He stands, and the warmth of his appearance fades as gray mist curls around him, revealing something far less human beneath. He is pale in the way of something that has not seen warmth in a very long time, his skin almost translucent at the temples, his fingers long and thin. Kohl lines his eyes in the traditional Yorali fashion, deep black and precisely applied, which somehow makes him look less human rather than more. His nose is long, his face narrow.
The only thing that remains the same is his voice. Always soft, always silky in a way that is far more unsettling than anything loud could ever be.
Ah, the real you has arrived,Nox thinks to herself.
His magic moves before she can brace for it. It tears through her, sudden and exact, driving her to her knees as pain floods her body.
“You understand,” he continues, his tone unchanged, “that not having the key would make me very upset, don’t you?”
Nox thinks about pushing back, about using her power against him. She might now be strong enough, but it is not worth the risk. Not until she feeds in Morrath. Not until she has the key.
Her hands press against the floor. “Yes, father.”
And do you understand, dear father, that when I get the key I will destroy you and this disgusting court?
“For centuries the Rathmors have ruled Morrath,” he says, rising now, his steps slow as he approaches. “Their power as feeders has been our greatest threat.” He stops in front of her. “Do you understand, Ivanoxa, that if Sevrin Rathmor wished it, he could turn us all into puppets?”
“They can compel us. Enslave us, if they choose,” he screams, as though it is her fault.
“Yes, Majesty,” Nox says calmly.
His attention returns to her. “I have built wards,” he says. “Layers of protection. Magic and mages to shield this country for as long as I am able.” A pause. “But I cannot protect it forever.”
He crouches slightly, those long fingers brushing along her cheek. His breath smells like something she can only liken to a blend of corpses and fish. She tries not to vomit, though she is impressed that he is able to glamour even that away when he is in his false form.
“The seers told me I would have daughters with different uses. That I would have a daughter who could not be controlled by feeders and their disgusting magic,” he continues. “Had that not been the case, I might have partnered with Sevrin Rathmor. Released the Blind Gate together.” His expression hardens. “But the risk is too great. It would leave us too vulnerable.”
“The seer told me?—”
“Yes, father,” Nox cuts in softly. “Three daughters. One key.”
“And yet,” he says, smiling faintly, “all I see is you.” His fingers press a little harder against her skin. “Beautiful. Clever. More powerful than your weaker siblings who succumbed to magic and had the tragic fate of the pit.”
Succumbed to magic? You killed them. But fine, use those words if you prefer.
The king pauses, then looks at her with disdain. “But you are not what I need.”
“I need the key,” he continues. “And a daughter with feeder blood. Even a son would do but I have given up on having one that is not useless.” He throws Tamal a look of contempt. "Only then can I rest.” He straightens. “But we cannot always have what we want, now can we, Ivanoxa?”
“No, Majesty.”
Her blood runs cold. She glances toward her twin for a fraction of a second. Tamal looks so different here than he does when he is traveling. Here, the glamour is off and the eyes most think are warm and brown are the same golden color as hers. He stands near the far wall, deep blue kohl lining his eyes in the same traditional fashion, though on him it looks less cold and more like something chosen rather than imposed. He knows. He always knows. Something is coming.
“Sevrin Rathmor must believe I intend alliance,” her father says. “I will announce a wedding. But my daughter will have reservations.”
Nox sighs. “Is such an arrangement truly necessary? I hear the king prefers?—”
Suddenly all she can hear is a high pitched scream that will not stop, that grates in her head.
Her father's magic. “You will go to Rathmor Palace. You will spend time with him. You will observe. You will learn what he knows of the key. What he knows of what was stolen.”
Nox’s vision blurs. When it clears, her father has changed again. The kind, handsome, youthful face has returned. The warm smile that could tempt any young princess into marriage. The sun-kissed skin and broad shoulders.
The King of Yorali was a master of manipulation.
One day, he will die,Nox reminds herself.
His voice softens again, that silk returning to it. “Oh, and Ivanoxa?”
