Page 70 of Hunger & Harmony

My brows furrow when he eases out of my grasp. Ezren’s smile is sheepish, and it’s definitely not reaching his eyes.

“He wanted to see you,” he says, and I frown. “I’m sorry, Cadie. King’s orders.”

Of course. No matter how good of friends we are, his loyalty is to Niko. My allies aren’t my own. Especially in Sancte Noctis.

That fact does little to soothe the sting, and I fidget with my gloves to keep my reaction contained.

“Oh, okay.”

Ezren takes a step back. Cass isn’t anywhere to be found, and I lock eyes with Lorelai in a pathetic attempt to escape this.

“We'd better check in with Sel,” she says to Ezren, and he nods.

I don’t bother trying to stop them, turning my face to the ground as they hurry off.

The stiff silence doesn’t last a heartbeat.

“Cadence.”

I can count the number of times he’s said my name on my fingers. This is the saddest. Like a bird with no song, a man with no will.

Like my name is his last hope.

My fingers curl into fists. I hold my body even tighter, like it’ll somehow keep my pooling tears back.

“King Niklaus.”

There’s no satisfaction in watching his shoulders tense. I let my eyes linger, not knowing when I’ll next have the luxury to do so.

He turns, and I almost forget where we are. Who we are. His eyes are so soft, so pleading. They beg me not to turn away as he steps forward.

It all rushes back as I take him in. Not just his face twisted in longing.

There’s no subtlety to his clothes; black and crimson fabrics create music of their own across him. Not silver, but gold details sweep across the cape, cascading from his sharp, gilded shoulders. Tightly buttoned and pristine, every inch of his skin is covered in heavy ceremony. Even jewels and gaudy rings line his hand reaching for me, not at all like the fingers that cupped my face or stroked guitar strings.

It’s pleasing to the eye, yet so hollow. He’s theatre and painted masks and performance.

I take a step back.

“Cadence,” he repeats, nearly frantic this time.

“You’re on in minutes⁠—”

“Damn the performance,” he says, and I squeeze my fists. “I don’t care about anything until I clear up the misunderstandings.”

“There’s nothing to misunderstand,” I say, the reminder mostly for myself.

“No, I haven’t⁠—”

“There’s nothing to misunderstand!” I exclaim, teary eyes narrowing. “You had every right. You still do.”

Acid pools on my tongue. The images of those women around him haunt me.

“You’re a king,” I say, lowering my voice to a pitiful whisper. “You belong here, with courtesans at your disposal and power in your hands.”

It’s not just the distant hum of the Vox Crown anymore. Wrong notes begin their jarring tune. I fully accept they’re from me.

“I don’t want that,” he says, and I shake my head.