She shook her head against her knees before lifting it just enough to press the palms of her hands against her eyes. “No,” she confessed quietly. “No, this is not who I think I am.”
The turn of a lock made her lift her head, eyes meeting his as she watched him open the cell door. “Come on, then.” He sighed. “Your father wants to see you.”
“Is he angry with me?”
Aziel shook his head, following each of her steps as she walked out of the cell and towards the stairs. “No, but I am not surprised. He seems to believe that you can do no wrong.”
Nymiria laughed at that, giving a small roll of her eyes. “He was like that when I was a child, as well. Mother would–”
The moment the words left her mouth, Nymiria felt the blood drain from her face. Her jaw worked back and forth, her head swimming with thoughts and memories and…terror.
A warm hand fell to the small of her back. “Come,” He said gently. “It can be a story for another time. Let’s go.”
She allowed him to guide her out of the dungeon, which was astonishingly nice, and up into a large, domed hall that was similar to Aziel’s foyer. The ceiling was but a gaping hole that gave a clear view of the brilliant blue sky and pillowy clouds overhead. The cream-colored pillars leading up to the opening were crawling with vines bearing blooms thatactuallysparkled. Nymiria smiled fondly while noting each small detail as she passed through the place that her father now called home.
It was not too dissimilar to the palace from her childhood, but the thing that she found to be most opposite of her mother’s palace was the fact that it was filled with laughter. Even from where they were, she could hear echoes of children laughing and screaming, the patter of footsteps against the stone flooring as they ran through the halls. There was a child, not much older than her own brother, hugging the banister and using it as a slide.
Aziel led her up those stairs and turned to the left, both of them dodging and weaving around children, until they reached the only closed door on that level.
Her father’s study was simple and refined with no decorations, save for a vase full of flowers sitting in front of the arched window on the far side of the room. Thorn sat behind a simple oak desk, his booted feet propped on the top of it, with a book in his hand. He ran his thick fingers over the long beard that adorned his face, smoothing it down with each gentle stroke. His hair, just as she remembered, was pulled away from his face in braids. Just like Aziel, the man’s ears were decorated in silver hoops, all the way to the pointed tip.
Upon hearing the clicking of the door as it closed, Thorn looked up from his reading material and quickly moved to his feet.
Nymiria was surprised that he embraced her rather than immediately reprimanding her. She hesitated when he closed his arms around her, but once she came to terms with what was happening, she relaxed into him, breathing in that familiar smell of leather and mint.
When he finally released her, Thorn lifted her hand and observed her knuckles. “Are you alright?” He asked.
Nymiria nodded. “I think I’ll survive.” She chuckled, eyes trailing to where Aziel was occupying himself on the other side of the room before looking back at her father. “How is the man that I punched?”
Thorn glanced over his shoulder at Aziel. “Dead.”
“Ikilledhim?” She exclaimed, jerking her hand from his grasp.
“No,” Aziel chimed. “Idid.”
Bewildered and her heart pounding erratically in her chest, Nymiria drew in a deep breath. “You said youwantedto slit his throat, not that youdid!”
“I didn’t slit his throat. He was hanged.” He shrugged, his tone carrying the air of someone talking about a game of cards rather than murder. “His crime against you was not the only crime he’d committed. Sometimes, bad people slip through the cracks. But when we find them, they are dealt with accordingly.”
It was enough of an explanation to calm her down a fraction. But even as Thorn motioned for her to take a seat in one of the leather, swayback chairs beside his desk, she couldn’t bring an end to the intense emotions flooding her. Whether or not this man’s death was justified, she did not want Aziel killing anyone in her name or in her defense.
As much as she wanted to hate it, the mere thought of him doing anything to defend her made her chest fill with a demented sort of pride that she did not like.
Thorn leaned against the sturdy frame of his desk and gave her a worried smile. “I’m glad that you decided to come back,Nym. And I know that this is all quite overwhelming for you, but I brought you here today to ask something of you.” When he paused, she nodded, urging him to continue. “The last thing I want is for you to feel any sort of obligation towards me or this kingdom, but you are my daughter, and I am a king. I would like for you to resume your title as princess. If you wish.”
The words struck like a punch to the gut, nearly rendering her entirely breathless.
There were days in the last eleven years when Nymiria believed that if she’d been given the opportunity to do it all over again, she would do it differently. She believed that she could redeem herself, that she could be the leader and the face of the kingdom and bring hope instead of pain and suffering. But those thoughts and fantasies had long-since been washed away, leaving not a single ounce of hope inside of her to even begin to imagine what it would be like for her to wear the crown.
“I can’t.” Her voice was small, almost inaudible as she spoke. She could feel Aziel’s eyes on her, the growth of some heavy aura seeping from his pores as he looked at her. She ignored it, swallowing thickly as her eyes dropped to her bruised knuckles. “I am in no position to resume my title. And, unfortunately, I do not think that I will ever be ready for that again.” She let out a humorless laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, but I must refuse.”
The silence that followed that final sentence seemed to stretch for an eternity. And though she wanted to lift her eyes and see the looks on their faces, she wasn’t quite sure that she was ready for that either. She didn’t know if there would be pity or disappointment, but neither seemed palatable at that moment.
“If ever you decide that you are ready or if you change your mind, all you have to do is tell me.” He sounded so gentle and so genuine that Nymiria almost burst into tears.
The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him, to disappointanyone.
Perhaps, she thought, she was not meant to be a princess. Perhaps her redemption came in the form of offering Life to the land that she loved so much. Her title as the Anam offered so much more than her title as princess ever did.
