The empress turned her head, and Elias could see the satisfaction in her grey gaze.
Elias spun on his heels and stormed out.
Chapter
Thirty-Four
Fuck! Why did I do that? Why did I engage? Why did I rise to her bait? I know better than that!
He ground his teeth as he fled to his room.
When he’d lost his mother, he’d been a lost and crying nine-year-old boy. His father had been unsupportive. But then the empress had appeared, poised, elegant, and with a soft, melodic voice.
Desperate, Elias had looked to her for a shred of kindness or compassion. Not a replacement for his mother. But an adult who could help him navigate the darkness that had engulfed his world. He had wanted her to be part of his family. He had been ready to accept her.
But she did not care for him. She’d ignored or dismissed him. Never harshly. But with a quick comment or a wave of her hand. She had no interest in Elias. Except whenever his father was around. Then her lies would spill forth.
“Your son still does not accept me. He does not want me to be part of our new family,” she’d said, holding the emperor’s hands, tears in her eyes.
Elias had tried to explain. He hadn’t been cryingbecause he hated the empress. He’d been crying because he missed his mother.
But he’d stuttered and stammered, and whatever he said, she contorted the words against him. Eventually he’d yelled and cried, frustrated because his father so easily believed her lies.
Then she’d just pointed at Elias, at his outbursts, and said, “See, he rages. He despises me.”
Emperor Hugo would always frown at him. “Emmeline cares for you, Elias. She wants only good things for you. I expect you to try harder. To accept her place in our lives. She is a wonderful woman, and I love her. I hope you can love her too. We are a family now.”
For years it had been like that. Eventually, Elias had just stopped engaging. There was no point.
He reached his room and opened the door, stepping in and closing it. He paced back and forth. There’d been a time when his father had truly loved him. At least, Elias thought he had.
Before his mother’s death, his father had constantly taken Elias to the stables to look at his father’s horses. His father had always loved his horses. Then he’d remarried. He’d started taking the empress and her son Matteo there instead. Elias had asked why he couldn’t come.
His father promised he’d take him next time. But there was always some excuse.
“The horses might be overwhelmed with so many people,” the empress had pointed out. “Elias has a lyre lesson later, and he needs to practice,” she’d said. “He has been sneezing all morning. I think he must be sick. And we wouldn’t want him to make Matteo sick too.”
Elias had protested that he had not sneezed once. But of course, the emperor took his wife’s word.
Eventually, Elias stopped asking to visit the stables. Funnily enough, soon after Elias stopped asking to go, the empress and Matteo had lost interest in the horses.
Elias had lost two parents the day his mother died. As a result, he’d learnt to rely only on himself.
He walked to the window and stared out at the moonlit sky. A green dragon circled above. It was not Gerard. There were no scars. There was a rider on their back. Perhaps it was Luther and Onyx.
Elias sighed. He pressed his hand to the cool glass of the window.
He knew what it was to trust in others. To put your faith in them and have them let you down, over and over again. For years, he’d believed that his father loved him and would come around. Elias no longer believed that.
A knock sounded on the door. “Elias,” his father said. The door opened.
“What?” Elias stayed facing the window.
“Elias.” His footsteps approached Elias. He cleared his throat. “You cannot speak to your mother like that. It is unacceptable.”
“Stepmother,” he said softly, without any fight. “She is mystepmother. She has not earned the title of mother.”
“That is such a cruel thing to say, Elias. She has always tried so hard with you. Always. She has loved you and cared for you. And you have always rejected her.”
