Chapter 1 #2
She was so much stronger than she realized.
Stronger than me in some ways. I needed her, like I needed air to breathe.
But the truth was, she didn’t need me. Not to fight for her.
Not to protect her. She’d survive this. She would.
And she’d move on. She’d done it before.
And much as that stung, much as I hated the thought of her with anyone else, the thought of someone else holding her at night, talking to her, kissing her …
it was strangely comforting to know. To know that one day she’d have love again, and safety, passion, partnership … More tears fell.
When I was gone, she could survive however she needed to. Just as long as she did. And I’d watch over her, and I’d wait. Wait for however long it took for her to join me in whatever world was next. It would hurt. It would really fucking hurt.
It already did.
But that was okay, too. Because it had to be. Because I’d spend an eternity waiting for her if I had to. If it meant she could have a long, and happy life—even if that was a life without me in it. Still, I would wait.
My vision blurred, and a door opened down the hall. Fresh shouts coming from outside sounded within the walls of the Palace prison. The noise exploded as it rushed towards me.
Great. A full audience was gathered in the arena.
And if it was possible to believe from their auras, from the frenetic energy pulsing through the walls, it seemed as though they were even more starved than I was.
They’d expected blood today—expected violence, gore, and entertainment.
It had been promised to them before the Valabellum games were called off.
Before Emperor Theotis was murdered. Before Emperor Avery replaced him.
Well, they could cheer up now. Because they were going to get their wish—my blood.
Hopefully, I’d make a good show. One they’d remember.
It was a small comfort that Lyr wouldn’t know about this in time—there’d be no way for word to reach her of my fate before it happened.
Not with how fast they were moving. Not while she remained in Cretanya.
It was better that way. Better that she stayed far away from here.
Better that she stayed safe and was spared from seeing me like this, along with everyone else I loved.
Everyone except for Kenna who was still here.
But she would persevere. She was strong, too.
Boots marching across the floor echoed against the walls as they headed toward me. I recognized the approach of my father at once. The sound of his gait was familiar. And hateful. Unwelcome. The force of his aura followed.
His shadow loomed over me before he came into view. I straightened as best I could beneath my chains, and blinked rapidly, until my tears were dried. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t shed one more Godsdamned fucking tear. Not in front of him.
A moment passed as we stared each other down, and I let my full hatred for this man, this sorry excuse for a father, wash over me.
I remembered his crimes. All of them. If I wasn’t bound, if I could still access my aura, I would have blasted it at him.
But I had to settle for a glare, for the constant growl that curled my lips in his presence.
At last, he stepped up to the bars, his eyes narrowed. “So, Rhyan, this is it. You’ve finally done it,” he snarled.
I noted that despite his bravado, he still kept somewhat of a distance from the bars, and from me—unlike the last time he’d had me in this position.
Back in Glemaria, I’d been bound and locked up.
Thrown into the deepest levels of the Glemarian dungeons.
And I still found a way to choke him. He still remembered, and he was cautious, afraid to get too close.
I was behind fucking bars, chained to the wall, three bindings spelled across my body, and still …
I guess I could take that as a small win. I’d take anything I could get at this point.
“What is this?” I asked, my voice raw. I glanced pointedly behind him, no longer wanting to look at him. His face made me sick. “Making your final goodbye?”
Slowly, he shook his head, and I caught sight of some gray hairs in his beard I’d never seen before. His eyebrows narrowed to a deep V. “Something like that I suppose. And thank the Gods.”
“I wouldn’t thank the Gods,” I growled.
“I certainly won’t be thanking you. Because it was you who finally pushed me to this point,” he continued, ignoring my words. He was always ignoring my words. Refusing to hear me. Even this time—the last time. I guess there was one benefit to death. I wouldn’t have to experience this again.
“I tried to avoid this at all costs,” he continued. “To my own detriment at times. To Glemaria’s. And I did all of this for you.”
“For me?” I laughed. “Fuck. Off.” I gritted.
“You’re always the fucking martyr, aren’t you?
