This is new. I’ve known my brother possessed magic, like the queen, but he’s never used it to hurt me.
The wretched grin on my half brother’s face would make serpents sick, and it only grows as he slashes the whip through the air. I brace myself for the impact, but even that can’t stop the cry from ripping out of my chest as the weapon slices through already broken flesh.
“Again,” the king commands.
Ever our father’s favorite, the prince immediately complies. As the whip sails through the air, I wonder what I did to deserve a fate such as this.
Shuddering, I force the memories away and focus on the present. On Wren, who is waiting for my response.
“I’m not the son he wanted.” That is a fucking understatement.
Wren’s lips thin as she studies me. “That’s why he hurt you?”
Sympathy shines in her eyes, but it won’t last for long, though. Not once she finds out the rest.
“Partly. At first, I think he did it because he thought it would help make me more like him.” Help break my soul and turn my heart as inky as his.
“Why?”
The word contains many questions, and they swell in the air around us.
Why would he do that?
Why does he hate you?
Why would he try to break you?
I wish I didn’t have to keep going, but I do.
Steeling myself for what is to come, I meet the violet gaze belonging to the woman I love and say the five words that could rip us apart. Destroy us before we had the chance to truly begin.
“My father is the king.”
Seconds that feel like gods-damned lifetimes stretch between us. Each is longer than the last until it feels like time stops completely. Endless moments pass us by, and then Wren sucks in a sharp breath. Blinks rapidly.
“What?”
“My father is?—”
“I... I heard you. I just...” She scrubs a hand over her face. “I need a fucking minute.”
She removes her hand from my knee, and that hurts more than all the lashes I ever received.
“Okay,” I whisper. Because what else can I say?
I have never despised my lineage more. Why did my mother have to abandon me? I would’ve been better off not knowing my father at all.
After several minutes pass, Wren looks up.
“I don’t understand, Gabriel.” Her Mark is an incandescent star upon her forehead. “How can you be the king’s son? You’re a Hunter. You were huntingme.”
Tears line her eyes, and they make the ache in my chest worse. She’s in pain because of me, and I despise myself for that.
“None of that has changed. I became a Hunter to get away from the king.” To try to become something more.
She frowns, and vines twist around my heart, tighter and tighter. Silence unspools between us, and thorns pierce that vital organ, sending pain lancing through me.
Now I understand why some people die of a broken heart. This is the kind of agony that could forever destroy a person. It might not be a physical injury, but it’s as torturous as every time a sword has pierced my skin.
