It would be so much easier if Elle gave into the despair. If she just did what was asked of her. If she let the dark magic consume her. That would be the path of least resistance.
And yet, for some reason that goes against everything I’m working toward, I stoke the fire that fuels her.
Come out, come out, little fawn,I whisper down the bond.
Her answering shriek is full of hate.I want to bottle the sound and keep it in my pocket.
The second knife bites against my throat, the blade cool against my skin. My chuckle jostles it, and a warm drop of blood runs down my neck—the second time a female has made me bleed today. Normally, I’m the one doing the bloodletting. I wonder how much she’d like it if the roles were reversed. How much more—or less—she’d hate me if I used my tongue to lick up the blood.
“Drop it,” Elle orders.
Sister damn me, but I do. The knife in my hand clatters to the floor. A gust of wind sends it scattering across the room.
I grasp her wrist and press the blade further into my neck. “Do it,” I whisper.Please.
“Give me one good reason not to,” she growls in my ear, and I can’t help the small part of me that thrills at her tone.
I try to think of a good reason, any reason at all. But I can’t. I’m a terrible male. I have betrayed my kingdom. My own brother didn’t care or trust me enough to join me. I have slaughtered innocent people to get what I wanted. I have used my tongue to lie and manipulate my way to the throne beside a witch with a heart of onyx.
It would be easier to just let Elle spill my blood, to slump against her body, limp and lifeless. I know the slash wouldn’t kill me, but it’s nice to pretend it would. My breath shudders as I pull it to my lungs.
“It won’t change a thing. Cora will never stop. With or without me.”
Elle is silent, but the knife shakes against my neck. Another drop spills.
I could easily make her drop it. But my soul protests at the thought of forcing her back into a silent husk of herself.
“I came to ask you to join me for dinner this week.” I don’t know what compels me to say it. It’s not true. Actually, I don’t know why I came here.
“What’s the point in asking? You’ll just force me to join you anyways,” she hisses.
I turn, the knife grazing my throat, and face her. Her amber eyes promise death. Her lips chapped and bright-red and parted. I tear my gaze from them.
I shrug. “Perhaps. Now, will you pretty please remove this from my neck so I can leave? I do have High King duties to attend to.” Another lie. But the way she’s staring at me is constricting my chest and I need to get out of this room and away from her.
She clenches her jaw for one, two seconds, then drops her hand to her side. She stares up at me with a fire that I can only imagine is straight from Hell. I would know. It’s the exact way I look at myself in the mirror.
She steps back and motions toward the door. “After you, Your Highness.” Detest drips from every word.
Another time, I would have punished her for it. But now, I ignore it. My foot is barely out the door when I hear the plunk of the knife landing in the wooden door frame inches from my pointed ear. I ignore that, too.
But what I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try, is the way my heart lurched when I stared down at her. How I was only inches away from making a move that would have ended my life in an entirely different way.
Chapter 21
MAE
At some point,Asmo and I become disconnected in the middle of the night, but I still cling to him like a piece of driftwood in the middle of the ocean. His arms are wrapped around me, one thumb lazily stroking the small of my back.
I pull my cheek from the dried puddle of drool on his chest and glance up. He watches me with a smirk on his face. Early morning light filters into the room and onto the bed, rays of sunshine landing on his messy locks of hair.
“How do you still manage to look that good with drool on your face?” he asks, voice rough and low.
I laugh into his chest, then lift my head and wipe it away. “Asmo.”
“Princess.” His voice is soft, and it threatens to undo me again.
His words from last night echo in my mind, his vulnerability something fresh and new. Something that I’m not sure how to deal with. I’m not used to this version of him. I’m used to him being predictably prickly and pissed off, not…sweet. Our usual script is gone, erased by his speech, waiting to be rewritten.