The savior, the hero and the victim. Are you not tired of your own Godsdamned gryphon shit by now?
Of your constant lies? Because I sure as hell am.
So just go fuck yourself. Because you did this. You chose this. You always chose this.”
“I did no such thing,” my father said. “I could have turned you in plenty of times over the years.” His mouth tightened. “I didn’t. I kept you safe. Protected! You were the one who compromised everything. You were the one who got yourself caught.”
“And I’d do it again!” I yelled.
“Would you now? Let me guess. For her?” he taunted.
I snarled, daring him to say her name. Daring him to speak of Lyriana in my presence.
He shook his head, and laughed. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s always for her.”
My hands flexed at my sides, at least, as much as they could.
“Yes,” I seethed. “It is. And you better fucking remember that! Because everything I said still stands. I meant every word when I swore to you that if you hurt her, if you harmed one hair on her head, there would be nowhere safe for you.”
“And nowhere I can hide?” he asked mockingly, repeating my words from a month ago. So, he had remembered that, too—good. But right now, he was trying to goad me, I could see it in his eyes, feel it in the storm of his aura. His anger. His hatred.
He shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “All of these threats you make for her are useless. You seem to forget in that small feeble mind of yours that you’re the one in danger.
” He scoffed, “And yet, here you are. Helpless. Bound. And soon, you’ll be stripped.
Your threats mean nothing. Your words mean nothing.
And your legacy will mean nothing. Because I will find her, trust me.
And when I do, there will be hell waiting for her.
She will do my will, and Kane’s, and so much more.
She will have no choice. She’ll be in his bed and anywhere else I fucking want her.
She already signed her life away. To me. ”
“No. She’ll find a way,” I said. “And you’ll lose. She’s stronger than you. Stronger than you know.” I smiled, my lips wide like a madman’s. “She’s stronger than me. And she’ll be the end of you, if I can’t be the one.”
His eyes narrowed further, but his chin twitched—one of his agitated tells. I was getting to him.
I straightened. “You’re afraid,” I said.
His aura shifted, the change unmistakable.
“Aren’t you?” I laughed hysterically. “I’m about to be taken to the wolves, stripped of my clothing, of my power, of everything—all in front of the whole Godsdamned Empire.
I’ll be executed on your orders,” I yelled.
“Dead within the hour,” I choked out. “And yet, you—you— are more afraid than I am.”
His nostrils flared, his neck reddening. “What makes you so sure? Hmmm?”
“You bent the knee,” I spat. “You submitted to Avery fucking Kormac.” I shook my head, feeling farther than Lethea with what I expected to be my last moments.
A countdown to the end, a countdown that was almost over.
But this was worth the time I had left. I stepped forward, the small amount my chains would afford me.
Barely inches from the wall, and nowhere near the bars. But it was enough.
“You didn’t give me up all these years because you cared about me.
” My voice cracked, and for a second, I hated myself for it.
Hated myself for knowing what this man was.
Knowing he was far worse than any akadim or demon of the ancient world.
He was far more sinister. Because, at the very least, the other monsters presented themselves as such.
They were honest in their monstrousness. They wore no masks. They were naked.
But this man? The one who raised me, who claimed the title of father—he was different.
Because in some small corner of my soul, something deep inside me still craved his love, still wanted him to love me back.
To be proud of me. To care about me. And he didn’t.
He never did. I watched him kill my mother right in front of my eyes.
I wanted to stab a knife through his throat and cut him limb from limb.
And I still wanted him to hug me, and comfort me.
Even now. I wanted him to tell me it would be all right.
That dying would be easy. That it wouldn’t hurt.
Or Gods, tell me that he’d made a mistake, that he spoke to the Emperor, and he was going to break me out. He was going to save me. Let me go.
He wasn’t going to do that. It was clear now: he never cared. If I was being honest with myself, it was clear a long fucking time ago.
But hearts are fickle things. And hope sometimes takes too long to die.
“You may not care about me,” I gritted my teeth. “Or love me. I know that. But I’m still your son. I’m still your fucking son!” I roared.
He paled, but kept his mouth shut.