Her eyes met his. “And go where?”
His smirk returned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Her gaze lingered on the spoon as he finally brought it to his mouth. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed. He took another bite but gave up on the third and dropped his cutlery, splattering broth onto the table.
“Are there many places like this in the Nine Kingdoms?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, only wiped his lips with a napkin.
She watched him. The question she’d carried since her return from Aethonia pressed against her teeth, demanding release. Her throat tightened.Ask him. Just ask him.
“Are you . . . Castiel Vaelmont?”
His eyes lifted to meet hers and held her there, suspended in the silence of not knowing, mind scrambling to put together a puzzle for a glimpse of the bigger picture.
But the prickling at her nape said: The pieces didn’t quite fit.
He smiled and leaned back, fingers steepled, eyes distant with amusement. “My first kill was an Alpha, you know.”
She stared at him warily, the air thickening between them.
“They brought him to me in the groves near our house,” he went on, almost conversationally. “He was all bruised and tied up. I think they would’ve kept him like that for his execution, but I wanted to give him a fair chance.”
“A fair chance to do what?”
“Fight.”
He reached for the bowl and took another bite, then set the spoon down with a soft clink. “How can I prove I’m better than them if I’d started with an advantage?”
Her insides shuddered. So this was his drive: proving Beta competency over an Alpha.
“He lunged at me, all teeth and fury. Broke one of my ribs with his foot, actually. But I gutted him with my rapier. Took longer than it should’ve.” Pride gleamed in his eyes. “When I slit his throat, I thought: So that’s all an Alpha is. Meat and fear and the stink of desperation.”
He chuckled. “After that, it got easier.”
JingYi struggled to keep her face blank, wondering how soon it would be before the fungus took effect, or if itwouldtake effect.
She unclenched her damp fists. “You certainly take pleasure in killing Alphas.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Killing anyone is not a sport. Or, at least, it shouldn’t be.”
He snorted and rolled his eyes. “More’s the pity.”
“What have they done to you to warrant such hatred?”
His brow lifted, as if satisfied she’d finally asked something worthwhile.
“Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? They don’t have to do anything. They’re born, and the world gives them power. Absolute, never questioned. And they wield it as if they’ve the right to decide everyone else’s fate.”
“Not all Alphas are corrupt.”
His eyes sharpened. “Like Lord Alexander Wulfbane?”
She froze.
“The Alpha who couldn’t stomach a blemish on his bride? Who abandoned you on your wedding night to stare at the moon outside his castle?”
