Isn’t Ravence enough? Isn’t Leo enough? Why do the Arohassin have to claim Samson as well?Samson had given them their due, paid his penance, and fought his way to his freedom. He had been a beacon for Yassen, a hope for better days. His only friend in the whole world; his only family.
Yassen had allowed the Arohassin to take many lives, but he could not let them have Samson’s. Samson must live.
And with Samson’s name came Elena’s, but he pushed the thought away. He couldn’t think about her now. If he allowed himself to, he would never make it back up the hill.
The engine thrummed to life, and Yassen pulled out of the alleyway. The streets were still empty as he weaved through the city. The rain grew harsh, lashing at the glass panes; the world blurred into bleeding strokes of color. Only the palace remained clear as it stood atop its hill, watching him.
Yassen could hear the faint music of violins and the tinkle of laughter as he passed underneath the ballroom windows toward the servants’ entrance. Two guards flanked the door in the rain. They stepped forward, and he threw back his hood.
“I thought you were inside,” the tall guard said, his hand on the hilt of his slingsword. “The king doesn’t want anyone seeing you.”
“I just wanted some fresh air,” Yassen replied.
“More hunting?” The other guard grinned, and the scar along his cheek twitched. “Did you bag any Arohassin?”
“They should’ve cleared out by now if they know what’s good for them,” the tall guard said. “No one attacks our queen without facing the sword.”
Yassen nodded, his face blank. “If I may, gentlemen.”
The tall guard nodded. “Rest well, Knight.”
Yassen entered and pulled on his hood again. He skirted the main courtyard where guests strolled underneath the large canopies of the banyan trees. He wondered if Elena was still in the ballroom, dancing among the spinning skirts. He wondered how she hid her grief.
The music and laughter faded as he walked deeper into the palace. A few servants scurried past, heading for the ballroom, and they nodded at him. When he reached the split of the palace wings, he stopped. A figure stood in the garden below. He recognized the tumble of curls immediately.
“I thought you were still dancing,” he called out, and Elena turned to look up at him.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy and curved down her bare shoulders, dusting the tops of her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. The golden necklace of the Phoenix shone against her brown skin. But her eyes, her eyes were as dark and tumultuous as a desert sky, and they were fixed on him.
Yassen breathed in sharply.
Fuck.
“I came to look for you, but you weren’t in your room,” she said.
“I went to get some air.” He descended into the courtyard and tugged off his hood. He stopped a few paces away from her, the wide trunk of the banyan between them. “Discreetly, of course.”
She did not smile. She stood in the moonlight, and it made her look ethereal, distant.
“I should have never forced you to take me to Jasmine,” she whispered.
He heard the tremble in her voice, saw the sorrow in her dark eyes.
He was painfully reminded of the moment he’d seen his mother’s charred body after they had cleared the fire. He had thrown up and heaved until there was nothing left within him, until he was as hollowed and empty as the blackened house.
“You can’t live with regret,” he said for the both of them.
Her earrings tinkled softly as she turned to him.
“How?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
Her eyes pulled him in, drowned him. She stepped closer, rounding the trunk.
“How did you go on when they died?”
He felt his heart hitch as she watched, waiting. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Why did you come looking for me?” he finally managed. “Aren’t you needed at the ball?”
