Page 197 of Powerless

“Liar,” I breathe, pressing the sword deeper into his chest.

His next words are little more than a hysterical whisper. “Let’s just say that your first encounter with a prince wasn’t when you saved Kai in the alley.”

No.No.

“It was when he killed your father.”

The world spins around me, threatening to throw me to the ground. This can’t be happening. He’s lying. He’s a liar. He’s—

“His first kill, too.” The king continues with a bloody, reminiscent smile. “It was the first mission I sent him on, and I think the boy may have even cried after. Look at how far he’s come. Look at how well I’ve trained him. Now he kills at my command and barely bats an eye at the dozens of deaths delivered by his hands.”

I can barely breathe. The boy who taught me how to dance, healed my wounds, asked me my favorite color under the stars—

“You’re lying,” I choke out.

He lets out a raspy laugh. “No, you’re lying toyourself, Paedyn.”

The memory of the night my father died suddenly seems so fuzzy, so unfocused. Where I once thought I saw the face of the king, I now see a blurry body. I can’t make out any of the details, can’t seem to recall anything about my father’s killer.

I shake my head. I can’t think about this now. I refuse to let my reeling thoughts of Kai distract me from the task at hand.

Because now I will killhisfather.

Once again, I find symmetry to be a sickening thing.

I will not fail.

The king’s smile is bloody.

I will not falter.

Hysterical, mocking laughter follows.

I will not feel remorse.

“Weak. Just like your father—”

The sword I drive through his chest shuts him the hell up.

My next words are hollow, horribly calm. “This is for my father.”

He lets out a weak, wheezing gasp as he lifts his head off the ground to stare at the damage I’ve done. His eyes widen at the sight of his own sword buried deep in his chest. A gurgling noise follows his gasp, blood spilling over the corners of his mouth and gushing from his wound.

Nothing—I feel nothing for this man dying at my feet, dying by my hand.

“And this,” I twist the hilt of the sword, drawing a scream from the king as more of his flesh rips and shreds, “is for Adena.”

He lets out a strangled sob when I yank the sword out, throwing it to the ground. I spin around, finding my dagger lying several feet away. Each step towards it has me feeling stronger despite every wound weakening my body.

The silver swirled handle of my father’s dagger is slicked with rainwater, blood, and mud—matching me. Drops of water stream down my face, stinging my open wounds as I turn the dagger over in my hand. I flip it once, twice, feeling its familiar weight.

“And this is for me, you son of a bitch.”

I let the dagger fly.

ChapterSixty-Six

Paedyn

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