Questions.Rhay had too many questions, a hoard he’d ignored over the years. But what good was Karwyn’s word?Rhay’s gaze left Karwyn’s face, landing on his lyre. It was broken in multiple spots. Broken like their relationship. Like the Turosian kingdom and all of Liraen.
Rhay closed his eyes as he pictured a younger Karwyn, his graceful fingers plucking at the strings, playing that beautiful, melancholic melody Rhay had never forgotten. Tears gathered in his eyes as he realised thatthatKarwyn, that child who would trust him, who would sob into his shoulder thinking about his mother’s death, was long gone.
Rhay picked up the broken lyre. “Why did you stop playing?” he asked, his voice overrun by sadness.Why did you stop caring?
He opened his eyes and was struck by Karwyn’s thoughtful gaze and the deep sorrow behind it.
“My father always said it was a useless skill for a king,” Karwyn said.
Rhay thought back on the late king, to his reaction every time Karwyn had played that familiar melody. When Rhay had first arrived at the palace, Karwyn had just started his luck at the instrument.
“Why did you start playing in the first place?” Rhay asked, realising he had never asked.
Karwyn turned his head, his golden hair falling into his bruised face. “If you must know, my mother used to play. It was a childish move to pick up her instrument.” Karwyn breathed out loudly, his eyes turning cold again. “As king, I do not have time for distractions.”
He didn’t have time tocare,didn’t see it at all necessary. When did it start? Did it go all the way back to his mother’s death? Had Karwyn been doomed to inevitably become this twisted king at only five years old?
Karwyn had never talked about the death of his mother. He had always listened to Rhay’s own grief about his mother’s murder, but he had been closed off about his own trauma.
“I do have a question,” Rhay said, meeting Karwyn’s hard gaze. “How did your mother die?” His fingers tightened around the lyre, the splintered wood cold against his skin.
Karwyn snorted as if it was the worst possible question Rhay could have asked. “I do not see how that is relevant now,” he started. “She was weak, she felt too much. Her death was too pathetic to record in history.”
“To you, or to your father? I know you cared about her.” Rhay stepped closer, getting lost in the past as he imagined a young Karwyn, his eyes bloodshot, his face tear streaked. “Did you forget who was there for you when you couldn’t sleep as a child? When you would wake up in tears, needing the kind of comfort your father would never give you?”
Rhay caught the glimpse of pain in Karwyn’s eyes before his face turned impassive. “I have since come to my senses. I should have never cared about her,” Karwyn replied, his voice rising. “You want to know how she died? Well, she did not.” Karwyn’s laugh was chilling. “Shekilledherself. Shechoseto go, to leave. She threw herself into the border right before my eyes.”
Rhay sucked in a breath, stunned at Karwyn’s confession. “I’m sorry, Karwyn—”
“I do not need your pity,” Karwyn interrupted, his voice shrill. “My mother was an ungrateful fool. My father was right to let her name fall into oblivion. She was no one, butIwill be high king.Iwill make my father proud.”
He was too far gone. Karwyn was broken in ways Rhay had never let himself see. Harten had been an awful father, never showing affection, always comparing Karwyn to his brother who had died by the Dark King’s hand long before Karwyn had even been born. And now Rhay knew Harten had also poisoned his son’s mind against his own mother, turning her into the villain. No one killed themselves for no reason. Maybe if she had lived, things would be different now. Maybe Karwyn would have had a chance. Maybetheywould have had a chance.
Rhay slowly put the broken lyre back, letting it rest against the wall. “I wish I could turn back time,” he whispered, barely loud enough for himself to hear. But he knew he couldn’t. It was time he faced the truth and stopped pretending there was still some good left in his childhood friend.
Rhay moved past him. There was nothing left for him to ask. Whatever had happened with Lora, Karwyn would not tell him the truth. Rhay was not going to let himself be blinded by his lies again—couldn’t listen to one more excuse, one more twisted reason.
“Where are you going?” Karwyn shouted, irritated. Rhay kept on walking, refusing to be moved by him. “Remember what I said before: youbelonghere, with me. There is nothing else for you!”
Rhay didn’t know if Karwyn’s last words were a plea or a threat. But if he kept pulling away from Karwyn, he would soon find out. For once, Rhay didn’t hesitate, he kept walking.
Chapter52
Elyssa
Elyssa had instructed the carriage driver to let them out on the outskirts of Chrysa, telling the fae to wait for them and not call for backup even if they were gone for some time. Although Tarnan had assured them his servants were loyal to him, she didn’t want him to know where they were going.
As Amira and Elyssa walked down the dark alley to Eyden’s building, Elyssa’s heart was filled with excitement. Amira, on the other hand, looked like her nerves might eat her alive.
“Who are we meeting here again? Your friend Farren?” the princess asked.
Elyssa glanced at her in the low light of the streetlamp. They hadn’t talked much on the way here. Elyssa sensed Amira was holding back. She would let the princess set the rhythm. After Amira’s confession, Elyssa knew she hadn’t had the best experience when it came to love.
Not that they were at that stage. But even though Elyssa had only known Amira for about one and a half months, she couldn’t help but picture a future where they were in love, together in every goddamn sense.
Elyssa started up the steep stairs to Eyden’s flat as she replied, “Not Farren. My brother.” She looked over her shoulder at Amira’s surprised face.
“Oh, you’ve never explained his role in all of this,” Amira said, fingers curled around the sleeve of her blouse.
