Page 73 of Wings of Lies
He snorted. “I’ve been around horses longer than you’ve been alive.”
That wasn’t an answer, and now I wanted to know his age. Hana mentioned he had 90 years of training, which was indeed a lot longer than I’ve been alive. But Aspen didn’t look it. There were no liverspots or wrinkles for him. His skin was tight from his chiseled jaw to his perfect forehead. There wasn’t even a gray hair in his silky dark waves. If I had to estimate, I’d say he chose to stop aging in his early twenties.
Immortality had its benefits.
“How old are you?”
He released a long breath from his nose, “Old.”
That also wasn’t an answer. “How old?”
“Couple of years from one hundred.”
Damn.
“How old is Brock?”
“Around four hundred.”
I gaped. “Four hundred? I mean, he looks old, but not…” I trailed off.
“Brock’s appearance is punishment.” Aspen never took his eyes off the road, veins popping in his clenched hands.
He was definitely afraid of horses or driving.
“For what?”
He shrugged, but it was short and quick, like moving his hands too much would veer us into a tree. This arrogant, commanding prince could slice and punch Hellhounds, but steering horses was a scary feat.
“Not sure. I never cared enough to ask. But it was bad enough that they tore his wings off and stole the agelessness of immortality from him. As a result, he turned himself over to my queen.”
His queen.He spoke of her with such reverence, like she was some saint or a high and just queen who didn’t devalue life in pursuit of her wants and needs.
I shifted my head away from him, scratching my hand. “Your queen can rot in hell,” I muttered.
Aspen jerked his attention from the dirt road. That same odd red light flashed under his chin. “What did you just say?”
The horses veered toward the center, walking at an angle. He was so engaged in glaring at the side of my face that he didn’t notice. I almost let the horses continue until we tipped into the ditch by the trees, but my stitches already hurt from Brock’s abuse.
I lifted my hand to point at the horses. “I said your queen can rot in hell. Also, we’re about to go off the road.”
Aspen jerked the carriage hard, overdoing it. I flung into his side as the horses whinnied.
“Get off of me!”
“Learn how to drive!” I yelled back, wincing from my stitches, pushing off.
“Learn how to keep your mouth shut!” The red glow continued to flicker.
“You wanted me to talk before. I figured after letting you stew, I’d impart my wisdom. So, on top of learning how to drive, why don’t you learn how to be loyal to someone who doesn’t steal girls and shred them apart? That’d be a good first step in becoming less of an evil, demanding asshole.”
Aspen snorted, slowly nodding his head. “Your ignorance is showing, Lucille.”
“Maybe, but at least I can sleep at night,” I said, remembering the tight planes of his face as he dozed. “Bet your dreams don’t particularly agree with all the lives you’ve destroyed.”
The red light vanished, and for a moment, pain pulled at the lines of his mouth. But not just pain; I also glimpsed his guilt and shame,too. I rubbed at the ache pressing on my chest as if I could feel his pain. Bile crawled up the back of my throat. Confused, I swallowed hard, clenching my fist to resist the impulse to soothe the deep creases on his forehead. He deserved the glassy look in his eyes.
After a few more hours, Aspen veered off the road. This time on purpose, driving us to the center of a sizable, circular plain of grass.
