Page 75 of The Musician and the Monster

The answering blush that tinted her cheeks was reward enough as he dropped her hair and let his head recline against the back of the chair. “Anyway, rumors of a monster spread around the capital and especially within the palace. My father knew immediately what that meant—he’d fought his own father and his followers, after all, some who transformed into monsters, like I do. By the time Father told me of the rumors, I’d started to be somewhat lucid during the change, just enough to understand why I woke up naked and sometimes covered in blood that wasn’t my own. The darkness craves it, and if you don’t feed the craving once you start, the monster takes its due.”

“I confessed to him what had happened. The dark magic, the change, all of it. He and Mother tried to purge the darkness using some complicated spell, but it caused me to change as they worked. As the monster, I attacked them before they could complete their working. The rest is hazy, though I’ve begun to remember more and more of it as timegoes by. I didn’t kill them, but the injuries…” He shuddered, trying to shut down the horrible memories racing behind his eyes. “I can never forgive myself. My uncle appeared in the wake of the disaster and finished what I started.”

“Drystan…” She caressed his cheek, the touch a balm to his sorrow.

“He could have finished me off too, but he didn’t,” he continued. “He convinced me I’d killed my parents, and in the haze of magic and grief, I believed him. He promised to guide me, to help me, but he used me as a weapon instead, doing his dirty work around the capital while he faked my death and put himself on the throne. He made me one of his pawns.”

“You told me you watched the prince’s execution.” She tilted her head, brows scrunching.

His lips twitched. “I did, or at least the poor man who looked enough like me that no one questioned it after they’d beaten him bloody and dragged him in front of the crowd. He begged and sobbed, proclaiming his innocence. And to my shame, I watched it all from my uncle’s box while disguised. That part I didn’t lie about.”

One of his greatest sins. He’d been too consumed with grief over his parents to think straight. Too angry to form a plan or do anything to stop his uncle’s actions. And still too much of a coward to take the punishment that was his due.

“As my memories came back, I realized the lies and how my guilt had been twisted and used. It’s like I was trapped in a haze for months, unable to do anything except what I was bid. But finally, it cleared. That’s when I started to plan my revenge.”

“But how did you get here?” she asked. “Wouldn’t he have wanted to keep you close?”

“I told you he used me to do his dirty work? Well, I always wore a disguise when I did—a mask like the rest of his followers—something to hide our identities.” The king favored masks resembling dragons, his nickname for his followers, and the symbol he forged in iron for each of them to carry and wear so that they would know one another as loyal to the king and his dark ways. The beast of myth no longer existed, if it ever had, but the thought of them made his teeth grind together.

“However, I started to let myself be seen instead. Sure enough, a rumor spread around the capital that Tristram might not be dead after all. He could have killed me then, but it was worth the risk.” Every bit of his plan was risky. Any number of times, someone could have betrayed him, or the king could have chosen to slaughter him then and there. But without risk, without trying, he would never have his revenge.

“I couldn’t work the magic I needed to with him so near, and I had to risk that he’d banish me instead of kill me for my error. To my luck, he sent me away for one year to the most out-of-the-way place he could think of with strict orders not to share my identity. I brought only those I trusted, servants of my parents and myself who knew my truth and kept it safe. Though I’m still surprised Malik hasn’t reported something to his father that would give him cause to sign my death warrant. The king would certainly kill me if he knew even a bit of what I plan. He likely will when he’s done using me anyway.”

Being a pawn, a shadow in the form of one of the king’s loyal dragons, was never a long-term prospect for him. Drystan was powerful, more so than even his parents, and the king liked power so long as he could control it. But the king was no fool either. He knew the risk of keeping Drystan alive. If that outweighed whatever use he had planned, he’d end him—quickly and quietly.

Chapter 35

Drystan

Despite the seriousness of the topic, a small smile formed on Ceridwen’s lips, and humor twinkled in her eyes.

Drystan’s brows pinched together. “What is it?” It surely couldn’t be his tale. He’d seen the sorrow in her face as he spoke, watched her skin pale, and felt little tremors run through her body where she still sat atop him.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, the look fading. “It’s just that even the king thought this city so unworthy of notice and out of the way that he could hide his greatest secret here and send his own son to watch over it and make sure it never came to light.”

A puff of laughter caught in his chest. That it was. Teneboure might be sneered at by nobles in the capital, but they had no idea the beautiful treasure it held, one he currently had in a most advantageous, if improper, position.

“You have to let me help you now.” She gripped his shirt tighter in her fists, pressing the heels of her palms into him. “If the king really wields the darkness, then this is bigger than your revenge, me supporting my family, or any of this.” She gestured to the room around them. “Please.”

“It would put you in danger.” The very last thing he wanted.

“But I could make a difference,” she insisted. “For once in my life, I could help not only my family but also so many others. I wouldn’t be just the youngest child or the woman broken by her mother’s death. I’d be…more.”

The passion in her voice, the pain laced behind the names she had for herself, pulled at something in him. He knew what it was to be broken by grief, how deeply the loss of a parent could cut someone, bleeding them out until they were a shell of themselves.

“I want to help.” She pushed on his immoveable chest for emphasis.

He caressed her face, savoring the way she leaned into his touch. “A fire flower that bloomed in winter. Who knew such a woman lived in this tired city? Especially one whosemusic would please even the Goddess herself.” He slid his thumb across her lips, which she parted for him.

The hooded, glassy look in her eyes snapped his restraint. He’d be damned before he had the woman of his dreams in his lap, not running from him despite all the horrors she knew, and didn’t do something about it.

“The magic can wait.”

In a heartbeat, his lips replaced his thumb, crashing into hers with enough force to tip her backward in his lap. Her shock faded, and she melted into him. Drystan groaned against her mouth as Ceridwen slid her arms up his chest to wrap them around his neck and hold him close.

The world around them faded. All the dark memories he’d shared slipped into nothingness as he kissed her with all his heart. In that moment, it was just the two of them, locked together in grief and affection that bound stronger than iron.

Their first kiss had been chaste, sweet. Drystan had kept a tight leash on himself, lest he scare her away. But now she knew everything—the worst of his secrets—and she hadn’t fled. She listened patiently as he shared the horrors of his past, never balking or condemning him, though he deserved it. She was a wonder, a gift, and he planned to savor every moment with her.

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