“Ihatethat I was worried about her,” I gritted out through clenched teeth. “But I also hate her. She’s a noble.”
His voice turned gentle. “Tell me about your hatred for nobility, Hemlock. What is it rooted in?”
My eyes narrowed as I tilted my chin down to glare at him. “Rooted in? It's rooted in a lifetime of fucking resentment. I was raised to hate them, to hate my brother and the mother who chose him over me.” My hand instinctively moved to my chest, fingers tracing the central wolf among the five over my shirt.
“She chose him over you how?” His questions were less irritating, and my answers were starting to come out more complex.
“She only cared for Slater.”
“He was her son,” Darkmore murmured. “Your father was once a noble,paired with Melinda, yet he cheated on her and chose Janet, your mother, over his status. He was cast out,” Darkmore explained softly.
I snorted. “That’s what lies the nobles told?”
“What lies were you told?”
Damn.My father was a liar. He had me there. I’d been told this shit all of my life, and I never questioned it. I knew for a fact that my father fucking believed his story, though.
“Look where I ended up,” I snarled, focusing on my parents. “Caught between them, a pawn in their toxic fucking relationship. They hate each other. They cheat constantly. They see me as the reason they were cast out?—”
“The reason they were caught,” Darkmore corrected, vengeance magic sparking around him.
My chest warmed at the thought that it could’ve been for me…but nobody cared enough to seek my vengeance. “Didn’t stop my father from beating his truth into me every day. Slater got to grow up pampered with his noble mother while I got stuck with our shit father. How’s that fair?”
“It’s not fair,” he assured me, and it fucking felt good to have him agree, even if he didn’t mean it.
“I…wanted to be a good demon when I was younger, and I had tried to get into a good academy but didn’t have the academic marks or noble blood like my brother, so I was denied. My own parents constantly told me I’d never amount to anything,” I spilled my fucking guts. “That’s why I fucking hate nobles.”
Shit, therapy kind of feels good. Not as good as whiskey but a close second.
“You hate them because your father hates being cast out,” he stated simply, but I shook my head.
“I’ve had enough run-ins with nobility to know you think you’re better than us.”
“There’s shitty nobles and non-nobles. The noble demons just have a louder voice,” he murmured.
“There was one noble that I loved,” I chuckled, thinking about him.
“Who and what made him different?”
“My grandpa.” Warmth flooded my heart. I hadn’t spoken of him in years. “He was... different. A noble chaos demon. He lost his fated mate long before I was born, though.” I swallowed the thick emotion in my throat. “Grandpa Harold knew what mattered—what was real. He was good to Slater and me. Died when I was seven, but he's why I still give a damn about...about fated mates.”
Darkmore leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk, “Your brother, Slater, he grew up among nobility, being groomed for a position on thecouncil. Yet, you also possess the same potential, Hemlock.”
My laughter rang between us. “Potential, ha! I'm the family's dirty little demon. Blackthistle clings to his seat on the council like a lifeline. Even if I wanted to, which I don't, there's no place for me there.”
“But if there was, if you could carve out a place for yourself, would you take it?” Darkmore's question made my stomach roll.
I just shook my head. “Being among nobles means living a lie.”
Darkmore's sigh was heavy, laden with disappointment, as he gestured to my bottle of fae whiskey on his desk. “I believe you can be more, Hemlock. I've seen it in the way you protect what you care about, even if you won't admit it.”
I pushed to my feet, and the room tilted. I stumbled forward, steadied myself on the edge of his desk, and snatched my bottle. The glass was cold against my skin.
“You can be more. You’re capable of it,” Darkmore repeated, his voice firm.
I tilted the bottle back and emptied it in a series of long, defiant gulps. The whiskey and fae magic burned down my throat, a liquid fire that couldn't match the turmoil inside me. I needed to numb this fucking feeling fast.
I slammed the bottle down on the mahoganydesk, the sound echoing in the candlelit office. “I am what I am, which is fucking worthless, Darkmore.” I stumbled back. “And what I am is none of your fucking business.”
