How many times did my mother tell me that control was everything?
As many damn times as she told me I was loved.
And with that thought, I understand what Emil means.
I ask the question that lies at the heart of my relationship with him. “Do I still have power over you?”
The corners of his mouth rise. A soft smile. His fingers play against my cheek while he makes a humming sound in the back of his throat. “I can sayyesorno,and you’ll have to decide if you believe me.”
I try to read his expression, his pale eyes, the dark rings under them, the press of his lips.
“Which is it, Emil: yes or no?”
“Yes,” he says. “As long as your heart’s power keeps me alive, you have power over me. Vengeance is yours to take. And I am a slave to your desires.”
He doesn’t look away from me, but, even though I continue searching the depths of his eyes, I have no fucking idea if he’s telling the truth or not.
He leans closer to me. “Do you believe me?”
I can’t.
I can’t believe a word he says anymore. I shouldn’t have even fucking asked.
I should have stayed outside, just like he said.
But I’m here now and I may as well put his claim to the test while I have the chance.
I lift my left hand from his chest and wrap my fingers around the back of the hand he’s resting against my cheek, my fingertips brushing the back of his wrist.
He watches my hand more carefully than I was expecting him to, especially when I allow the tips of my claws to extend a little further.
I narrow my eyes at how tense he is, this dark creature who can use his crown to wield the magic of every dark being who has ever died.
Even if I don’t have power over him, he is clearly wary of me now.
“Do I believe you?” I ask before I issue a challenge. “Prove that I still have power over you.”
His focus flickers to my eyes and then quickly back to the fingers I’ve wrapped around his right wrist.
He doesn’t try to pull away, but I’m suddenly aware of a dark light growing behind me.
His crown rests in the form of a ring on his left hand. The palm of which currently rests against the small of my back.
“Prove it how?” he asks, his voice rough.
“Bind yourself,” I snarl at him.
Some of the tension eases from his shoulders and the dark light fades from the edges of my vision so fast, I could have imagined it.
His left hand slips away from my spine as he takes a step back, although he extends his right arm so that he doesn’t tug his hand out of my hold.
“Like this?” he asks.
Sapphire light bursts from the crown-shaped ring, at which rusty, metal shackles appear around his ankles and wrists, shortchains extending between them and clanking as he adjusts his position a little.
The color of the sapphire light that glowed before he created the chains tells me that they’re pure illusion. They may look and even feel real, but they don’t exist.
I purse my lips at them, but before I can speak, he continues.
