Page 54 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

“Why do you care about her life?” he asks, the tip of the blade now pointed back at Immie. “Who is she to you?”

“I care about Rhea,” Siyala answers. “And she would not want someone to die in her name.”

To my surprise, the king seems to contemplate this, lowering the sword yet again to his side. “And you know her so well?” When she doesn’t answer, he clicks his tongue, tilting his head in thought. “What do you know of Rhea’s magic?”

Siyala’s eyes lift to mine, and I silently beg her to reconsider saying anything. The more the king knows, the worse off every one of us will be. But it’s clear she feels cornered, her desperation obvious. She cares for Immie, and even if she was willing to use me, it was only so that she might spare Immie from this exact fate.

“She is powerful,” she finally says, and I force myself to look away, finding Simon’s dark eyes already watching me. “The depth of Rhea’s magic is one not even she is aware of.” She swallows, fingers curling around the iron bars. “She doesn’t know all that she might do.”

Her last statement hangs suspended, like a flower just short of its bloom. Were the king not riled up with rage, he might have noted the same thing. Might have been able to prod her for more or send Simon in to take the meaning from her, as he’s done to others so many times before. But, instead, he offers her a cruel tip of his lips as he strides back towards Immie.

“You asked me, Imelda, what Luna might think of me now?” he says softly, and I stiffen. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told those loyal to Conrad when they asked a similar question about him. I don’t care for the opinions of the dead.” His arm swings so quickly that I only see the flash of gold once the sword is already halfway through its arc.

Her body jerks in my hold before the sword slices easily through her neck, the hiss of spraying blood combating with Siyala’s screams. My fingers uncurl, and Immie’s head joins her body on the ground, two pieces of a woman who was whole just moments ago.

The king doesn’t wait to turn and taunt Siyala. “This is to be your future, shifter. Whether you give me the information you’re withholding or not. But do know that death will not come for you until Rhea is at my side to watch it. I will ensure she sees your blood leak from your body as punishment for hiding you in the tower. She will suffer, and it will be your doing.” Throwing my sword on the ground next to Immie, the king pivots and steps close enough that I can see the hatred swirling in his eyes. “Clean this mess up but save the head. I have a gift to send to the princess.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” My voice is hollow, even to my own ears. Pleased, King Dolian pushes past me, Simon right behind him. As they make their exit, I hold myself still, my rules quietly echoing in my mind. But they don’t work to calm me now. Thinking of the resistance feels meaningless as I listen to Siyala sob, her eyes stuck on the body at my feet.

Once the echo of footsteps are gone, I force myself to move, unbuckling the armor at my chest and over my arms, setting it down in front of her cell. She doesn’t appear to register what I’m doing when I pull the door open, or even when I step inside. It isn’t until my fingers wrap around the crook of her elbow that her eyes sharpen, and she flashes her teeth at me.

“You just stood there!” she screams, jerking out of my hold even as she steps closer. “You could have stopped him. You could have done anything!” Her fists pound at my chest in rapid succession, her strength still evident even after so many years stuck as a fox. Even after so long in the dungeon. But I accept her rage, welcome the way she drives herself to hit me harder and harder with each swing. And even in this—in her rage and sadness and grief and guilt—she is still beautiful. I’m angry with myself for thinking so. “I will never forgive you.” The speed of her hits lessens, as does the weight that she throws behind them.

Staring down at her, I see when the exhaustion takes over, her hands no longer attempting to push me away with punishment but clawing as if to bring me closer. Despite everything, I let myself go to her. Let myself gather her to my body and hold her close as she cries. I shouldn’t want to help her, not after what she did, but guilt is a powerful emotion, one that commands that I try to soothe her.

It is a strange thing to comfort someone. Most of my life, I have been denied the opportunity because of my circumstances and the choices I make in the name of the resistance. But as I guide us deeper into the cell so that Immie’s body is no longer visible, I yield to the idea that I can be this support for Siyala, even if I am the reason for her pain.

The prisoners farther down have the good sense to only murmur about what just occurred, and by the time their voices travel the length of the hall to Siyala’s cell, they are unintelligible whispers. Then again, I’m not the being with enhanced hearing. Siyala’s breathing eventually slows, and her body loosens in my grasp, like she can’t quite hold all of herself up. Foolishly, I briefly wish that we could stay just like this, with her head against my chest and my hands buried in her hair. But just as I know her hearing is stronger than mine, I also recognize that her sense of smell is too. The scent of iron is rich in the air around us, so despite not wanting to, I slowly pry myself away from her, guiding her to her cot and forcing her to lay down.

“I will do my best to be fast,” I tell her, to which she doesn’t respond, just stares forward as if she is seeing right through me. My throat aches with a knot of emotion as I gaze at her, and though it goes against every single instinct rearing its head within me, I step back outside her cell and lock it.

