“I only wanted to help,” he snapped, sharper than intended.
“Why?” Lykor demanded, eyes blazing.
“Because I know what it’s like to be controlled.” The words escaped before Jassyn could haul them back. His ribs tightened as memories clawed at him, threatening to shred the barriers he’d built around his past—a place he refused to revisit.
Lykor leaned closer, his voice a venomous hiss. “Is that so? And did you also happen to be the king’s favorite pet? I don’t recall seeing you in the kennels.”
Lykor’s gaze raked over Jassyn’s bare chest before flicking to the scar cutting across his brow. Jassyn swallowed as something unreadable flashed in his eyes—too fleeting to interpret.
Disgust. It had to be disgust. His skin crawled with the certainty that Lykor saw everything he despised—weakness, and a reflection he couldn’t bear to face.
Lykor sneered, his scrutiny sharpening. “You don’t look beaten or broken to me.”
Bitterness sparked to life. Not at Lykor, but at the past that clung to him, a shadow he’d never outrun.
Jassyn’s finger jabbed into Lykor’s chest before he even realized it, forcing the larger male to stagger back a step. He’d probably just sealed his own death, but words tore free from him anyway, decades of anguish erupting in a flood.
“I was broken and used in a different way,” Jassyn seethed, the confession spilling out. “And if you want to compare who had it worse, then fine. You win.” His jaw tightened, the muscles aching from how hard he clenched his teeth. “My prison was a stars-cursed palace, not a dungeon. But the cage was just as real.”
His breath shuddered as he fought against the harrowing turmoil. “You don’t have to forgive me for what I did to you.” His finger shook as he pressed into Lykor, courage wavering. “But believe me when I say that I regret forcing you to relive those horrors.”
Lykor glared into Jassyn’s face. “You were one of their half-breed experiments, weren’t you? A collar around your throat, trained to heel.” His words sliced through the air, a blade honed with cruelty. “Tell me, did they even bother calling you by name, or were you just another pretty trinket in their collection?”
Jassyn recoiled, yanking his hand back. He hated it—hated how Lykor was right. How being powerless stripped him bare, left him exposed. He wouldn’t allow it anymore. He wouldn’t be weak.
Never again.
A stream of telepathy surged to Jassyn’s fingertips, twisting into coercion. It whispered promises of dominance, of vengeance. He could decimate that scorn, break Lykor’s strength.
But the thought swiftly curdled in his gut, turning rancid. The sickening weight of it was a visceral reminder of the harmhe’d already inflicted, the fragile trust he’d shattered when Lykor had asked for his help in the jungle. Jassyn clenched his fists, severing the magic before Lykor noticed how close he’d come to having his mind pulverized out of spite.
Lykor’s lip curled over his fangs. “I hope what they did haunts you. Every fucking day.”
Jassyn flinched, the words striking hard—more painful than the gauntlet that had shattered his face. But he refused to look away, even as his defiance frayed under Lykor’s scathing scowl. Heat flushed through him—anger, shame, and the sting of Lykor seeing too much.
When he couldn’t endure it any longer, Jassyn pivoted sharply, voice low as he bit out, “It does.”
CHAPTER 14
LYKOR
Lykor hurled his longsword into the snow, the heavy blade plunging into the churned earth with a muffled thud. Steam erupted from his mouth, each exhale twisting through the air as he fought to smother the fire raging in his lungs.
Across from him, Kal twirled his own sword in a ridiculous flourish. The light from the setting sun glinted off the steel, stabbing straight into Lykor’s eyes.
“You’re quite out of practice,” Kal said, his smirk dripping with the satisfaction of nearly impaling Lykor in every bout.
“Fuck off,” Lykor snapped between gasps, jamming his fingers into the stitch gnawing at his ribs. He glanced up at his balcony, perched high on the mountain slope, and considered warping back to his quarters.
A chuckle unfurled in Lykor’s mind, echoing against his skull.He’s not wrong,Aesar commented, his voice sliding through their shared mindspace. Unfolding Kyansari’s library around him, Aesar leaned against a window, golden light spilling across the glass spires beyond. Amused. He didn’t even pretend otherwise.
Kal lashed out with his boot, kicking Lykor’s sword into the air and catching it by the hilt.“Admit it—you’re just annoyed that Aesar didn’t bother regenerating for you last night.” He flipped the blade once before tossing it at Lykor.
Stepping to the side, Lykor let the sword plummet back into the snow. “No, I’m thrilled you two found it necessary to conspire behind my back and haul me out here for this”—he flicked a hand toward his discarded weapon—“sparring.”
After driving Jassyn away the evening before, Lykor had relinquished control to Aesar, granting him the luxury of a night to weep and wallow with his long-lost twin. The alternative would have been weathering Aesar’s incessant dramatics and accusation about how Lykor had supposedly wronged Jassyn.
And this—this—was the reward for his generosity, condemned to endure Kal’s insufferable presence. Lykor glared at his captain and then at the snow-covered field that had become a stage for this pointless humiliation.
