Page 58 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

Eyes bouncing between his, I lean forward, my lips parting to ask a question I’m not sure I can handle the answer to. “Is she alright?” When Xander nods, I exhale roughly. “Tell me everything.”

“I saw her through the Mirror when King Dolian called out to the mage king,” he starts, crossing an ankle over his knee and folding his arms in front of his chest. His biceps strain against the edges of his sleeves, and I catch the briefest glimpse of what looks like a raised portion of his skin before he adjusts and it moves out of sight. “She was standing there with the prince of the mages, Nox Daxel.”

Surprise flutters through me at that, my brows straining together. “I don’t understand. Was Flynn not with her?”

Xander cocks his head to the side. “Flynn is the mage prince.” His own expression shifts into one of discernment, a large hand reaching up to tuck his dark hair behind his ears. “He wasn’t just a mage infiltrating the kingdom but a prince doing so.”

“What?” My stomach sinks at the revelation. He had lied to us, and Rhea… Gods, Rhea trusted him implicitly. “To what end?”

“Of that, I am not sure. But I have my suspicions.” His gaze holds mine, and it only makes that dread living within me grow.

“You think he was after Rhea the whole time?”

“It’s possible. He worked his way up in the guard for four years, faster than any other recruit besides myself.” His tone doesn’t relay pride in that small tidbit of information, but I tuck it away to think about later. There is a hesitation that lingers before he continues. “I find it curious that it’s shortly after he gets assigned to the princess’s tower that he decides his work here is done and he helps her escape.”

I lean back, defeated at the idea that all this time, I had assumed Rhea was safe with Flynn. That she had escaped the horrors that persisted here for a chance at a better life in the Mage Kingdom with him. But what if she only exchanged one cage for another?

“If it is any consolation,” Xander says cautiously, pulling me from my dreary thoughts, “she looked well. And Flynn—Prince Nox—was protective over her. Threatened to kill King Dolian and everything.”

I try to smile at that, but it falls flat. “Sometimes, I think protection is just a matter of perspective,” I whisper, my shoulders rounding as Kenji’s last words flit into my mind. “An illusion.”

I feel Xander’s eyes on me as the silence stretches between us, but I struggle to meet his gaze.

Eventually, he sighs and then reaches across the table to slide the food he brought towards me. “Eat,” he commands, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Pulling the parchment open reveals a sandwich of some kind cut in half, the scent of it rich with whatever meat, cheese, and vegetables are piled high between the bread. Lifting one of the halves, I slide the parchment back towards him, his brow lifting in question. My questions simmer beneath the surface. Why are you being kind to me? Why act like we still have any semblance of a deal still in place? Why are you here?

But instead, I raise my own brow, pointing to his half of the sandwich. “Eat.”

And so, together, we do.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Siyala

“Shouldn’t you return me to my cell?” I question after the food is finished. I had swayed on the crate as I ate, so Xander suggested we move to the ground, dragging over what looked like a thickly woven tapestry aged by time and setting it down so that it butted up against the wall. Frayed and thinned in places as it was, it was still softer than anything I had laid on in recent weeks, and I didn’t have it in me to feel embarrassed about the sigh I released as we sank down onto it.

“Eager to get back?” he asks from where he sits next to me, one long leg extended while the other is bent, his arm resting over it.

I am not, not in the slightest, but I know the danger of us lingering here. While guards who aren’t Xander only ever come down to deliver food or pick up other prisoners, it doesn’t mean the risk isn’t there that we might be discovered. Would the king kill him if he knew what Xander was doing? Or would he make him watch as he hurt me? Force Xander to hurt me? The thoughts all make my hands clammy and my stomach churn, and combined with the information about Rhea and the memory of Immie’s death still at the forefront of my mind, I need a distraction. “Tell me something good, guardsman,” I blurt.

Xander tilts his head back so that it rests against the wall, a surprised chuckle punctuating the space between us. “I’m afraid good things are in short supply at the moment.”

“Then tell me the last good thing you remember.” At his silence, I look over at him, waiting until he meets my gaze. “Please.” I listen to the rhythm of his heart, its beat melodic in my ears as he looks my way. I think he might not do it, but then he closes his eyes and smiles.

“As a boy, I could be found with my nose in a book more often than not. My mother worked long days and nights, so to keep myself out of her way, I would devour books at what was probably a worrisome pace. My favorite stories were ones where the hero was unexpected. Not the brawny knight or confident prince but the quiet scholar. The man who chose to solve problems with his brain versus his fists or his status.”

“What was it about those stories that you liked?”

“I saw myself in those characters,” he says softly, a faint blush flushing his cheeks. I find it endearing that he blushes so easily. “My father wasn’t around, and with my mother working so much, I rarely partook in the activities that were common for boys my age.”

“Tell me about her.” At that, his eyes open and he turns to look at me. Thick lashes frame those dark eyes, his face gilded in the amber light of the flame gems.

“She was kind. Perhaps the kindest person I have ever known. There was a warmth about her that drew you in like a moth to a flame. We moved a lot throughout my childhood, unable to stay somewhere for more than a year, but in that time, she managed to make friends no matter where we went. People respected her and her talent as a seamstress.”

“She was a seamstress?”

He nods at my question, eyes taking on a faraway look. “It was how the king noticed her. She was the best at her job, able to do the most unique stitching.”

I look down at the hem of my tunic, running a solitary finger over the intricate pattern there. The shirt fits loosely on me, like it belongs to someone much larger. Someone more like Xander’s size. Sucking in a breath, I return my gaze to his, warmth layering over the sadness and worry present in my chest.