Page 148 of Tale of the Heart Queen

Rion paced the length of his study, running his hands into his hair. They snagged on the greasy, limp strands. He hadn’t been eating or bathing.

He was consumed with thoughts of his failure.

Of that girl who had fucking evaded him again.

How did she keep doing that? He knew who and what she was. Cloris had never been lying, and Rion had been too full of his own arrogance to see what had been in front of him the entire time.

But right now, she was still just a Fae girl with a tenuous grasp on her magic.

And somehow, she kept escaping him.

He’d had her under his nose for twelve fucking years. She’d been right there.

Through his hubris, Rion had assumed that she was expendable. When she’d failed to demonstrate any source of magic, she had become useless to him, or so he’d believed.

He recalled the moment he’d tracked Nadir to Aphelion, before securing a reluctant invite to the bonding. She’d saved him from Rion in Heart after Nadir had hidden her right under his nose. He’d been clinging to her, holding on as he’d encouraged her to find her power. He was the traitorous weasel he’d always known him to be. A disappointment before he’d ever drawn a single breath.

Something in their expressions—the way they looked at one another—told Rion she was special to her son. And that had made Rion’s chest burn with a sour twist of envy. So he’d gotten into her head. Or at least he’d tried to by thanking Nadir for his help, hoping to drive a wedge between them. He didn’t know if it worked. They escaped him together, but he also hadn’t been with her in Alluvion.

Rion marched over to his desk and pulled out the oval picture frame in the top drawer. He traced the edge, his fingers touching the glass. Rachel beamed out at him, her luscious red lips stretched into a smile, part softness and part seduction.

That smile had managed to rip his heart out every time.

He’d been thinking about her more and more often lately. It felt like pressure was squeezing him from every side. He kept trying to make up for the void she’d left. But as his rule had stretched on for centuries, the hollow feeling in his chest had never closed up. He’d traded her for this life, and nothing—not his crown, not his magic, not his power—had come anywhere close to making him feel the way she had made him feel.

After her death, he’d broken. Whatever sliver of hope and light that lived inside him was gone. He’d given her up, and then he’d lost her forever. If she’d stayed with him, she would never have found herself wrapped up with the wrong sorts of people. She would be here, standing at his side.

The years had become a blur, and now he stood here facing the endlessness of immortality with this jagged chip lodged in his heart. Rion shook his head, crushing the picture to his chest, as his pulse threatened to burst through his ribs.

He’d already lost count of how many drinks he’d had today, so what was another?

He placed the frame on the desk and strode to the other side of the room, picking up a decanter of clear liquid. He sniffed it, but it hardly mattered what it was. The servants filled these almost daily, but their contents were irrelevant, provided they bordered on toxic. As long as it allowed him to numb himself for a few hours, he would have drunk the Lord of the Underworld’s piss.

Speaking of which, the source of Rion’s stress also had much to do with what lurked in that throne room. He was terrified to speak with Herric and tell him he’d failed yet again. How could it be this hard to capture one girl?

Without bothering with a glass, Rion lifted the decanter and drained half of it in several large swallows. Then he wiped the back of his mouth with his sleeve and closed his eyes, waiting for it to filter into his blood and just . . . take him away.

But it wasn’t enough. These days, it was never enough. He drained the rest of the decanter and then hurled it at the wall, eliciting a small hit of adrenaline at the smash. But the relief was fleeting, and again, he started pacing.

He picked up another bottle and paused when it reached his lips. He’d just made a decision. He was done with this. He thought he wanted power, but what he really wanted was . . . silence.

His feet were already carrying him through the Keep before he gave too much thought to what he was doing. His footsteps rang through the hallways as people leaped out of his way. Finally, he reached the throne room and threw open the door.

Though his nerves twisted with fear, he wasted no time.

“I’m done,” he said to the empty room, then waited. He wasn’t sure if Herric could reach him in the Keep, but the Lord of the Underworld’s very presence was enough to bring even the bravest of men to his knees.

Done? came that dark voice, chilling his blood to ice. You failed. Again.

Rion ran a hand through his hair and tugged it.

And you’re drunk again.

“Don’t judge me,” Rion hissed. “I give up. It’s impossible. She can’t be stopped.”

Rion waited for the lashing he expected. The anger and vitriol. He braced himself for it, but he would accept it and find another way to exist. Maybe he’d descend and let his son deal with this shit. He was finished. Everything he’d tried to build was nothing but ash sifting between his fingers. Why bother?

I thought you wanted to understand the depths of the virulence. I thought you wanted to learn. I thought you wanted Ouranos?