Lugging my armor back on, I make the trek up the stairs and into the castle, the journey feeling as if it’s somehow doubled in length. Cleaning Immie up is a multi-person job, so I rush to find Grayson, demanding that he gather whomever he trusts and bring them down to the dungeon. I advise him not to get Tienne, however. Partly because I know she has been spending time with Eve and I don’t want to interrupt that, but also because Tienne had been forced to clean up Alexi’s remains after the king’s brutality. I didn’t want to ask her to do it again.

The night passes quickly as my men help haul both Immie’s body and the other prisoner King Dolian murdered, then work to clean up the blood. Every time I pass Siyala’s cell, I dare a glance in her direction, but she stays in the same near-fetal position the entire time, never once meeting my gaze despite my knowing she is still awake. When the blood has been cleaned up and all that’s left is for me to return to the king with what he’s demanded, I stand outside of her cell. Unsure of what to say even as words pile on my tongue. When Siyala moves, my heart kicks up—my eyes prepared to scour her face and read her intentions, to see what she needs so that I might be the source of comfort again. But she merely turns over and huffs out a long breath, and I take that as my cue to go.

I will never forgive you for this. Well, at least in that, we are on the same page.

After leaving the dungeon, I find King Dolian standing once more in front of the Mirror, its magic activated by his presence. Jerrick is nowhere to be found, but in his absence, Silas, Von, and for some fucking reason, Commander Miles are here. He eyes me acutely, I’m sure noting the way I carefully hold the wooden box containing Immie’s head out in front of me.

Even though I can only feel the rough grain of the wood against my skin, I swear that heat radiates from within the box, and the thought brings bile to the base of my throat more times than I can count. Death and blood and gore has never bothered me before. I have been conditioned to feel as apathetic about it as everything else. But this is different, and though I don’t want to admit out loud why, I know the reason. It is because of her.

King Dolian calls out for King Sadryn again, and when his request is once more denied, he strides from the Mirror with a curse. Cheeks still red with rage, he turns his focus to me, Simon an unrelenting shadow behind him. “Have the undertaker preserve and prepare it for travel and then send it to the Mage Kingdom, addressed to Prince Nox Daxel,” he bites out. Something white is clutched in his hand as he runs it over his dark green vest. With the prominent dark circles beneath his eyes, he looks sickly. Not like those afflicted with the Cruel Death but like something is eating him alive from within.

I dip my chin in mock deference and then head to the undertaker. It will likely take a week, if not a little longer, for Immie’s remains to reach the mage palace. Prince Nox. That is the asshole’s name.

The walls of the castle pass in a blur, as do the people. Despite the late hour, it’s still busy with life as drunk nobles stumble down the hall and servants and guards greet me with varying degrees of recognition in their gazes. Again, I wonder why the prince of another realm had come here disguised, pretending to be a guard for damn near four years.

The thought pauses my steps, my heart skipping a beat as I repeat the number in my mind. Four years? Wasn’t that how long Siyala had been in this kingdom? Forcing myself to continue walking, I ponder the two pieces of information as I enter the undertaker’s corridor, an astringent scent immediately burning my nostrils. Prince Nox risked his life to be here, but for what purpose? Unless it was no coincidence he positioned himself to be in Princess Rhea’s path. Did he somehow know that she possessed magic prior to arriving at the Mortal Kingdom?

Siyala claims she doesn’t remember how she went from nearly dying because of the effects of the Spell after crossing the border to being well, but what if it was because of Princess Rhea? What if her magic somehow saved Siyala? I think of that strange magic surrounding Prince Nox, how it manipulated the shadows, and another question nags at me as I knock on the undertaker’s door. With power like that, like what Prince Nox and, potentially, what Princess Rhea have, how might a need for revenge shape their actions?

Grayson suggests that we call a resistance meeting based on the new information about the princess. I had told him of the events that transpired between the two kings through the Mirror and the death of Immie in the dungeon but decided to leave my thoughts on the possible connection between Prince Nox’s arrival here and that of Siyala’s to myself for now.

As I wait for more people to file in from the tunnel, my skin prickles with the feeling of being watched. Glancing over the room, I do a sweep of the entire space before the reason for the feeling becomes obvious. Alden’s dark eyes glare at me, his glowering form large where he leans against the stone wall, one foot kicked up behind him. I haven’t spoken with him since our last encounter in the castle, but with so much uncertainty swirling around the king and with his own decision to involve Miles in more personal matters, I decided that, perhaps, it was better to keep Alden close.

When the door to the tunnel shuts and the room is filled to capacity, I look away from Alden and lean forward to plant my hands on the table. “We finally have an update on the princess,” I begin. Sharp inhales sound as a few shuffle on their feet, tension spreading thickly throughout the room. “Last night, King Dolian made contact with King Sadryn of the Mage Kingdom and brought to light that the guard we knew as Flynn is actually Nox Daxel, Crown Prince of the Mage Kingdom.”

The shock is palpable, those gathered turning to each other in utter disbelief at the revelation that we have been infiltrated by another kingdom. I hold my hand up to request that they quiet, clearing my throat.