Page 162 of Winter Gods & Serpents

His brows smoothed to stern lines, his jaw tensed and stretched a few times, and the grand act of the play showed—his chin dimple. “Ah, yes, that face again,” I teased, hovering my finger in circles pointing it over his face. The new face I had seen him wear lately.

He grabbed onto my hand and leaned in so very close to me spring bloomed that night. “There is plenty of muscled flesh with no wits about the castle, it will be the exact same as being with him, help yourself to any,” he answered nonchalantly, but I could swear his voice had gone a tone darker, and a shade jealous. Why everyone had a bone to pick with Elias, what had the poor man done to him?

I laughed at his comment, did it need wits to get what I wanted? A moment of pleasure, release, a moment out of this whole mess my father was concocting. And I’d done worst in my choices, Elias was a blossom in comparison.

“But you see,” I taunted, lowering my voice. “He has wits—witty ways of using his flesh.”

“Gods, spare me.” Letting go of me, he rubbed his eyes intensively given up at my wicked ways.

I laughed jollily, it amused me, all of his reactions and comments to my remarks, they always have. He never surrendered to them, as if he could duel my steel with a wooden sword, but I liked his attempts as much as I did when they failed.

He turned to me with his static ungiving face. How on gods could I not find a hint of what he thought? “That,” he said quietly. “Do that more often. That truly makes you irresistible.”

His comment took me aback, I sucked in a short breaths. I hated that it had made my pulse skip a beat, and uncontrollably flutter under my skin. “Entertain me some more then.”

He let out a short laugh, staring me under dark lids. “If my frustration and demise was not your entertainment I would have indulged in that request.”

We both remained silent for the rest of the walk to my chambers, my body stiffened awkwardly whilst he had not even blinked after the rubbish he spewed out.

“Would you be able to answer me without judgement?” I asked, hoping to find an answer about the thing that had been bothering me endless and today more even.

He nodded silently in my direction.

“Is it normal for me to hear my mother’s voice, not memories or conversation from before but as if actually speaking to me. Now—presently?” I proceeded cautiously. If someone knew about the spiritual it had to be the Adriatians. I hear her voice several times, not even in nightmares, casually through the day—while I ate, walked, fought, in many peculiar moments, and it had drawn me back.

“Is that what brought you to her room tonight?”

I nodded.

“Sometimes when someone passes, just as many spirits hold grudges and anger, many hold regret and fear for those they have left behind. Your mother could be looking after you from the midworld as her spirit has been trapped there, till she is released to the heavens. You are not mad, stop thinking that.”

“How did you—” I asked, staring at him in surprise without finishing my sentence.

“You have no shadows, but you have learnt to wear your emotions in your features. If you look into them long enough you can read them in sentences even.” Kilian was so very odd, at moments he held back and fired through his silver eyes, at other times it felt as if his tap had been laced in oil and words and thoughts spewed out with no restrain. But as I thought it over, maybe he was just an idiot, words that seemed to affect me probably meant nothing to him.

“Well you must have been staring at me endless to know them in such detail.”

“That is all you got from what I said?” he retorted in disbelief.

“Why do you try to read me, Kilian?” I questioned, curious why he always wanted to draw my truth out, especially moments when I had wanted it hidden.

“You are a strange puzzle, one I can’t seem to solve.”

No, he was very wrong, I was fairly simple and completely plain. “Don’t try, I can’t even piece them together myself, credit partially to your kind. They truly knew how to shatter someone and then toss those pieces in holes I can’t even dig.”

“Snow, I—” Those annoying, frustrating words and expressions of plead and forgiveness that made me sick.

“So you are sorry? What will it do to me? If it had happened to you would it be something you could forgive?” I pushed, turning to fully face him. I felt my electric ire take over as my chest expanded, lit aflame. “So you are sorry? How many others are not, how many still want me dead, how many others have haunted me as if they have not already killed me once.” I was lost of breath, having almost shouted those heavy sentences of truth at him. He didn’t dare ask for forgiveness, especially in the name of all. Even if the whole of Adriata and their king kneeled in front of me I would not hesitate to burn them all. He did not dare deny the truth, that they still would do the exact same thing all over again, unapologetically—that they still would kill me at their first chance. I knew how they saw me; it was the same way he himself had seen me when he had come to Isjord. The remembrance of that stare still sent cold shudders down my spine, like staring at a wild beast, somehow worst.

I rubbed my hands over my face, remembering who I was facing. “I brew in a very insatiable rage, it may or may not ever disperse but I know it will always be at the expense of your kind. You are my enemy, you will forever be.” Why had I let myself grow loose and warm around my enemy, my mother must be weeping tears of blood and thorns at my behaviour.

He stared at me for a long while silently, unwavering, skin shivering and heart jolting. “I know,” he admitted quietly.

Did he know that I was the one forgetting? “Do you really? Are you underestimating me? I have done so many wrongs and I will continue to do worse. Do you understand that I am your villain?”

“Well my sweet villain, have a restful night.”

“Don’t joke,” I bit out.