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I was probably a sadist, but I had to know for sure—had to see them together—even though the truth would destroy me.
Cursing my own weakness, unable to stop myself, I plunged through the door into the narrow, dark corridor.
I climbed the hidden steps to the second passageway that ran the full width of the second floor, offering peepholes into every bedroom, one of which was Anaria’s.
This hidden passageway had been a prime source of income for House Wynter, blackmailing countless married officials and unwary aristocrats lured into bed by Lady Wynter.
I’d been here before. This was how I’d caught Lady Wynter, gathering enough evidence to sentence she and her husband to death. Dust and darkness tangled together with intoxication until I stopped, stumbling into the wall, breathing harder than I should have.
But memories…memories had a way of catching up to me, and this fucking place held them in buckets.
The Wynters, with their cold, pale eyes and silver-white hair—the epitome of soulless High Fae royalty, devoid of honor and integrity.
Blackmailing one of the Fae King’s favorite courtiers had sealed the Wynters’ fates. After I’d condemned them, I’d been tasked with their execution, though at the time, I hadn’t thought twice about taking their heads. The evidence had been that damning.
But now…now I wondered if I’d been wrong.
Were they innocents, like Anaria, swept up in a conspiracy that seemed to have no end?
Not that it mattered.
I would never wash my bloody deeds from my hands, never bring the Wynter’s back to ask them. And that fucking treacherous spider would never tell me the truth.
That died here, at the end of my sword, ten long years ago.
The passage was pitch-black, but I could see better than any Fae, even better than Uncle Dane, who bragged to have the best eyesight in the Montgomery pack. Of course, my uncle’s bragging was about the only legendary thing about him.
I paused, my shoulder slamming into the wall, though I barely felt the pain. I’d warned him to keep his mouth shut, but Dane would run back to father and tell him everything that happened in that crypt.
And once my uncle spilled our secret, Lucius would know what we were up to—because he was fucking smart, if nothing else—and…I snorted.
Even becoming an Old God wouldn’t redeem me in my father’s eyes.
I despised Lucius for every father-son moment we’d missed, every lonely night I’d waited for him to tuck me in, every time I’d waited for him to acknowledge me…only for him to forget my very existence.
And somehow, even after all that, I couldn’t help but love the old bastard. A weakness after all this time…but there it was.
I loved Lucius.
But it would have been easier not to.
For years, I’d let that resentment fuel every decision…and I despised that, too. That even as I tried to eradicate him from my life, he was still always there.
I started up again, the liquor humming through me.
I’d stirred up so much dust, the air was choked with it. I held out my hand in front of me, my fingers trembling uncontrollably.
Where the fuck was I going again? When the Menrovian liquor had run out, Tristan and I, we’d settled on a bottle of…something I couldn’t remember the name of, and then…then all I’d been able to picture was Anaria’s mocking smile as Raziel hauled her…to their bedroom.
Right.
I was going to Anaria’s room.
I started walking—stumbling, more like it—one hand skimming the wall beside me to keep me steady.
But my feet grew heavier the closer I got to the spyhole that looked into Anaria’s bedroom. Guilt, maybe, or a flash of clarity, made me hesitate.
Then my hands were braced on either side of it, wondering what in the name of the gods I was doing.
