Page 57 of Heir Of Sun And Moon
Please.That word from his mouth, the pleading I see reflecting in his eyes… it weakens all of my defenses. It’s impossible to deny him, so I nod my head. Flynn sees my hesitancy but recovers quickly—giving my hand a small squeeze before letting it go and returning to the other side of the tea table. We play another round of cards before he leaves for the night.
Laying in bed later, I stare out at the night sky and wonder who will hurt more when I leave: me or him?
A warm breeze—the sign of summer evident in the air—rustles my hair the next day as I stand on the balcony, my head heavy. It’s calm—deceptively so. Like the world has paused momentarily, not to let me bask in it, but to give me a warning. I don’t have to wait long to know what is coming—whois coming. My door is thrown open, the silence only interrupted when it bangs against the wall. As I whip my head around towards the invasion, terror heedlessly grips my throat like a noose.
And he walks in. “Rhea,” the king purrs as he enters the tower, dressed in his usual finery.
I watch as his guards carry in a wooden table and chairs. Two more guards follow behind with what appears to be a porcelain tea set. The entire scene is disorienting as I watch them set everything up, first laying a pure white tablecloth down and then a steaming teapot. Small mugs and plates are placed out next, and another guard sets down little jars in the middle.
“Have a seat, my darling,” King Dolian says as he pulls a chair out and gestures for me to come. Stillness holds my body in place as my wide eyes take in the entire setup.
What is happening?
His voice drops an octave lower as he continues,“It is rude to make your king wait, Rhea. I may have told you not to bow before me anymore, but I do expect obedience.” That makes me move faster, my bare feet padding on the wood floor as I step up to the chair. “This dress is a beautiful color on you. It reminds me of dresses one might see on the ladies in court,” he drawls, a finger dragging lazily on my shoulder.
I had chosen one of the pink dresses Tienne and Erica brought me because I liked how I felt in it. Its unique color brings to mind the rose Flynn brought me. The gold of my hair and green of my eyes seem to brighten when I wear it. The cut, like most of the dresses I was given by the maids, has a built-in bodice and a flowing skirt. It’s a beautiful dress that makes me feel like I am absorbing some of its beauty into myself, and a naïve part of me thought maybe Flynn would like me in it as well. Now, I want to rip it off and place a formless, ugly brown blanket of a dress on myself to hide from the king’s hungry stare. It makes my stomach churn and my magic writhe inside of me, like it’s trying to bury itself under my skin to hide from him. Or maybe break its way out to protect me.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I force out the words, thick like mortar as they push through my teeth and lips.
My uncle smiles, and instead of the usual brutal twisting of his lips, it’s a subtler one that I’ve never seen from him in the past. He pours what I assume to be steaming hot tea into the small cups in front of us, not asking for my input as he adds things in and stirs with a small spoon before tapping it on the side. When he’s finished, he carefully slides the cup—nestled on a small plate—in front of me.
“This is how she liked it,” he says with a voice that is uncharacteristically soft and gentle. It should put me at ease, as he’s clearly in a good mood today, but all it does is leave me feeling like I’m teetering on an invisible edge. My fingers desperately grip the fabric of the dress in my lap.
“My mother?” I dare to ask. He nods, sipping from his tea without making a single noise. Something I doubt I can also achieve, so I don’t drink any at all. “Did you—” I pinch my lips together, not knowing if I should speak or what exactly he is expecting of me in this conversation. There’s a terrifying feeling in the air, like wading through fluffy clouds only to realize it is actually smoke and you’re surrounded by fire. It’s so jarring, I don’t know how to move or what to think or say.
“Do not be afraid to speak in front of me.” He phrases his words politely, gesturing elegantly for me to continue. I nearly scoff in shock, but manage to reel it in at the last second. “Do you want to know about your mother?” he coaxes, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hands on top of his knee. It’s the type of royal indifference that he’s mastered so well.
“Yes,” I say in earnest because, despite it all—the abuse and the manipulation and the lies—I can’t help but crave knowing more about my parents. When the king speaks next, the compassionate lilt of his voice catches me completely off guard.
