Page 43 of A Kingdom of Lies

“Well, you had me fooled. I thought you wanted to join us, work alongside the Hand in hopes he assists you with killing that fey king you’ve mentioned. Forgive me, but that seems to me as though you truly have picked a side. Unless your motivation suggests otherwise. So, are you ready to tell me why it is you wish to kill one of your own?”

“He isnothinglike me.” A shuddering growl emanated from deep within me. If the iron cuff was not around my neck I would’ve devoured this entire room in cold winds with a mere thought.

Duncan waved a hand, flicking water onto the floor. “There’s a story there and I want to know it from beginning, middle, to end.”

We studied each other. Duncan the Hunter, and me his prey. I toyed with the idea of lying, telling him a tale that didn’t do justice to the truth. But what would have been the point? Although his company caused my skin to itch, I still needed him to trust me. For answers about the Below and the imprisoned fey, for one thing.

Duncan, in many ways, felt like the gatekeeper guarding what I desired most. If I wanted to make it to the Hand in one piece, with a lick of comfort for myself, Gyah and Althea, then I felt the truth was the best place to build foundations of trust. Or something close to it.

Duncan combed his fingers backwards through his length of dark hair until not a single strand covered his devilish face. “I am waiting…”

“The man I wish to see dead took the one important part of my life away from me. Stole it right in front of me.” A sudden, harsh sadness made my throat thick and shoulders heavy. I felt Duncan’s stare on me, but felt too cowardly to hold it now, as though the truth made me more vulnerable than the naked, unarmed Hunter before me. “He killed my father.”

Duncan visibly paled, the corners of his lips turning down.

“Then we share something in common,” Duncan said, voice quieter than it had been before. “The fey are also the reason behind my parents’ death. Seems we share similarities after all.”

Should I have apologised? It felt as though that was the right thing to say in that moment. But I swallowed that word down and kept it buried.

“So that is your motivation, the reason behind what you do?”

“Are my motivations not justified in comparison to yours?” Duncan sat up in the tub, the curves of his muscles etched into his frame like lines within stone. “Murder is murder, Robin. Your desire for it makes you a monster, just like me.”

“And have all the fey you’ve hurt had a hand in your parents’ death? Or do you just tell yourself that as you wash their blood from your hands?”

“I will give you some advice when speaking with me, Robin. Don’t ask questions you will not like the answers to.”

I scoffed. “That’s a cowardly response.”

“Says the man who cannot face a single person alone, who needs the support and aid of those he’d deem as enemies, just to complete a task that is seemingly impossible to do.” Duncan suddenly stood from the tub, not bothering to cover the swing of flesh between his legs. I hardly had the chance to snap my gaze upwards. I fixed my eyes to his, not wishing to see his vulnerability. It gave him a sense of power between us, one I didn’t like.

Duncan dripped a puddle of water onto the floor as he wrapped a towel around his waist. “Am I wrong, or right?”

“Doran is powerful.”

“Are you not powerful?” Duncan questioned, fingers resting upon his muscular hips. “Robin, let me tell you something. Be grateful you have his name to remember. To focus on. Knowing the names of my parents’ killers is not a luxury I’ve had. And a name is a powerful thing. I would give anything to know it. Instead, I’m left with nothing but choices, an unlimited list of potential names which I mark off with a bloody sword with each and every fey I kill.”

I watched, speechless, as Duncan stood before me, exposed from the waist up.

“I can see that you have been hurt in the process,” I said, eyes trailing the multitude of scars across his torso.

“Believe it or not, Robin, but the deepest scars are the ones you cannot see. And no, these are unrelated to what happened to my parents.” His long fingers traced a jagged mark beneath his strong chest. “A story, perhaps, for another day.”

A knock sounded at the door, snatching both our attentions. From the look on Duncan’s face, it was unexpected. Holding the towel in a fisted hand, Duncan moved for the door and opened it to reveal a veiled figure carrying a tray of food. More cheese and breads, meats and fruit, a medley of delicious items that had my mouth watering and my mind distracted from the conversation we were just having.

“Ah, look at that. More food for you, Robin. You can save some leftovers for me this time.” Duncan pushed the door wide, allowing the figure in. “Set it down upon the table, sister.”

The hooded figure nodded, entering in a long dress that swished outwards with each footfall. She didn’t jump, as I did, when the door slammed shut behind her. Even with her face covered in the light lace of the veil, I still felt her cold stare on me. Was she frightened, or did she hate me like the rest of the people in this fortress?

Duncan seemed unbothered by her presence as he wandered back towards the tub, pulling a new set of clothing from a pile as he began to dress himself.

“Thank you,” I muttered, trying to see past the veil. I kept thinking about the five veiled figures who had driven knives into their own chests. Was she destined to do the same? Take her life in the name of a god that was unheard of by most?

Her reply came as a tip of her head, before leaving the tray beside me and backing away.

I focused back on Duncan who ran a large hand through his dark, wet hair until it no longer obscured his face. His skin glistened from the remaining beads of water. He ran the towel up and down his arms, the sleeveless shirt he wore exposing the strength beneath his carved muscles.

For a monster, he’s undeniably beautiful.

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