All in good time.
He’d already waited this long. What were a few more days?
When Felix felt steady again, he exhaled slowly.
“So,Aesling.” He spat the title with an intended sharpness. “How long has it been?”
August squirmed, jaw clenched tight, eyes forward.
Felix knew exactly how long it had been since the last time he’d seen August. He’d been counting the months. The days. The hours.
He lowered the gun and caught August’s chin with his free hand, forcing his head back to look up at him.
The aesling’s scowl was venomous.
“You look…” Felix’s evaluative gaze slid slowly from August’s messy hair to the blackened veins creeping up his neck before finishing the sentence with a simple, “different.”
Truth of it was, he looked like death.
Felix stepped back, releasing him, and August reacted instantly, drawing a dagger as he lunged. But Felix was ready. He narrowed his focus, summoning his magic, and the warmth of it threaded through him, a calming hum of energy in his veins.
“Stop,” he commanded languidly, and the aesling obeyed.
As a triple-wielder, Felix possessed a range of abilities. His other powers didn’t match the strength of wielders who focused solely on a single skill, his magic distributed unevenly, stretched too thin. Compulsion, however, he excelled in.
“Drop it.”
The dagger slipped from August’s grasp, clattering loudly against the stone path, and his expression settled into a peaceful calm.
“Kneel.” The word was a low snarl.
August complied, looking up from beneath dark lashes, eagerly awaiting further instructions.
Felix let the moment stretch, reveling in the deliciousness of it. He deserved to.
He’d always been the superior one. Not just to August, but to all the despicable people in power. And he had been forced to spend his life pretending otherwise. Too many orders followed. Too many indignities endured.
But not anymore.
“Why in the hells would you walk into such an obvious trap?” Felix asked. “I barely had to try.”
He freed the aesling, and with a quick flip of his hand, summoned his raven in a puff of smoke. Felix could conjure many things—faint silhouettes created by diluted magic—but Silas was his favourite. The one thing he could call forth in full detail, thanks to years of practice.
“Like herding a scared little sheep,” he added. “They really thought you were fit to rule a damned country?”
August moved to stand, but Felix lifted his pistol, freezing him in place.
A brittle voice seeped through the fog. “Neat trick.”
The hair lifted on the back of Felix’s neck.
“Go away,” he called as Silas vanished. “You won’t like how this ends for you.”
A long, whispering shush, like the rustling of wind through dead leaves.
“Do not fret,” the voice drawled. “I won’t hurt you. Just a taste. One little taste.”
Felix’s lip curled.
