Where the outside of the castle was renowned for its beautiful architecture—paper-thin and perfectly manicured pathways responsible for connecting the various wings, opalescent walls that appeared to be dipped in the same ethereal air that clung to all Serevalen—its innards were anything but.
The stained-glass windows lining every wall of the throne room failed to illuminate its darkness. It was as if the space devoured the natural light before it could ever enter, suffocating it just like my father’s reign had suffocated humanity. The same black stone from the spire, visible outside, speared its way into the room, penetrating thepolished black marble that had witnessed every expression of fate my father had determined. With every step to the dais, my father’s transgressions loomed, beckoning me to join them. And while I refused, I still sat beside him on a deep crimson throne, looking down on anyone who dared set foot beyond the blood-red mahogany doors at the end of the long pathway lined with statues of the haunting creatures of the sea.
Overhead, the painted mirage of the Others gazed down upon us, serving as a reminder of their presence amidst the ongoing rebellion against order. Every relic etched onto their skin spoke of their power, where warnings of their capabilities were whispered in hushed tones throughout the Capital. Each of the five wore the same expression, one that signified an unwillingness to consider the slightest opposition to their virtues. The cloaks they wore, concealing their lifelike stares, hid the rest of their features while also blanketing us with the reminder that they were always watching.
Where they were celestial, they were equally haunting, beings that many didn’t dare to oppose. The very aura they cast demanded devotion, an unwavering commitment, or the consequences of damnation—a reality for those who once stood beside them in equality, the gods whom they’d cast out because of their love for humanity—the gods whom those praying for freedom and sovereignty worshipped.
Gods whomIrevered.
“Olliviera is renowned for her obedience within our family, and she is more than inclined to accept every nuance that comes with being a woman who kneels at the feet of a man in power. Just as your son, Prince Kael, will be once his transition to take over the throne begins.” Moving my gaze from the well-dressed, dark-haired male—Aevander—who offered his daughter up as if she were nothing more than a prized pig, I landed on my father.
His golden locks, a mirror to my own, fell in tumbled waves to his shoulders. They bore the weight of his role, growing past their usual length because his attention had always remained fixed on the need for control instead of his appearance. Crow’s feet lined the corners of hiseyes as his mouth curved into a smile that every citizen living within the Capital had come to know.
It was feigned gentleness, a ploy compared to the shadows his irises contained, the same shadows that had swallowed him since before I could remember. Their deep sepia hue seemed to darken year after year, until only an inky black remained, serving as the only warning of the malice he harbored beneath his mask.
He was the monster everyone believed him to be.
“And what do you have to say for yourself, lady?” My father’s voice rolled through the throne room, further tainting its walls with his immorality.
As if trained in every movement, Olliviera’s gaze lifted, her honeydew irises settling on mine before cautiously moving toward the man who addressed her. Glancing up at him beneath fluttering lashes, she extended a respect that had been the furthest thing from earned—it’d been coerced through threat.
“My Lord, at twenty-six, my fertility sits high, and I do not wish to wait any longer to carry on a potential legacy.”
Oh, gag me.
She continued, despite my internal revulsion. “Within our family of six children, I am the only female. As for my father’s brothers, they all bore males as well. My mother’s side is no different.” Casting her eyes up to me, a gentle smile graced her petal-rose lips, but something unreadable danced in the shadows of her pupils. “If granted the graciousness of being Prince Kael’s betrothed, I am confident that we will bear a son who will ultimately take over the throne as we grow old together.”
My father’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he turned his attention back to Aevander. “Enlighten me as to what benefactors the Tremoille bloodline will bring us. This union is not only about ensuring the Marellan lineage continues, but also about utilizing it as a strategic advantage within our societal structure. We are speaking not only of the nuances of royal marriage but of the resources that come with the joining of familial ties.”
“We have connections overseas,” Aevander stated matter-of-factly. “To the continent of Narvendor.”
“And what of that is of benefit to us?”
“Trade, of course.” Her father paused briefly, as if attempting to build the anticipation, but I was the farthest from interested. “And an army far larger than what we have here, led by a ruthless commander who will decimate whatever he wishes.”
“Is this a threat of a looming war? Or a posed opportunity to expand our reign onto another continent?”
“The latter, your majesty.” Aevander put his hand to his chest before offering a low and deep bow. “As one who traveled overseas before earning my position in the military ranks under your command, I may have had the opportunity to speak to the Sane family.”
The Sane family? Is this man merely a liar?
“And?”
“And I feel there could be an immense benefit for both parties in joining hands, not only in trade, but in warfare.” Standing, Aevander ran a hand down his crimson doublet. “If you wish to maintain your position on the throne, I feel union between your son and my daughter would provide you with the very resources you need to do so.”
“Consider it done.” My father’s words came as a mark of my finality, cinching down on the chain he’d kept wrapped around my throat as a reminder that my autonomy never had and never would belong to me. “In two weeks from today, Olliviera will wed the last-standing Marellan—my son, Kael.”
My fingers threaded through his curly locks, tugging against them with every ounce of desperation I felt. Our lips clashed, tongues whipping against one another in the same manner we wielded our swords. Growling headily, I reached down, tugging on the azure tunic he wore, a color imprisoning him to the crown—a crown I was the heir to.
Pulling back, his chest rose and fell with heated breaths that mirrored my own. “Fuck, Kael.”
“Are you suddenly opposed to fucking me, Percy?” I snarled, my fists closing around the thin fabric of his shirt before yanking it over his head.
“Opposed?” he chuckled, gazing down at me beneath hooded brows, his emerald stare piercing every corner of my soul. “For you,myprince, never.”
Reaching up, he helped me rid him of the material, and as soon as he was bare in front of me, I couldn’t help but admire every inch of him.
Ysalyne had etched his body with attentive care, crafting him not only into a refined soldier but a man whose very footfalls I would worship in this life and onto the next. From the lulls and valleys of his vigor to the scars littering his olive skin, every inch of him was utterly breathtaking, a sight I would never tire of seeing.
