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Had the king become violent when he believed the baby was another’s? Scared her enough to take him away to another kingdom—one he couldn’t reach?
“Can immortals even have children with mortals?” Nava’s voice held bitterness as she glared at the king. “Because I doubt they can.”
“Orion didn’t have pointed ears or the wings of our kind. Only a weaker fae could have produced such offspring. Not I, who possessed the Gift of the Fallen.” The king stood on wobbly legs, leaning heavily against the chair.
Even now, the broken child inside Orion worried about this monster. But he would never refer to him as father ever again.
“The midwives told us that your lack of fae traits was an effect of mixed blood. That, since she was a magic-wielder, there was a possibility your fae traits would present along with the human magic.”
Which was precisely what had happened when Orion turned five. The Crows had found him and whisked him away at a young age to become their weapon. “So you told everyone she had taken your heir, so no one would question how she died and know that you killed her.”
King Oberon remained silent, still gripping the furniture hard enough for his knuckles to turn pale. He hadn’t cared enough. Not about his queen, nor his son. To him, their union had been a transaction to obtain an heir and keep the kingdom alive.
“You never searched for me because you thought I was a bastard.”
“What are you going to do, Orion? Kill me?” The king leaned forward. He didn’t appear the slightest bit afraid to die. “Go on, I’m sure our people will believe you. After all, you didn’t abandon them for more than a decade to chase after a woman.”
The manipulative bastard…
“Then you also demanded to come here when I requested to speak with your soulmate, alone.” The king circled the chair and dropped into it unceremoniously. Perhaps he’d thought Orion would do something rash, like actually kill him. “I have given you everything, even after you abandoned me. The knowledge to control your gift, power, gold…”
“Who would our people believe?” the spirits of Orion’s shadows wailed in his ears, loud and clear, although the king had left the words unspoken.
“What if I don’t care if they believe me? I don’t need to be their king. I can live anywhere inside the kingdom to maintain whatever magical balance our ancestors bargained for. This castle can crumble into dust once you’re gone for all I care.”
The lie burned his tongue like acid rolling down the back of his throat, searing his vocal cords. Orion nearly choked, struggling to keep his arms stuck to his sides, to not grab at his throat and give the monster the satisfaction of watching him struggle.
It didn’t matter, for the king’s lips tilted up into a faint smile. “I always wondered if you were more human than fae and could lie, just like Briar did. It turns out you cannot.”
Nava jumped out of her seat and rushed to Orion’s side, her brows drawn together as she stroked his arm. The warmth of her magic soothed the pain.
“Ark?” Her voice came into his head, trembling with emotion. He couldn’t tell where the anger that pulsed deep within him began and where the sorrow ended.
“If you’re done trying to lie to me and yourself, we can both move past this setback?—”
Setback? Was that all that burning his mother alive was to this bastard?
Orion flew forward, ignoring the pain that flared from his injured wings, and collided with the king in a pile of legs and arms. His fist met the king’s jaw with a loud crack.
Then he punched him again and again. Blood splattered his knuckles from a deep cut in the king’s lip. His wide blue eyes met Orion’s right before the next blow rained down upon him.
Memories of his mother struggling against the burning tree flared inside him like wildfire. How much she’d suffered. How angry her spirit was. Darkness crept over the edges of Orion’s vision, and the mist of his power crawled up his fingers slowly.
“Take him,” a voice whispered in his ear.
“He deserves it,” another goaded.
He pulled on the king’s energy as he attempted to push him back and get Orion off him. But his efforts were a weak wisp of nothingness compared to Orion’s rage.
“Ark, let him go. He doesn’t deserve your humanity.” Nava grasped Orion’s hand and gently pulled him away. Her voice was a warm blanket in a sea of ice. He blinked away the haze of tears that clouded everything, and the room came into focus again.
Her hands framed his face, and as he focused on her features, illuminated by the flickering candlelight from the walls, his heartbeat slowed, making space for the true feeling—a sorrow so raw he nearly collapsed with it.
“You’re pure evil,” he heard Nava say. “I never understood Arkimedes’s fears of what he would become if he let his darkness consume him, but I do now.” She glared at the king, who lay groaning on the ground. “Even though you speak so righteously about sacrifice for your people, all you are is a monster.”
The doors of the library swung open, and the seven guards and his father’s women poured in, rushing to the king. Still, no one attempted to arrest him, not even the concubines.
“Thank you,” he whispered to Nava through their mind bond, unable to gather the strength to say it out loud.
