119. Violette
VIOLETTE
Shock and horror lick an icy stripe directly up my spine as I force my features to remain neutral.
My limbs tingle, my vision sways, my heart pounds, and oh-sacred-fuck I feel like I can’t breathe.
The crowd cheering before me is nothing but a blur.
My father’s voice becomes distant. Something soft and familiar nudges my arm.
A head.
I glance down to see Azrael’s blessed head nudging me like a dog begging for attention. As my hand glides over the soft tendrils of his hair between his lethal horns, the tension in my chest eases, the breath seized in my throat releases, my vision steadies.
He shudders, as do the feathers of his wings, bent awkwardly along the floor behind him from where he’s knelt beside me, when my hands strokes down their dark, lustrous plumage.
My other hand seeks out Levi beside me. And then Lazarus, just behind me.
If it weren’t for them, I’d surely have collapsed by now.
My father says something that causes the crowd to roar with laughter.
My gaze finally lifts to meet his. A knowing glint in his eyes makes me ravenous for his blood.
“... I have no doubt, she’ll soon have you all just as enamored as her loyal concubines.”
I have no fucking clue what’s going on, but I have no desire to rule his city.
To fill his depraved shoes.
I force myself to take in the crowd once more.
Allies and enemies.
The only potential allies I see are all wearing palladium.
“To Princess Raia—your soon-to-be Queen!”
The crowd roars again.
My blood boils.
The music returns, rising to mockingly joyous cacophony.
My father shifts towards me, and blessedly, doesn’t touch me. Perhaps he can sense my rage—so potent, it’s a wonder I haven’t grown poisonous spines from every inch of my flesh.
He takes a seat on his throne. The smile on his face is unsettlingly genuine as he gestures for me to sit in the gigantic shell-backed throne beside him.
“Join me, daughter.”
The challenge in his eyes is evident, but I can’t help but recognize the twinkle of hope in them.
Two female concubines, both topless, settle on petite, fluffy cushions on the floor beside him—one of whom is distinctly syrith.
Her pale blonde hair hangs in a mess of waves at her back, complimenting the monochrome aesthetic of tan skin, brown eyes, gilded horns and bronze gossamer wings.
The palladium collar around her throat is also plated in gold.
She is... remarkably beautiful. Like treasure personified.
When my gaze lingers on her, her bowed head lifts almost imperceptibly and her eyes dare a fleeting glance that flicks swiftly over me and my own concubines before fixating on the floor.
My eyes snap to my father’s. A corner of his mouth, so similarly shaped to mine, curls at one corner in a cruel grin.
Just looking at him is painful—the resemblance too obvious to ignore. Even in our mannerisms.
The expression and the knowing look in his eyes seems to say why yes, this is Lucen and Somnus’s soulbound. This is precisely the female you vowed to try and rescue. I dare you to try.
I cannot fathom how he would know, or why Somnus would betray us, but I realize that I am so out of my depths I might very well drown standing on solid ground.
Though the more my mind lingers on the idea that it was Somnus who betrayed us, the more wrong it feels, even if I can’t imagine who else could have known.
The leather handle of the three chained leashes in my hand is the only thing keeping me afloat. That I am not alone at all, but with my mates. So I stride towards the throne awaiting me and sit just as a male concubine appears from behind my father’s throne.
As stormy, deep blue eyes, framed by dark blond lashes, meet mine.
As a strong jaw that I once peppered with kisses, clenches.
As my eyes sink briefly to the faint, unmistakable, and all-too-familiar scars decorating a broad chest that I once sought solace in.
Somehow the shock of seeing him is even more powerful than my father publicly announcing me as his heir. I feel as if I’ve been struck with a bolt of lightning.
My father snaps his fingers and points at the floor in front of him.
Wearing only the permitted cloth of two handspans, Lucen promptly steps forward and kneels in front of him settling on all fours.
My father props one foot up on Lucen’s back.
One might expect me to feel a twisted sense of satisfaction that this is where Lucen’s life has led him.
I do not.
Instead, I am struck further with horror as I watch Lucen’s fingers press uselessly into the marble floor; as I take in the sight of the map of scars lining his back.
Not from a blade, but slender and almost hair-thin.
As though from a reed cane.
And when my gaze returns to my father’s, his expression bears the smugness and certainty of a man justified.
I am... unmoored.
Dizziness returns.
Lazarus, Azrael, and Levi settle on the floor beside and in front of me, kneeling on dark blue cushions. Lazarus dares a brief glance at me through the slits of his dark mask.
