Page 126 of The Fallen Fae King

Tarquin, the perfect, good Emperor.

The brother who I admired and respected.

The ruler whose shadow everyone has beaten into me I will never be able to step out of…

And the murderer who planned to have me killed.

My entire life has been a lie.

Am I nothing but the bringer of death? A destroyer of kingdoms? A body for Hadrian to possess?

My uncle, brother, and parents wanted me dead. Should they have killed me as a child?

Why am I still alive now?

My grip tightens around my quill. It snaps with a crack.

I hurl the broken quill down with a spray of ink, ruining the parchment. “Damn.”

Ignatius glances nervously at me, rubbing at his arms. “Your Majesty?”

“Call me Relius; I told you.”

Ignatius gives a small smile, hurrying to pass me a new quill. “Thank you. I’ll rewrite that last one.”

He drags the wrecked paper away from me, neatly folding it.

Guilt gnaws at me.

Ignatius already has enough work to do; all my Golden Family do.

Ignatius has found his place within my inner court. It’s why he has one of my dragon brooches pinned on his restrictively laced leather Shadow Military Academy uniform, which shows that he belongs to my personal staff.

“When will you do that?” I rub my hand over my face. “Unless you can write in your sleep. I wouldn’t put it past you to have that skill. You are an exceptional secretary.”

Ignatius glows.

He may be an Alpha, but he enjoys praise as much as any Omega.

From one Alpha who received no praise when he was younger to another, I understand.

“My family trained me to work hard.” Ignatius shuffles through the papers. “I was…” He hesitates, ducking his head in embarrassment. “They were proud of their link to you, even though I’m only a distant cousin. But we had barely anything but our good name. I knew since I was young that my family’s fortunes would rely on me. They drilled me on court etiquette and behavior. I was expected to come top in anything I did so that I would excel at the academy and catch your eye. If I didn’t…”

My expression becomes grim. “You’re sending your pay back to your family, aren’t you?”

Ignatius drops the papers. “I’m their son. They raised me to do my duty. I owe them⁠—”

“You don’t owe them a fucking thing.” I slam my hand down on the desk. I’m breathing hard. Ignatius flinches. “They treated you like a pawn and not a son. Instead of working hard for themselves and allowing their child to choose his own life, they forced you into my court. They relied on me recognizing you as family. They must have known how dangerous the academy was. Family should want the best for you but sometimes…they only care about themselves.”

I’m no longer talking about his family but my own.

Ignatius raises his gaze to meet mine.

“I have younger sisters,” he says, quietly, “and a brother. I may not have been able to choose my career, but if I can provide them a better life, then they will be able to have that freedom.”

“Do you like being my secretary?”

Ignatius brightens. “I love it.”