“You mean to replace me.”
His words carried no question, just cold certainty. He gripped my forearm where I still held his tunic in a crushing grip. Accusation hardened his features, his nostrils flaring as a thin streak of blood dripped from his nose.
“Don’t make me.” I loosened my hold and waited, unmoving. If he wanted space, he would have to create it himself.
His eyebrows, raised in momentary shock, knitted into a dark scowl. A sneer tugged at his lip as he stepped back, the distance a shallow pretense of defiance.
“I’ll have your throne one day.” Poison laced every word, a slow drip of venom meant to linger.
“Perhaps.”
Let him simmer in the illusion of his own importance. Let him believe I would cast him aside. Not that I intended to wed again or risk bringing another heir into this cursed line.
Nienna’s image seared through me—head tilted back, lips parted in a moan as I pressed between her legs. The vision burned, a vivid memory, a cruel fantasy. I blinked it away, burying it with all the other impossible futures. She had to marry him, this festering wound of a man. She would suffer as I had, trapped in a farce of duty. But would he humiliate her, as his mother had me? Would he hurt her?
Rage coiled tight. I could still see the snap of his hand as it rose to strike her. A gesture too quick, too practiced. How many before her had suffered the heat of his ire?
He reached for a bottle of wine and hurled it at me as I lunged. It bounced off my shoulder before shattering on the floor, splinters of glass catching the dim light. I grabbed his overcoat, dragging him close until his nose nearly brushed mine. He clawed for my sword, but I held fast to the hilt, my laugh a low, bitter sound.
“You think you’re fit to rule because you wear silk and sit in comfort while others bleed for your peace?” My voice dropped to a dangerous hush. “Before you touch Princess Nienna again, ask Darius how many hands I’ve severed.”
Memories surged, unbidden—blades hacking through Velli limbs, screams swallowed by the clash of steel, and blood-soaked fields that reeked of death. I let him see it, all of it, the burden of my title, Golden Warrior of Elohios, earned in bone and gore.
“A king can rule without hands, after all.” I smiled, a sharp curve of teeth meant to cut, and shoved him back.
He staggered, trembling, his breath ragged as fury and fear warred in his expression.
Part of me dared him to lash out, to test the boyish bravado he’d only ever used on the weak. Let him face the warrior who carved victory from slaughter. But his courage faltered, and he stepped further away.
Disappointment pricked at me, but I nodded as if approving his retreat. Turning, I strode toward the door. The faint rustle of his breath followed me, but no bottle came flying this time.
Greaves met me in the corridor, his sharp eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. He adjusted the chains of my mantle with a practiced ease, his voice low enough to remain private. “There’s blood on your hand.”
I glanced down. A smear of red stained my knuckles, likely from the nose I had bloodied. Something twisted inside me—satisfaction, dark and unwelcome. I wiped the streak across my trousers, forcing the feeling back into the shadows.
It worried me, the ease with which I’d shed blood in the name of a certain princess.
My visit to the temple seethed with unwelcome thoughts of Nienna. Her voice curled through my mind like smoke, soft yet suffocating. I could almost feel her skin beneath my palm, remember the way she leaned into me—not with hesitation, but with a hunger that mirrored my own.
The cold bite of stone pressed into my knees, and I clenched my jaw, trying to wrestle my thoughts into submission. I was the king of Radaan, not some infatuated fool. If I let my desires take hold, I would be no better than Tallon, lashing out at the world with reckless emotion.
The image of his hand raised against her burned in my memory. My fists tightened, trembling with remnants of fury. She carried herself with strength and poise, even when faced with his disdain. Her defiance, the quiet fire in her eyes as she stood against him, marked her as a queen in every sense. Yet to him, she was a mere obstacle, an inconvenience.
He would never see her as I did—the way her compassion blended with her wits. He dismissed her beauty as if she were not a jewel among rubble. Her sea-blue eyes—deep, shadowed, endless—threatened to pull me under each time I thought of them. Frustration surged, and I tipped my head toward the heavens.
Elohios, take this temptation from me. Grant me the strengthto endure.
But my pleas fell into silence. My thoughts spun back to her, ensnaring me again. She was a distraction I couldn’t afford. My duty to Radaan demanded my focus, and yet, I let my guard crumble in the library. Her demeanor had wavered between boldness and vulnerability, a plea that shattered my restraint. She asked me to kiss her, and I obeyed without hesitation.
The memory burned through me, an intoxicating mix of shame and longing. I looked at my son’s betrothed as no father should. Worse, I touched her. Kissed her. Shame coiled in my gut. With a growl, I slammed my fist against the floor. The jagged surface bit into my knuckles, the rough stone tearing at already raw knuckles. The pain was a hollow echo, unable to drown out the ache inside me.
Guide me. Show me what to do.
But no divine clarity came. Only the torment of images I couldn’t banish. The idea of her bound to Tallon by duty and vowIgave, made my chest tighten. I imagined his hand clasping hers in ceremony, joining her in ways I could only dream of. It set my blood aflame. The thought of him claiming her, Nienna spread out beneath him, head turned and gaze distant to shield herself from the moment…
A snarl ripped from my throat as I surged to my feet, unable to endure the torrent any longer. My breath came shallow and uneven.
Forgive me.
