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One, two, three, four. Back.
It was all a game. Court of Love, Court of Pain. Two sides of the same coin. And I was trapped between them, their pawn, their fool. With no heart or home of my own.
The traitor’s son.
“Fuck!”
I kicked the bedside table, sending its contents flying, then dropped to the floor and pulled my knees to my chest.
Arin’s dagger glinted where it had fallen, mocking me. I could pick it up, go to him, cut his throat and then my own. It would be done, the game finished. The Court of Pain could no longer hurt me or him if we no longer played. It was inevitable.
Only, I didn’t want that. I never had.
Arin… damn him, he was right. I wasn’t like the others…
I grabbed the knife, flew to the washbasin, and pressed the dagger’s edge to my neck. The man in the mirror glared back, his dark eyes full of hate and spite, daring me to do it.The traitor’s son. Dance until you bleed. Prove your worth or die trying.
There had to be more to this life, didn’t there? More than being used by everyone around me? More than being seen to be believed?
My hand trembled. The blade nicked my skin, drawing a dribble of blood. It snaked down the smooth blade.
Who was I fooling? If I’d had the courage to end it, I’d have done so years ago.
The room spun. The dagger clattered into the basin, and I bowed my head, willing the hot nausea away.
I was still in control. I still had all the balls in the air. The Court of Love was still mine. Arin changed nothing. This so-called imposter was a ghost.
If I could discover who they were, I could remove them and begin to fix the loose threads I’d created. It wouldn’t save Arin and his court, but it might delay his end. And mine.
But how… Arin had hinted he was working on something, but it wasn’t enough. I had to take back control, I had to find the imposter before they found me.
And there was only one man who I knew for certain had met them.
CHAPTER10
The palace had its own private rooms set aside for medical procedures and patients with minor ailments. Ellyn had informed me the royal doctors had deemed Warlord Draven too fragile to be wagoned back to his lands. Arin’s father had offered to host him while he recovered. As the man had no voice, he couldn’t have declined had he wanted to. But there were other ways to communicate.
After the male nurse left Draven’s room, I snuck inside.
An open fire and a single oil lamp made the space small and comfortable, if a little stifling. His court, surrounded by desert, was always sweltering, so the heat was likely deliberate.
Draven’s chest rose and fell beneath the bedsheet. It had been almost two weeks since I’d pleasured him in the gardens. Long enough, I hoped, for his strength to return. Long enough for a beard to sprout, adding a sense of the untamed to his masculine handsomeness. He still had that short plait, trailing down the right side of his face.
I approached his bedside, hoping not to startle him.
His eyes snapped open.
“Easy.” I spread my hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He clambered backwards, climbing into his stack of pillows. “Easy, Draven, it’s just Lark. You remember?”
He blinked.
“If I kneel and suck your cock, will you remember me then?”
That didn’t seem to calm him any. He wheezed, eyes going wide. If he struggled any more, he’d fall from the bed. Just my luck he’d die of a heart attack without my touching him, and I’d be blamed.
“Look.” I slipped the notepad and pencil from my pocket and mimed writing. “See? I’m here to help.”
His gaze bounced from my face to the notepad and back to my face. After a few moments, he nodded and reached out, shuffling back down the bed. I handed over the pad and pencil and watched him scrawl at length across the first page.
