Page 113 of Born for Silk

I talk through grit teeth. “What of them?”

“I wish to see them—often.”

Sighing roughly, I sweep my thumb over her smooth cheek. Why the fuck do I want to give her everything? “You may see them when you wish, but Odio will accompany you outside this wing.”

“He scares people.”

“That is by design.”

She chews on her bottom lip and shows her acceptance in two slow nods. “Yes, my king.”

Better.

I walk her down the corridor toward my chamber, allowing her time to study each taxidermized eagle head mounted along the walls. The magnificent beasts increase in size until the skulls are larger than her own.

Odio’s lineage.

She muses. “Does this not make you sad?”

My boots rap on the tiles while her feet glide, weightless.

“If my heirs wish to cut off my head and hang it once I am dead,” I say, “they are more than welcome to.”

I expect a gasp, but she simply hums. “I don’t think you’ll have that opportunity. No one could rest with you staring at them, my king.”

A chuckle breaks from me.

“Was that a laugh that I heard?” Tuscany’s voice sails down the corridor, the melodic flow drawing Aster’s attention.

“My queen.” Aster curtsies.

My sweet sister stops a few feet away from us. I’m surprised she is here… nosy, perhaps. Though, that is not in her nature. Disappearing is.

She enjoys her space and very rarely touches anyone. When she does, it’s a fucking butterfly on skin, terrified a small twitch will turn it to dust on broken wings.

She rests her small hands in front of her waist, her hair as straight as her posture. “It has been many years since I heard a laugh in these halls.”

My smile thins, her presence reminding me of my failings. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I came to say a few words.” She squares her narrow shoulders, pretending to have confidence that does not exist. “I approve, but please do not keep her locked in this wing, Sire. She is far too bright.”

Not Rome.

Sire.

Her words land a blow to my chest, embedding with the bullets and shrapnel I have claimed over years of war. I don’t answer, and she doesn’t elaborate. I hear her.

She reaches out to touch me but retracts her hand and slowly turns to leave. Tuscany does not walk as though the floor is a shell she might crack beneath each heel—my sister walks as though she is the shell.

I watch her disappear around a corner, my chest pounding with anger, not at her, not at all. At my own fucking helplessness.

Tearing my eyes away, I am met with the enquiring violet gaze that slows my heart to a steady, powerful beat. My little creature, now mine, somehow levels me.

“You do bring me peace,” I declare, staring down at her; though, she is tiny, a power greater than my darkness resides within her.

“Tell me,” I ask, guiding her into my room and shutting the door behind us. “Why did you pick gold for your sheet?"

Her brows weave. “My king asks an odd question.”

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