She’d carved runes into him—burnedthem into him. And he was forced to take it. He was forced to let her fingers trace over the scars she’d given him, forced to withstand the touch of her hands on his body. And it was all for nothing.
“I will ask you again.” Inasha spoke louder this time, the loud clacking of her heels against the marble ringing in his ears. “Was your attempted act of defiance worth all of this?”
He peered around the room at the guards, at Oran, and then to his father. Dorid Yaarborough looked indifferent, whispering joyously to one of his advisors as Inasha made her approach. His body grew more rigid the closer she came, her eyes narrowing and her lips twitching.
“I don’t want you near her. I don’t want you to touch her, let alone look at her. I don’t–”
“Why?” Aziel managed. He flinched at the sound of his own voice, fear souring the food in his stomach.
Just as he’d anticipated, Inasha lashed out. Her claws were hot against his skin, tearing deep gashes into the skin of his cheek. He hissed at the burn, at the feeling of the blood that welled up and spilled over the torn skin in deep red trickles. Her breath washed over his face, the scent of her perfumed oils breaching his defenses–a sickening trinity of cloves, patchouli, and vanilla–and his stomach churned again.
“How dare you,” she snarled. “Howdareyou think that you are in any station that permits you to ask meanything.”
Aziel was just a child when this moment in history occurred–a young boy of fifteen years–but he was old enough to understand what her response really meant. She was either keeping a very dark secret, or she didn’t have an answer to his question. At the time, he believed it to be the latter.
Inasha straightened herself, brushing her hands over the bodice of her dress before turning to where Dorid was now watching both of them, an unreadable look shadowing his features. “What is the verdict for his disobedience?” The king’s voice bellowed.
Inasha’s eyes flickered to young Oran.
At fifteen, Oran was already rather tall. He hadn’t acquired his muscular physique just yet, all skin and bones, but he towered over the guards that flanked him. He, too, wore the evidence of his own disobedience in the form of a yellowing bruise that crescented the underside of his right eye.
Dorid’s work.
“I suppose he will go with Oran to the stronghold.” Inasha sighed. “Make use of them both and send them to Anarah and Alvaros for your missions. Let them learn—let them see thetruthof what awaits them on the other side.” When she looked at him again, her features had softened. Her eyes fluttered, her lips forming a sadistic pout as she extended a sharpened finger and ran it along his jaw. Her voice was quieter when she spokeagain, her mouth so close to his ear that her lips brushed over the sharp curve of his ear. “You will meet with me monthly. Wherever you are, you will find a way back to me and you will fulfill your duty. Is that understood?”
Aziel swallowed, the bloodied and bruised face of Nymiria Celentas filling his mind. Plaguing him. And in his already disoriented state, the young man nodded. “Yes. I understand.” He stared up at her, lips moving around words he was too afraid to speak.
As if sensing where his thoughts wandered, Inasha arched a brow at him and let out a scoff that sounded through the near-silent throne room. “Yes,” she hissed. “That little bitch of yours will bejustfine.”
One look at her guards, one simple flick of her wrist and they were hauling Aziel to his feet. One of the younger guards drove their fist into his stomach. Aziel growled, cutting his eyes in the direction of the guard, noting the sinister gleam in his orange eyes.
“You shouldn’t do that.” The guard to his right murmured in warning.
The one who’d punched him let out a gruff laugh. “What’s he going to do to me with those manacles on?”
Aziel turned his head and smirked up at the burly man, the blood from the claw marks on his cheek filling his mouth, moving through the cracks of his teeth. “They’ve got to come off at one point or another.”
The guard used the angle of Aziel’s body to his own advantage, delivering a swift knee to his nose. A sickening pop echoed through his skull, leaving his eyes burning and pain radiating through his sinus cavities. Blood spilled from his now-crooked nose, dripping along the floor as they dragged him closer to the doors. Though the ache of the break left his head swimming, Aziel still smiled.
“Before I forget,” Inasha called out to the guards. They paused, both men glancing over their shoulders to peer at her. “Take him to Imil. He needs to be sterilized before we send him out into the world. We don’t need any more bastards running around, defiling our beautiful kingdom with his filth.”
Panic settled in the moment the laughter of those in the throne room reached his ears. Young Aziel did his best not to show an ounce of fear. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to spill, against the hurt that carved deep into his chest.
As they dragged him into the bowels of the castle, where the rats and other vermin came to shit and hide in the shadows, Aziel cried in silence. The guards laughed at him, taunted him, as they carried his lax form towards the door that led to Imil. Known for his barbaric practices in terms of torture, Imil was also the only one Dorid left in charge of sterilizing the courtesans. And just upon seeing the dark wooden shape of the door, Aziel felt his pulse quicken.
He knew that if he tried to fight that the guards would join in this torture. But, perhaps, they would beat him so thoroughly that he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain that Imil would inflict upon him. Before he could decide whether or not he should fight or fawn in the face of his fate, the guards came to a halt at the sound of a deep voice that echoed through the darkened hall behind them.
Aziel lazily turned his head, his brow furrowing when he saw Oran taking long, angry strides in their direction.
Oran was not bad.
Though their relationship was strained and nearly non-existent due to their father, Oran had never been cruel to him. Aziel believed, for just a small moment, that Oran would save him from this hell, that he would stop these men from defiling him completely. There was no use in having hope, it seemed.Oran was in front of him, suddenly, and delivered a punch to Aziel that was so strong and so impactful that the world around him faded into a complete and total darkness.
When Aziel awoke again, his body was stiff and riddled with chills that ached all over. There was a wet cloth pressed to his head, and deep blue eyes that were watching him with a look of sympathy laced with anger.
Aziel blinked to clear his vision, groaning out in pain when he attempted to shift into a more comfortable position.
Oran’s hand fell to Aziel’s shoulder, stilling his movements. “Don’t move.” The young prince commanded quietly. At that moment, the world around them jostled, knocking a cry from Aziel’s throat. He could now hear the steady clacking of hooves outside, could hear men talking and laughing, could hear the creaking of the carriage around them as they bound to an unknown location.
