“Seren, would you please accompany me to the dungeons? I would like to speak with my father to try to get a better understanding of what happened last night—what has been happening all of my life.” Ayla chuckled wryly then glanced at Seren, imploringly. “I fear I am not strong enough to do this alone, and I don’t… I don’t have anyone else.”
“Of course, yes. I meant it when I said I wanted to know you, Cousin,” Seren assured her, holding her gaze until it dropped and then glancing back at me. “Will you come with us?”
“I will be by your side for as long as you want me,” I said, half concerned at how easily the truth slipped from my traitorous lips and half hopeful that she may decide to keep me by her side forever.
Chapter forty-two
Ayla
The path into the dungeon was a labyrinth of dark, twisting passages. Dimly lit with smoldering candles and flickering lanterns, the halls were wreathed in eerie shadows. The soft clink of armor and dampened footsteps were the only sounds to be heard.
Ayla tried and failed to suppress the shiver that tremored down her spine; she stretched against the discomfort.
Harkin reached for Seren, his hand finding hers in the dark—the barest brush of fingertips across her palm. He moved closer, in a comforting gesture. Ayla was struck again by the weight of her loss. She had no one to hold her close, no one to shield her from the darkness.
At the end of a long and steep stairway, a brighter light shone. Cells lined both walls, guards stationed at either end of the dungeon.
Her father was impossible to miss. Though his clothes were stained and crumpled, his face streaked with blood and soot, his shock of red hair and his regal stance were ever recognizable. But she didn’t make it to Claudian’s cell. She stood frozen, horror and confusion crossing her face as she stared past her father.
“Théo?” Ayla called, voice shaky.
A white haired figure rested on his knees, head slumped forward with exhaustion. He lifted his gaunt face. Dark circles marred his otherwise pale skin, stark purple on transparent white. His clear eyes were duller than she had ever seen them.
Ayla rushed toward Théo, arms already outstretched. The patter of her slippered feet echoed through the open space. She did not even look at Claudian as she passed.
She gripped the bars of the cell before her.
Théo stood with his face bent low.
Tears tracked down both of their cheeks, relief reflected in their eyes.
“I am so sorry,” Ayla weeped, her knuckles white around the metal bars. “Goddesses, Théo, I amsosorry. I didn’t know you were down here. I swear it. After I told you to leave… The king spread a rumor that you had turned your back on the crown and fled Acsilla. I thought I had driven you away, but I should have known better. I should have known you wouldn’t have left me without saying goodbye.”
“I would not have left you at all,” Théo replied simply, covering her fingers with his own. “I told you that you would never be alone.”
Ayla nodded, sniffling. She looked to the guards. “Release him.”
The men glanced toward each other, questioningly.
“Release him. Now! That is an order,” she demanded, glaring through reddened eyes.
“Yes, Your Highness,” said the closer guard as he jumped forward, fumbling with the keys at his belt. The other moved to assist him, and between the two of them, Théo was freed.
He was wrapped immediately in Ayla’s waiting arms.
“You were right,” Ayla sobbed, not bothering to hide her devastation. She buried her face deeper into his shoulder. The bones felt sharper beneath his skin. “You were right about everything, Théo, and I was such a fool. All the lies, all the death and suffering… And I just let it happen—I went along with it like I agreed with it. But I didn’t, and you knew I didn’t. You knew it was wrong, and I should have listened. I’m sorry.”
“Shh…” Théo stroked her hair, so very softly. “It will be alright. We will make it alright.”
“Nothingis alright. The king is dead, Théo.” Ayla choked over the words. “Prince Claudian is my father, and he intended to murder King Tarquin, but it was Safiya who landed the killing blow, in the end.”
Théo pulled back, but his hands rested on her elbows—unwilling to break the contact between them. Shock split his expression. “Safiya killed the king? And Claudian is your father?”
Ayla shrugged, in resignation more than anything else. “Revenge has clouded her heart and mind. She made her choice. We are no longer courting, obviously. And I… I am here to get answers from… from my father.” Her face crumpled, and she leaned into Théo’s steady embrace.
Seren stepped closer, her face apologetic. Ayla had forgotten about her cousin entirely.
“Théo, this is Seren. My cousin.” Ayla said the words as if they were still foreign on her tongue.
