I humiliated her, and I did so in front of Aziel.
He may be her father, but he’s also the King of Wrath. The way she looked at him afterward, the open devastation that took over her features, was painful to see. I can’t fathom how Aziel felt. He left immediately after she did, vanishing without a word.
“I’d like us to start over,” I say. There’s no point in lying. “We got off to a bad start, and I’d love to clear the air between us.”
Cassia’s smile grows. “I would love that, too.”
She has a particular face she makes when she’s worked up. Her eyes grow wide, giving her a borderline crazed expression. I noticed it when we were in Greed, but I didn’t think too much of it.
It’s the same expression she made before attacking me in Aziel’s office. I’m beginning to learn it means dangerous thoughts are swirling through her mind.
Cassia gestures to the chair opposite her desk, waving her arm in a dramatic, sweeping movement. She’s welcoming me to sit? I anticipated her refusing to speak with me, maybe even trying to attack me again. She’s plotting. She has no interest in starting over with me. That’s disappointing but not entirely unsurprising.
I shake my head, politely declining her offer to sit. I’m not going to linger, not when she’s acting this peculiar. It’s a sign of bad things to come.
“I’m actually quite relieved to see you,” Cassia says, ignoring my rejection. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior the other day. I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”
I swallow, my throat dry. “I appreciate your apology.”
Cassia blinks twice, her unnerving smile and rigid posture unmoving. It’s beyond creepy, and it remains with me long after I find an excuse to leave her office. What’s her game?
Chapter Twenty-Three
CASSIA
KILL THEM WITH kindness.
It’s a human expression Mom is particularly fond of, but I’ve never paid it any mind until now. My usual methods won’t work with Rexton, leaving me no choice but to be creative. That’s fine. I’m exceptionally creative.
I maintain my relaxed posture as I stroll down the hallway, projecting an image of self-control. I haven’t seen Rexton since he came to my office last week to apologize, but he can’t avoid me forever. I’ve debated seeking him out, but I have to tread carefully. Rexton isn’t a fool. He’ll never trust me if I lay it on too thick.
I’ll be friendly, but I’ll maintain distance. He’s been put in charge of Wrath’s military efforts, which means we’ll be in several of the same meetings. It guarantees there’s nevertoomuch physical distance between us. Our connection, and his trust, will come with time. I’ll make sure of it.
The report Wren provided initially seemed useless, but I’ve found use for the information it contains. Rexton was born a shadow—a rare, unfavorable predicament. In Wrath, many would consider it a fate crueler than death.
I suspect Rexton carries several wounds from his childhood.
His peers would’ve been cruel to him, and judging by the sheer amount of hospital records I still refuse to read through, his family gave him no love. Wraths are widely regarded as the most vicious of the demons, but we aren’t monsters.
We love our families, our friends, our kingdom. We’re proud.
Rexton’s family was an exception. He was abused, the extent of which I remain unaware, but the one page I skimmed was damning. He had several dark bruises around his neck, his ulna was shattered, and he was wearing ratty, dirty clothing.
Rexton was a shadow, but he had just enough of a physical form to abuse.
He had the worst of both worlds.
He must be desperate for kinship. He’s been an outcast for most of his life, and I’m willing to bet he secretly longs for connection. He longs for all the things he was never given.
I’m going to give them to him.
I’m going to be kind and patient. I’m going to earn his trust. I’ll get him in a place where he would do anything for me, and then I’ll destroy him. I feel guilty exploiting his greatest weakness, but I have no other options.
It takes a considerable amount of power for a shadow to gain a physical form, and Rexton is fucking strong. He’s an anomaly, and I suspect my parents had something to do with his rapid acceleration. It’s unheard of.
There’s chatter in the meeting room as I step inside. I’m the last to arrive, but I’m not late. Eight of Aziel’s generals sit around a long table, with Rexton at the far end.
The head of the table remains open, reserved for me.
