Page 234 of The Wishing Game

Ze grunts.

"She is his youngest daughter. I believe she is around Arwyn's age. It is my understanding she will have her debut at the end of the year."

"She seemed...difficult."

He shrugs.

"I do not like the king or his family. I have no doubt she will complain about me and in turn the king will have a reason to make it more difficult for me to gain access to the temple. Which is why I shall require your assistance."

"You anticipate that it will be that difficult?"

"It is a calculated guess. There is not one king among the fourteen Houses that bears me any affection. They see me as a threat."

"But surely that's more reason to try to be nicer to you?" I ask.

The corner of his mouth curls up.

"The politics of this world are...different. There are factions within the Houses, just as there are factions within the Supremes. Although...they all have one thing in common," he pauses, amusement playing at his lips.

I raise my brows in question.

"They all hate me." He releases a dry laugh—one that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"W-what? Even the Supremes?"

"I am a necessary evil. Or so I am told." He shrugs.

"But why would you follow the rules of someone who hates you? Someone who only tolerates you for your abilities?" I frown.

He tilts his head to the side, thoughtfully considering my question.

"Because I do not know otherwise," he answers quietly.

My eyes slowly widen as the meaning of his words sinks in.

Seven thousand years. He's spent seven thousand years just...being tolerated? Because these people need him as much as they fear him? It hasn't escaped me that even the king was terrified of Ze despite putting on a strong front.

My lips quiver as it dawns on me what a lonely existence he must have led.

No frivolities. No relationships. Nothing. Just...existing.

No wonder he's never felt joy, or anything really. Was he ever allowed to?

He notices my reaction, and his features harden.

"Do not pity me, human," he grits out in a low voice.

I shake my head. Grabbing my chair, I scoot closer to him until we're next to one another. Forcing my lips into a smile, I tentatively reach out, curving my palm along his cheek.

He blinks, his eyes narrowed at me. His chest rises and falls as his pupils become larger in size. His countenance is tentative, as if he doesn't know what to expect—half leaning into me, half thinking to run away from me.

The corners of my mouth curl up.

Running—not something I would ever associate with him.

"How could I pity you when it's all you've ever known?" I murmur as I caress him gently.

A stricken look appears on his face, one that wounds me deep inside because I can see the fear reflected in his gaze, just as I can feel the loneliness emanating from him.

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