Page 51 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

“Of course I did!” he shouts, startling me. My hand gripping the blade shakes, and I can tell by the quick bite of pain at my neck that I’ve cut myself. Xander drops his voice, as if he’s just remembered where we are. “I have spent a lifetime forcing each and every choice into one of two boxes: which ones I can live with in order to serve the greater purpose of taking the king down and which ones are worth sacrificing everything for, and unfortunately for Alexi, I could live with his death. I could obey the king’s command to hold him in place as the sword was driven into his chest. I could live with the image and sound of Rhea screaming as she crawled through his blood to get to him.” His eyes bounce between mine, feral and savage. “You speak as if you’re better than I am, but we are both doing what it takes to survive.” Faster than I can register, he shoves his freehand into the crook of my elbow and presses it away, forcing the dagger from my throat. He pinches my wrist, the muscles spasming and causing my fingers to straighten. The blade hits the ground, and then Xander is lifting me off of him, yanking the keys from my hand before dropping me onto the cot. He gathers the dagger and is outside the cell in three full strides.

“Xander, wait—”

“Don’t.” He exits the cell and shuts the door, staring at me through the bars as he slides a key in and locks it. “Never let anyone get close,” he murmurs, gaze raking over me in apathy. Needing to mask my embarrassment, I snarl at him, but he’s already pivoting and heading towards the torture room.

“Xander!” The door slams closed, its echo loud against the stone. I drag my hands down my face and wiping the tears from my cheeks that I didn’t realize had fallen.

“You know,” Immie drawls, her voice both a welcomed reprieve and a slight surprise, “I haven’t seen that much action in a long time.”

“You didn’t see anything,” I retort around a sob, sliding to the ground and letting my shoulder lean against the bars.

“Which just goes to show you how long it’s been.” She chuckles, and I break into my own form of a laugh, one that weaves its way through the utter devastation I feel at messing up.

“I’m so sorry, Immie,” I say with a sniffle, gathering my knees to my chest and laying my cheek on top of them. “I wanted to help you.”

The murmuring of prisoners farther away reminds me that we aren’t alone, but what does it matter now? Xander will never let me out of this cell again, and Immie… I squeeze my eyes shut, fresh tears falling. I’ll be forced to stand by while something awful is happening to someone I care about again. I’m not enough—I’ll never be enough—to make a difference. To draw the right attention. To be safe.

“Child, listen to me,” she says, her voice a bit louder, as if she has moved as close as possible to the bars. “I have lived a very long life, and while most of it has been filled with a good amount of happiness, I’ve had my fair share of disappointment too. Of times where I wondered what I was even doing here. If my place mattered. And whenever I felt that way, I would always come to the same conclusion.”

I swallow, wiping at my cheeks once more. “What?”

“That those moments were never put in my path to break me but to show me that I could be so much more. See, everyone thinks that failure is a weakness, but I’d argue it’s often our greatest teacher. Failure reveals much about ourselves, if we are willing to do the work of decoding it.”

I turn over her words, but I can’t find the truth in them. Or maybe I don’t want to. “What if I don’t want to decode it? What if I just want to sit in the failure because I think it is where I deserve to be?”

She gives a heavy sigh. “Then sit if you must, child, for a little bit. But remember, there is a difference between stopping to rest because we need it to regroup and just giving up.” Opening my eyes, I look down the hall to where Immie’s hand is sticking out past the iron bars. “Your story is far from over. So do not give up.”

Hours pass, and I return to the cot, wide awake and curled on my side, when I hear the door at the top of the steps open.

Three heartbeats break the dungeon’s silence.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Xander

Siyala’s words chase me all the way back to the barracks. The feel of her in my hands and against my mouth haunts me the entire length of my shower, the water hot enough that I hope it might burn the sensations from my body. Did you even care?

Turning the water off, I yank my towel from its hook on the wall and wrap it around my waist. Of course, I fucking cared. I hadn’t been lying when I told her about how I needed to compartmentalize. How I was forced to play god with the choices I had been given because I was working for a life better than the one I received. One better for every person in the kingdom tired of the oppression that was part of their story for entirely too long.

My godsdamn father is the king, and still, it is me who sacrifices pieces of my soul in order to bring him down. It is his blood and his vow that flows through my veins, and still, I must give more of myself because if I don’t, no one else can. I have been given the unique ability to actually make a difference, yet in my hunt for creating this better world, all it seems I am capable of doing is causing pain. Death and destruction.

My mother’s screams press against my mind, her pleas for the king to leave me alone as he ordered his guard to slice into me over and over again a persistent echo. Stumbling towards the sink, I brace my hands against the counter. Then there was Cade, a good and honest man, my best friend, yet I still was compelled to obey the king and hurt him in a way that there was no coming back from. And Marigold…

My chin drops to my chest as my fingers curl towards my palms.

Siyala. Gods, the name is as beautiful as she is, but it stings me to even think it. She had used me to try to gain her freedom, and I’d lied to her to try to gain her trust. Maybe it was a foolish endeavor from the start. The king won’t kill her yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he gets tired of not receiving answers and sends Simon in to do the job that I can’t. Won’t.

Layered beneath the bitter truth of her betrayal lies something softer, something sweet. I shut my eyes against the memories that assault me. Her looking up at me through full lashes. The way she gasped the first time our lips met, and then her hunger when she came back for more. Her moans, gods above, her moans. It felt intoxicating, like I could get drunk off of the sound alone. My arousal becomes evident, and I palm myself through the towel, remembering the way her hips rolled and her body responded to the way I touched her. In my head, I see her want for me. I believe that when she kissed me it was because she simply wanted to and not because she was trying to distract me. Not because she was using me.

My eyes fly open, and I grit my teeth, my desire wiped away like the stain it is on my being. Never let anyone get close. That is my third rule and the second I have broken in Siyala’s name. She isn’t Marigold, some pathetic inner voice chastises. This isn’t the same thing. But it is. Marigold may have been crueler in her deception, but what was the difference between a knife and axe when both could still cut deeply? Pulling myself away from the mirror, I head to the closet and dress. The king had wanted my presence after I visited Bella—Siyala. Panic begins to weave its way into my veins. I’d hoped that, just by conversation, I might be able to piece together something to give him, but that is impossible now.

“Fuck,” I mumble to myself, buckling my armor together.

I pat my hands down my body once I’m done, counting the weapons strapped to me when a different thought occurs. The king hasn’t set a new date for the next trial of the Trusted. Alden’s presence has been scarce around the castle, but that isn’t exactly surprising. I had told him to leave me alone.

I make a mental note to check in with Grayson about him—and to see what I can glean from the king about the next trial—as I stride for the door, my three rules at the forefront of my mind.

I find King Dolian in the throne room, Jerrick and Simon his only company. Well, and the tall magical mirror that stands proudly in the center. He paces in front of it, murmuring beneath his breath as he walks.

“They need to answer. Why aren’t they answering?” he shouts, his face turning red beneath his cropped beard. He turns to look at Simon, his normally regal facade cracked. Dark circles cling under his bloodshot eyes, his expression unnerving. “We must have men who can spy—ones who can get more information!”