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“Tell me who,” Mal shrugged. “Who’s unhappy with the justice their king decides to bestow upon them?”
Lucien’s eyes glanced over in my direction, only for a split second, before returning to Mal. “Many people, brother.”
When Mal laughed this time, he didn’t hold anything back.
“What’s funny?” Adonis asked.
“What?” Mal asked. “You don’t find this funny?”
“This is serious,” Lucien hissed, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. “We’re on the brink of war, brother. We can’t have an uprising.”
“Who?” It took me two seconds to realize that it was me who asked.
All eyes turned to mine. “What?” Mal questioned.
“Who was it that was concerned? You said many, so point to a few.”Shut up, shut up, shut up.
I couldn’t stop, though. It was like another force controlled me, controlled my words.
“There are too many to point to,” Adonis answered.
“I’m sure you can point to one. Two, at the most. Don’t be shy.”
Adonis’s forehead wrinkled. When I glanced at Mal, he just stared expectantly at his brothers. He, too, waited for an answer.
Time ticked by.
The utter void of emotionlessness inside of me churned, producing a low burn of anger and hatred and vile that crept–like fire–into the rest of my body. It started in my stomach, burning there slowly until it spread up my torso, into my chest. My breath got heavier. Thicker. More labored.
An emotion crept into that fire. More than one emotion, actually.
I couldn’t tell. But I did know one thing—I wanted answers.
And I would not be denied.
I stood up from my chair and placed my hands on the wooden table in front of me. I wasn’t angry at Adonis, no. Not even at Lucien, who had been the target of my anger on more than one occasion. My eyes scanned the room around me.
Some friends. Some foes. Mostly strangers.
Yet somehow, when my eyes met the ones that lingered upon me, powerlessness began to creep up my spine, biting and clawing its way back up.
That was what bothered me the most. I may have been broken. I may have been kicked and beaten and whipped into submission, both figuratively and literally. But I was still alive. Even when death welcomed me with open and cold arms, I had stepped forward.
And that made me far from powerless.
Mal’s brothers stared at me with wide eyes, but I continued anyway.
“It’s been brought to my attention that some of you may have a problem with the way my husband has chosen to punish our enemies,” I spoke with strength. The chatter in the room halted, the air was all but sucked out.
Nothing. No answer. No admission.
Interesting.
Malachi stood next to me, either because he wanted to protect me or because he felt the pull of my power.
I felt it, too. That burning sensation in my chest grew and grew. “Nobody?” I asked.
A young male stepped forward. His silver wings tucked behind his shoulder blades. “They were our friends,” he spoke. The words alone were innocent, but the malice that laced them sounded anything but.