Servants arrive a moment later, boasting trays of drinks and savory, bite-sized morsels.
I grab the first thing put in front of me—some kind of fizzy herbal tonic that I immediately recognize is laced with selarium and bellthorne—both of which are known to sedate the parts of the brain responsible for fight-or-flight.
At this particular moment, I am unable to muster the energy to care whether or not this is a subtle attempt to weaken me or soothe me, because if I don’t take something my psyche just might fracture.
I down the tonic in one blessed, crisp gulp as my father speaks, gaze fixed on the revelry before us, the hedonism.
“You’ll have to forgive my guests for their... enthusiasm.”
I don’t even bother to stifle my unladylike snort of sardonic laughter.
At least there’s something my father fails to shock me with: the sight of his guests and their concubines copulating for all to see.
I sigh with misplaced satisfaction.
“Fear not. My innocence was robbed of me too long ago.”
His gaze hits me like a fucking harpoon.
When I don’t meet it, he’s the first to break the heightening tension.
“My joy that you have finally come is... immeasurable.”
Thirty-eight years worth of heartbreak surges like a tidal wave.
My chin trembles as my lungs struggle to grasp a full breath.
I cannot speak lest my emotion burst free.
Azrael bows forward to place his head in my lap, shortly followed by Levi.
And even Lazarus plants his palms on the floor in front of me and presents his back to me so that I may have a point of connection to him, in solidarity, even if under the guise of a footstool.
Stroking both Azrael and Levi’s heads, I slip my heels off and, bending at the knees, press the soles of my feet against Lazarus’ back as tears threaten me, burning with fiery demand.
Still, I am unable to manage words.
My father continues.
“I have waited your entire life, Raia.”
Oh gods. What is this? What is happening? What kind of sick fuckery is this?
My breath shudders out of me and the crowd beyond the stage blurs as emotion conquers me.
I was not meant for masks, court posturing, deception, and manipulations.
Why is he doing this? There are easier ways to kill me.
At my enduring silence, he removes his foot from Lucen’s back and leans towards me.
“Allow me to show you something..."
When I don’t reply, he stands, offering his hand.
I grip the leashes in my lap.
His slate gray eyes soften. “I would never harm you.”
My grip on the leashes tightens.
He nods in understanding. The sadness in his eyes is so palpable it almost seems sincere.
My father folds us into a hallway of what appears to be an abandoned part of the palace. A thick layer of dust lines whatever paintings, sculptures, and statues that aren’t covered with sheets.
Alongside the chill in the air that creeps into my skin, there’s a gloom that seems determined to sink into my bones.
I’m more grateful than ever that Levi, Lazarus, and Azrael are beside me.
My father’s words are solemn. The grief in them is suffocating.
“This was your mother’s wing.”
My eyes lift to his as my heart stalls along with my footsteps.
“It was our wing,” he adds pointedly.
Nostalgia and heartbreak are heavy in his gaze as it passes over our surroundings.
He steps towards a large painting where a white sheet hangs haphazardly.
The gilded edge of its frame peeks out from one corner.
He gently tugs on it, and it slides off the frame, pooling onto the floor in a plume of dust.
And my jaw falls right along with it.
My mother stares back at me as she stands beside my father, whose arm is wrapped around her waist. Held between them is an infant with baby butterfly wings, lilac eyes, and a cotton candy whirl of black hair through which the tiny nubs of her dark horns peek through.
Akash, please just kill me now.
I cannot take this anymore.
Tears spill down my cheeks in a relentless deluge.
My father’s voice softens. “Your mother never told you the truth..."
I can’t bear to look at him. Can’t bear to even speak. If I so much as try, some wretchedly soft part of me will break free.
“Raia, I always wanted you here with me.”
The anger inside dampens my sadness. Has me grinding my teeth. Enables me to speak without my voice breaking. Steeling myself, I turn away from the painting to face him. The look on his face is grim as though bracing himself for my venom.
“There are no number of sweet lies you can tell that will make me forget your absence; nor the constant hunger in my belly and my heart because of it.”
His jaw works, but he remains silent.
“I do not know what game you’re playing, or what you have planned, but there is, quite literally, nothing you could do to make me bend to your will. I would sooner die.”
My father shakes his head. “I have no intention of making you do anything. All of this is yours. By birth. By right. It always was. Your mother was the one who left. I spent years trying to convince her to come back..."