Page 108 of Where Darkness Falls

Though his eyes and features remain hard, I hear the tenderness behind his words. There’s a kindness deep within this coarsened man that others, like the king, would desire to see eradicated. All they care for is the destruction his power can bring. Yet, all I see is a man with a golden heart that could lead his kingdom to greatness. He’s so much more than the abilities he wields. Shame on the whole bloody court for not seeing it.

“I’m sorry about what he did to you,” I say, changing the topic. “I don’t understand how a father could do that to his child if he truly loved them.”

Emyr sighs. “Don’t be sorry, Rosey. You’re not the one that needs to atone for their sins,” he replies. “Besides, he hasn’t been a father to me for a very long time. The man that I knew as king before my mother died isn’t the same man that now sits on that throne.”

My brows furrow. “Orla isn’t your mother?” I ask, intrigued.

Emyr quickly blinks away the tears brimming in his eyes. “My mother died when I was just a boy—an illness that we couldn’t understand,” he says in a raspy voice.

My heart shatters for the man before me. He’s gone through so much in such a short lifetime, yet he’s allowed me to sit in my grief. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I reply, squeezing his shoulder.

“We brought her to Malvoria to seek help from King Elias,” Emyr continues, “but he couldn’t save her from her fate, and my father has blamed him for it ever since.”

“Is that why he invaded Malvoria?” I ask. “For revenge?”

Emyr chews on his bottom lip in contemplation. “Perhaps that was the goal initially, but I believe over the years his goals evolved as his influences changed,” he whispers sadly.

I don’t know what overcomes me, but I reach up on my tip-toes, cradling his cheek in one hand. My pulse races as my thumb traces back and forth along the stubble at his jawline. Emyr’s entire body stiffens, and something breaks within me that this poor man is so unused to being loved that he’d cower away from being comforted. His eyes hesitantly search mine. “You deserve more from a father than what you have received,” I say. “You’re more than what you were made to be.”

His large fingers dwarf mine as he softly removes them from his cheek. A sad smile briefly crosses his mouth as he clears his throat. “Thank you, Rosey,” he whispers, as he places his hand on my waist once more, but this time, his grip is firmer.

“Of course,” I reply, settling into his touch.

We continue to step in time to the haunting song, swaying and twirling when appropriate. His eyes never leave mine and something about this moment is one I believe will live in my memory for all-time. Even with everyone watching us, I only see him standing before me. He might be my shadow, but I’d gladly be his light. We’re just two lost souls that were fractured and broken, but somehow helped make the other whole. I’ve finally met the man behind the mask, and he’s more than he’s given credit to be.

As the last crescendo rings out, we know our moment has come to an end. The crowd erupts in applause, reminding me they’re still here. Emyr looks behind me, and whatever he sees has him quickly stepping away. I’ve never seen his expression so calloused. Before I can ask what’s wrong, a tall presence towers behind me. Emyr drops into a bow, and I fear turning around to face the one causing the hairs on the nape of my neck to stand. Whoever is behind me is standing close—too close for my comfort. I’m about to demand they move away when I feel a breath against the shell of my ear as a familiar voice purrs, “I believe it’s my turn, my darling.”

Saoirse growls.

I recognized King Tiernan’s voice the second he began speaking in that silky tone. I plaster on a smile as I spin around, eye level with the king’s broad chest. He’s almost as tall as Emyr, and just as broad. He’s well-built and strong like his son. Now that I know of their kinship, I can see features in his face that are similar, yet different, to Emyr. Where Emyr’s features radiate and brighten, Tiernan’s features only darken.

He must’ve received his good traits from his mother.

I drop into a curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty,” I reply.

The king graces me with another dazzling grin, but I can see the iniquity beneath it. He places a hand on my waist in the same manner that Emyr had, which makes me shiver. However, it isn’t a shiver of anticipation, but disgust. The king pulls me in closer, and I have the suddendesire to burn every area in which he currently touches me. Where Emyr’s touch is soft and cherishing, Tiernan’s embrace is hard and possessive.

Suddenly, the music plays, and I try to look anywhere other than directly at him. If I do, I might be tempted to say something I shouldn’t. Off in a far corner, Emyr stands with the Cadre, his hand white-knuckling his glass. If he squeezes it much harder, I’m afraid it’ll shatter. Every time we spin around the floor, I find myself looking for him…only him.

And he looks for me.Only me.

Tiernan’s breath warms the top of my head as he breathes in my scent. His thumb rubs circles along my back, while pulling me flush with his chest, despite my efforts to keep my distance. He releases a sigh as his mouth comes down to brush against my ear. “You’re resplendent tonight, my darling,” he coos.

I want to shutter or push him away in disgust and tell him to go back into the Abyss… but I can’t.

“Thank you,” I reply.

“There isn’t a single woman here that rivals your beauty,” his honeyed voice continues. “In my three-hundred years, I’ve never seen a more exquisite creature than yourself.”

I faux laugh, as if I actually find him amusing. “I’m sure that your queen’s beauty far surpasses my own, Your Majesty,” I say.

This seems to be just the right pressure point because his jaw ticks as he forces out a soft, melodic laugh. “No,” he replies. “She is only queen out of necessity.”

I quirk an eyebrow, unsure I heard him correctly. “You have no love for your queen?” I ask.

The king scoffs as he gracefully drops my body backward in a dip, his body leaning over mine. “You’ve seen what she’s like,” he whispers. “One simply doesn’t love an endlessly squawking canary.” Then he pulls me back up.

Even if the queen is mad, I pity her for being trapped into such an arrangement with the king. Everyone deserves to be loved. Perhaps it’s his cruelty that led her to such mania, or perhaps it’s as he said… She’s a necessity. However, what would a brilliant king need from a simple nobleman’s daughter? Surely, there were other women born of higher rank within his court that would’ve been more equally matched. From what I’ve heard, Orla’s heritage is insignificant in comparison, as her family only gained their titles due to the king’skindness. If he didn’t marry her for monetary gain or position, what does she have to offer?

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