be changed. I must focus on the future, not the past.
Needing to remind myself that she is here now, I gently pull Amara closer, feeling her warm skin as it presses to mine and the way her breath skates up my neck.
There is a flicker of something panicked in our connection, and she wakes in a storm of flying limbs. Shrieks perforate the silence. Hooked fingers claw at me. Glassy eyes, wide and unseeing, search for something that is not there.
A nightmare.
“It is ok,” I say, gently redirecting her attempted strikes so she does not hurt herself. “You are safe.”
I repeat the words until her limbs fall and her eyes go wide with recognition.
Then she cries. For the second time in as many hours, her body shakes as she expels what feels like a lifetime of pent-up pain.
It is nearly unbearable, knowing there is nothing I can do to fix it.
So I hold her and let her pain become my own.
I accept every festering fear and absorb every limitless sorrow until her anguish blends with mine.
My muscles tense as if preparing for a fight, but there is no enemy here. Not anymore. The damage is in the past, and only the echoes of it remain.
“You are safe,” I say, uncertain of who my words are for. Her or me.
The Zhyrrak brought us together so I could be her safe harbor in the violent storms of life, but I fear that I am the violent storm.
When her sobs turn into silent tears, she whispers, “I’m sorry.”
I roll onto my back, pulling her with me until her head rests on my chest. “Do not apologize to me. Ever.”
“I hit you,” she whispers.
I shake my head and pull her arm over my body. “The only way you could harm me is by denying me your heart.”
She lies so still while her mind pulses with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration.
“I am so sorry,” I whisper. She pulls back to look at me, sensing the burden in my voice. “What were you dreaming about?” I ask, hoping to distract her from the increasing concern in her eyes.
With a sigh, she lies back down and pulls the blood-stained sheet up to her waist. There’s a long moment of silence before she answers. “The ship that brought me here,” she says quietly. “The box they kept me in. I go back every night, and I can’t make it stop.”
I close my eyes and breathe through the bubbling rage. Through our tether, I can nearly see the cramped space she was trapped in, and a sick understanding takes root. She was not just brought here; she was tortured. Her rage, her fear, her chaos, it all makes sense.
They put her in a box.
For that alone, there is nowhere those Tusku traders could hide where I will not find them. I will hunt them to the ends of the galaxy and bury them in the heart of a star. It is what I should have done long ago.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask in a steady voice.
She’s silent again for a long while, her cheek pressed against my chest, face turned away from mine.
“It was so dark, and then suddenly, it wasn’t.
There was a window or something at the end of the box, but it just looked like a blinding square of light.
I don’t know… That light scared me more than anything else had at that point.
” I feel her jaw working as she tries to find her words.
“They took them, the others … one by one.” Another pause.
“I had to listen to it all. I heard it all.”
My throat tightens. The silence between us stretches. Wind whips by the small window in whistling, howling gusts as if it is lamenting her pain.
“That’s what I dream about most—the screams. And this crashing metal sound that happened after they took someone.
” She shudders slightly. “I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to take it.
How long I’d stay … me.” She pauses, and I feel her eyelashes flutter.
“Sometimes, jets of ice-cold water would shoot through the box to … wash things away, and”—she inhales deeply as her fingers dig into the ribs of my uninjured side—“I just kept wondering how much longer I could lay there before I’d try to suck in a breath of it. ”
Every word feels like a blade that digs a little deeper into my heart, but I listen anyway. I let that blade bury itself in me, knowing my pain pales in comparison to hers.
End them, the dark voice whispers.
“Everything hurt. All the time. My skin. My joints. My fucking hair. And I kept hearing voices. Languages maybe? Sounds I didn’t recognize.
For a while, I thought the sounds were all in my head, but when that light came on, I saw.
” She swallows thickly. “There were so many boxes. Like a living morgue. That’s what I dream about most. The light. The boxes. The screams. All of it.”
End them.
Her story is worse than I had imagined. I knew she had been taken, but the brutality of it is unthinkable.
“That should not have happened to you,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “I am sorry.”
She angles her face towards mine, the dim light of Calidus’s moon dancing over her skin. “Your eyes…” she says quietly. “Why do they go black?”
I clear my throat. “I think it happens when you’re in danger.”
“But I’m not in danger.”
“You were.”
She nods slowly. “You know this isn’t something you can save me from, right?”
I bite back the tears that threaten to spill and work to keep my shadow buried deep. It wants out. It wants … destruction? Absolution? Vengeance? Maybe all of them.
End them. Save her.
Her thumb brushes over my lips. “Hey, it’s ok. I’m ok.”
My fingers weave themselves into her hair as I turn her mouth towards mine, letting her kiss pull me from the depths of my guilt and into the warmth of her embrace.
Emotion serves no purpose. Do not let it control you.
But the pain refuses to let go. It wants out.
When our lips part, I see the concern in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“I am fine,” I lie, even though I know she can see through it.
“No, you’re not.” She sits up, pulling the sheet with her to cover herself. It is the first time she has been shy about her body, and it feels like a slap in the face. Our fragile trust is already breaking.
“Is that … guilt?” she asks. “Why do you feel guilty?” When I fail to answer, her expression turns cold. “I get it, this is new and really fucking weird, but you agreed to not keep shit from me.”
As terrified as I am of losing her, my word is stronger than my axe, and I do not intend to break it. I will do the hard thing and be honest.