“She arrived at the castle when she was just a few years younger than you are now. The head housekeeper—a burly woman named Imelda—took her in from the streets when she saw her wandering in the capital square, barefoot and disheveled.” He chuckles at the memory. His laugh is so real, somortal,and for a second, I let my own smile break through in response. His eyes zero in on my lips, a million different emotions flashing in them before he continues. “She worked her way up in the staff and had been employed in the castle for nearly a year before she was assigned to my wing. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her,” he confesses quietly, seeming ambivalent before he clears his throat. “She was walking down the hallway that led to my room, a bundle of fresh linens in her arms. The sun was shining in just the right way through the windows, making the crown of her head”—he gestures with his hands, placing it on the top of his head—“glow golden. She looked like a queen, even then in just a maid uniform.” He lifts his tea cup to drink, the movement fluid and practiced. I still leave mine untouched.
“Did you become friends?” I ask carefully. I know from his previous words that, at the very least, he cared for my mother insomecapacity—that he may have even loved her. He keeps his eyes down on his cup, a sort of reverence that is so completely out of place that I’m afraid to breathe and disrupt it.
“We did. Over the course of a few years, we talked nearly every day. Everyone in the palace loved her, even my father. He saw her beauty, grace, and kindness, and it actually subdued something in his otherwise-cold heart.” His brows draw down as he speaks of my late grandfather. The hand he has resting on the table clenches into a fist, his knuckles turning white. “I was going to marry her,” he nearly whispers, bringing his eyes up to meet mine. For the first time in all the years that I have known my uncle, I see true and utter sadness looking back at me.
“But she married your brother,” I state. Like flipping the pages of a book, I watch as the sadness quickly changes into fury.
Burning, unrelenting anger lights his hazel eyes and warps the features of his face. “She chose wrong, and as she died, she realized that truth.”
I’m rendered speechless by his words, by the meaning behind them and the rage pouring off of him in waves. My body stills, like a deer caught in a hunter’s gaze.
“That is why you are so important to me, Rhea,” he says, dropping his chin slightly as he glares at me. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing each breath I take in even though my chest feels too tight to take it at all. “Everything I have done has been to protect you. To help you not make the same mistakes as the woman who bore you.”
“Protect me?” I whisper, unable to stop myself. The warm feeling of my magic stirs inside of me, but that other feeling—frozen and dark—mixes with it as anger and confusion thrash in my blood. In my soul.
“Do you not see the benefits to living this life? I have given you everything you could need, kept you safe, and all I’ve requested in return was that you stay here until it was time,” he quips, and for a moment I wonder if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
Like I had a choice in being a prisoner. Like he hasn’t ruined my being so completely that I will never know what it is to feelnormal. He takes in my slack jaw, the widening of my eyes, and his own eyes narrow in return.It enrages him.It enrages him to know that I don’t view the last twenty-one years of my life as a blessing bestowed by his hand. It’s quite the opposite.
“I see I still have work to do then,” he sighs, standing up abruptly and moving to my side of the table.
My throat constricts as his hand slides into my hair and grips it so tightly that a pained noise is forced from me. His other hand races forward with a slap so loud that it causes my ears to ring, the stinging on the side of my face so strong that I feel it from my temple to my chin. He yanks my head back as he leans over me, a towering darkness snuffing out any remaining light within.
“In time, my darling Rhea, you will see just how much you mean to me.” His lips trail over my forehead as a tear slips free and runs down my cheek. With a deep breath, he lets go and walks to the door. His guards filter in, cleaning up the furniture and tea like it was never there. If it weren’t for the sensitive skin on my face, I might have thought I was hallucinating.
When the guard that held Alexi’s hair comes over to get the chair I’m sitting in, his dark eyes meet mine in a piercing stare as he gestures with his chin to get me to move. My steps off the chair are wobbly, and I nearly fall before he shoots out his hand to grip my arm. His long black hair slides over his shoulder with the movement. Quickly jerking his hand away, he lifts the chair and walks towards the door, closing it behind him.
Bella walks out of the library, her steps sure and quiet as she comes to stand right next to me—nuzzling her head into my stomach. The hand not cradling the throbbing side of my face absentmindedly scratches behind her ears. We stand there, frozen in time for a moment. All of the king’s words replay and swirl in my mind like a tornado, none of them stilling long enough for me to grasp onto and understand what they mean.
