Chapter 4

Nylren

It’s past midnight when I pause at the bottom of the stairway, hidden in the shadows, waiting for the sign.

As always, my shaky hands betray my emotional state, no matter how much I will them to stay still. I’ve lurked in the darkness for as long as I can remember, trying to disappear in its embrace, but I haven’t gotten used to the angst that comes with it.

I wish I could vanish in the shadows forever, or remove the cause of all my suffering, the master I serve and who’s granted me nothing but disdain in compensation for the sacrifices I’ve made.

My heart pounds so loud in my ears it overpowers my senses and I’m ready to jump out of my skin any second as I wait. But the signal doesn’t come.

Willing my legs to move, I step out of the shadows and head into the small corridor leading to the servants’ quarters, my steps silent. I’ve made it my life’s purpose to become invisible to those who dwell in this place.

I turn a corner and make for the door on the far end of the dim-lit corridor. The wooden panel sits ajar, revealing the small room plunged into darkness.

Hair rises on my arms as I freeze on the landing.

Zavan would never be this careless.

“You won’t find him here.”

My heart almost gives out at the sound of the deep voice I’d recognize anywhere. It’s haunted me far too long.

Turning around, I face my father wearing his night robe and signature smile. Charming and inviting to the untrained eye, but malicious to the bone. The devil personified, the monster I have no choice but to obey, and the one being I can’t escape. Yet.

I remain silent, unable to utter a simple word, for I know I won’t be able to repress the tremble in my voice. And he hates that above all else.

“There will be no more meddling with servants.”

I nod, hoping that will be the end of it.

“I’ve been too benevolent as a father. I allowed too much when you were an infant, and now look at you. A frail, scared Fae, not strong enough to fight on a battlefield or withstand a conversation.”

I clench my jaw and swallow the tears down, a reflex earned by years spent in Father’s presence. I haven’t cried in decades, but the treacherous tears still come to my eyes every time his disapproval rings, another reflex of my traumatized body.

Gathering my spirits, I ask the question that’s burning my lips.

“What have you done with him?”

His vicious smile widens. “Me?” He takes a moment to look over his hands and inspect his palms. “Nothing.”

I pinch my eyes shut as I imagine blood dripping from Zavan’s ravaged face. He was no doubt tortured horribly, cut and whipped until all the nerves in his body lit on fire. I hope madness took him before his body gave out. I hear it can make it more bearable.

He was a good lover. Kind, patient, and funny too. He could be recognized anywhere, with stripes of purple, red, and blue decorating his raven-black hair.

I repress the gag stuck in my throat and remain still. I’d say my heart broke with Father’s words, but it was obliterated a long time ago. I barely remember a time when I had one. I’m no more than an empty carcass kept alive for someone else’s sick games, no matter how much Zavan tried telling me otherwise. This is just another blow to my body, already beaten to a pulp.

Father’s hands might not be red-strained, but the blood of thousands marks them nonetheless. He simply doesn’t enjoy doing the dirty work himself anymore. He reserves that for special occasions only, such as my birthday.

“I hate you.” The words escape my lips before I can stop myself, and I hold my breath instinctively, waiting for the real beating to commence. This time, I can’t help my reaction and screw my eyes closed, bracing myself for the hit.

Laughter fills the air—full, euphoric, gut-wrenching belly laughter.

Opening my eyes, I watch as the Fae responsible for my hateful existence ridicules me, his utter disdain a song in my ears, and a switch flips in my head.

A thought comes to me, the strikingly clear solution to all my problems, and a promise.

One day, I will kill you. One day, I will kill the Fae King of Zetrea.

For the first time, I let him laugh as I picture his headless corpse at my feet, and I’m tempted to laugh too. It’s a wonder it took me so long to come to this realization, but I see clearly now. It will be either him or me. I can no longer survive alongside him. Father made sure of it. This is what it will come down to.

This realm will be better without his retched soul governing every living thing with terror, and I will succeed where he failed. I will achieve total control of the land and earn the respect of my subjects. I will find a way to break free.

“Your Majesty.”

A messenger bows in front of the throne, his pants and vest covered in dust from the ride across the plains west of Nyths.

Father moves his finger and the rider stands, although he keeps his gaze lowered in the presence of his ruler.

“Speak.”

“A delegation from Lóna is on its way to Nyths, your Majesty.”

Father straightens his back, wheels turning in his calculating mind.

“Azran, High Lord of the united Fae territories of Lóna, rides with them.”

He waves off the messenger, but I remain behind him, waiting.

Father stands gracefully. “So, he has done it. High Lord of the Fae.”

He turns towards me, waiting for my acknowledgment. “Boy.”

I nod, clenching my jaw ever so slightly at the use of the nickname. I haven’t been a boy in centuries. I never got to be one. He made sure of it.

“It will be done.”

I remember meeting Azran in this very throne room. We were children at the time. We didn’t talk much, but at a glance, I saw more than most would have, for I saw the same hatred in his eyes, the same anger towards our genitors.

We share a similar story. Both raised by monsters, robbed of our childhood. The only difference is, his tormentor is dead and he made it out. A rush of anger and jealousy courses through me.

I quietly sneak out of the room and head deeper into the royal halls.

There is something the King wants, and whatever Father wants, he gets. I’ve always been here to make sure of it.

But this time, Azran carries something I want, too.

The steps of my own plan begin to fall into place as I cross the corridors and make for the dark rooms below the palace.