20. Raia #3
“I won’t pretend to know your father, but logic would say I can promise you that if he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. You’re his heir. The only one that I know of. It would make sense that he wants to manipulate you. That he’s keeping an eye on you until he might one day use you.”
The wheels of my mind turn.
I don’t want his throne.
I want freedom.
It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
Where can I hide?
For some godsforsaken reason, my mind first leaps to Azrael, but that’s obviously out of the question. The male has a soulbound and absolutely no loyalty to her.
I despise the fact that, despite my logic, I can’t seem to stop myself from asking.
“Does Azrael work for him? Does he know about all of this?”
Jealousy burns Lucen’s gaze.
“No. Azrael doesn’t know, nor does he work for your father. He’s just about the only person in the underbelly of this wretched continent who’s immune to your father’s malevolence.”
I feel a modicum of relief at his words. Perhaps because I am looking for any sign that at least some fraction of the kindness I’ve been shown was real.
That something was real.
A whisper in the back of my mind stills my thoughts—like I’m forgetting something, but I can’t place what.
“Did my father conspire against my mother? Did he have something to do with my mother’s death?”
Lucen slowly shakes his head. “I have no idea... Your father divulges nothing of his plans or machinations to anyone outside of his den. Though it wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”
Despite my unease and growing suspicion, the urge to flee supersedes it.
“Remove the ring.”
I offer my hand. His fingers grasp it, and once more, magic prickles over my skin. Its absence is the relief of removing a noose from around my neck.
The urge to run is powerful enough to have my magic whorling around my hands, staining my fingertips. I shake them out as I begin to pace.
I could try to open a portal and seek refuge in another realm, but my portal magic is still spotty at best, and I’d have no currency, no resources, no familiarity with any customs, thus increasing my likelihood of falling prey to some malevolent benefactor. No, that won’t do.
A distant continent, perhaps. My father sunk his claws into many places beyond Sinsól, but since he lost the war he waged a decade ago, it’s unlikely he has anyone who’s remained loyal to him outside of his city.
“If you’re going to hide, Raia..."
My gaze snaps to Lucen’s.
I know, but where?
I don’t dare ask aloud. The last person I’d want to know where I was going is Lucen.
Still, he discerns the logical direction of my thoughts.
“Go somewhere far. Somewhere... small. Just don’t forget your vow.”
If I weren’t so busy panicking, I’d snarl.
Instead, I’m pacing as I internally deliberate the non-negotiable traits of my future home.
Peaceful.
Safe.
Largely rural would be good.
“I can give you some money to get you started.”
A derisive snort escapes me.
“Already looking to make another bargain?”
Lucen gives me a bored look. “What good is a bargain to a dead male?”
About that...
“Did you really kill him because he attempted to violate me?”
If I didn’t know any better, I might interpret the expression tightening Lucen’s features to resemble guilt at the fact his deplorable actions have led me to believe otherwise. “Yes.”
My heart is too wounded for this; for the look in his eyes that says he cares; for any semblance of concern being shown by a male whom I was madly in love with a day ago. Yet the fact that he violated me, and nearly beat me to death, is more than I can handle.
Tears well in my eyes.
“Were you really going to make me work in your brothel?”
Lucen’s expression turns to one of torment. “No, Raia, of course not. I was furious. The idea of Azrael touching you... The idea of you enjoying it…”
Lucen’s expression darkens. He shakes his head as if trying to rid himself of the thought.
My eyes narrow. “And if my father found out you’d done such a thing?”
Does he care at all for my well-being?
Lucen’s jaw clenches before, under threat of the vow, he speaks the truth.
“He would no doubt have me tortured and executed.”
I am both relieved and wounded.
Relieved that my father would care if I were to meet such a fate—that he would kill on my behalf—and wounded by the fact that it was that knowledge that must be at least part of why Lucen wouldn’t dare such a thing.
I don’t have the stomach to ask if it is the only reason why he wouldn’t have forced me into his brothel.
Lucen lowers his gaze in shame.
“I am not a good male. I know that.”
His gaze lingers on some distant corner of the room for several moments, jaw clenching, as if having some internal debate.
“This elixir is wearing off, Raia. Kill me while you still can and fold as far away as your power will take you.”
My hand shakes as I grasp the blade, but steadies as I hold his gaze and lift his chin by the blade’s tip.
“How will I recognize her?”
“She’s a syrith... like your mother, I assume.”
My stomach twists.
Is that why my father keeps her?
“The only syrith in his harem, from what I’ve seen, the few times I’ve been to his palace.”
A tense moment passes.
“Let us see where fate leads me.”
The Adam’s apple of Lucen’s throat dips.
His eyes close, accepting death.
And I fold away.