Chapter 52

Nylren

“There she is.” Father’s voice fills the air, his tongue coated in pleasure. “My devilish creature.”

Elanor walks in, her dark eyes scanning the room filled with soldiers and landing on her cuffed and injured mate, now kneeling at the feet of the King. A gold collar covered in drops of blood decorates his neck. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight, our only hint the demon is about to be unleashed.

With a swift movement of her sword, she lunges at the closest guard, slicing him in half, her other hand raising and pouring a storm of fire on another guard.

The soldiers stationed by the entrance attack, but they fall one by one, slain by her wrath.

She’s grown into quite a Fae since her stay at the palace. From a reckless girl to a confident warrior. Most would describe her as terrifying, but not Father. He hasn’t even blinked. He’s watching the scene with a smile of pure delight.

A pit of disgust opens in my stomach as he devours her from a distance, his adoration pouring from his widened pupils on a face so similar to mine. Father has never granted me such a look. Ever worthless to him, although I’ve always been at his beck and call.

He doesn’t utter a single word until half of the men lie dying on the floor, their wails making my ears bleed.

“Tsk. Tsk. Careful now, my dear. You wouldn’t want my hand to shake from terror.”

Father moves so quickly I barely catch a glimpse of the blade in his hand, but Ela freezes immediately, her sword mid-air as his knife presses against Azran’s throat.

Two guards grab her by the arms, seizing her sword, and she doesn’t resist. A hiss escapes her lips when a familiar collar snaps around her neck. The darkness within her irises retreats, revealing a soft hazel hue.

“Let him go,” Elanor says.

Father pulls back his knife as the guards bring her forward. Although she is standing several feet away from us, her hatred radiates from every fiber of her body.

Father’s dark laugh sounds in the hall, but she doesn’t turn to face him as sobs echo in a corner of the room.

Lord Keryth is hunched over the broken body of his mate, wracked by grief. Three soldiers stand nearby, their swords drawn and ready to strike at the slightest hint of resistance, but he is no more than another broken Fae under the King’s boot.

Ela’s eyes dart around as she studies the room, no doubt searching for a way out.

Father snaps his fingers until she finally meets his gaze.

“Who are you looking for? Who do you hope will come save you, now?”

“Someone ready to sink their blade into your twisted heart,” she spits.

I hold my breath at Ela’s defiance, but Father laughs. With another snap of his fingers, Commander Dran steps forward, a bag in his hands.

Reaching into the opening, Father pulls out a mass of blond hair and flesh.

“No one is coming, Elanor.”

He throws Amrynn’s head, letting it roll for everyone to see.

Ela’s eye twitches, her anger barely contained as guards tighten their hold.

“And you.” Airdan cocks his head towards Azran. “Won’t you greet our guest of honor?”

Ela’s features remain neutral, though the slight clenching of her teeth reveals the depth of her despair. She’s gotten better at hiding her emotions, but no one can fool me.

Father has the talent to stir someone’s deepest fears with a smile on his face, but mine is to read people better than anyone else.

“Ela, I’m—“

Airdan’s fist connects with Azran’s jaw the moment he opens his mouth. “That’s enough.”

The former High Lord’s head bobs weakly against his chest before he spits blood. A growl escapes Elanor’s lips when soldiers flank him.

“I understand where I failed, you know?” Father takes a step towards Ela before lifting his hands in the air, his knife now loosely held. “These emotions you have for those below you hold you back from fulfilling your true purpose. Don’t you see?” His eyes widen, and his mouth opens as he waits. “I can free you of them. I can free the world. With you by my side, we will accomplish our greatest purpose. Raise our people to their rightful place, with humans crushed under the soles of our boots.” Father glances towards Azran and Keryth. “And those of us too weak to see will perish.”

Of course, he doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t need to for me to know the weakness he sees in me.

With a snap of his fingers in my direction, I move for the first time since I entered the room and took position behind him. After handing me his short blade, he leans towards Ela.

The metal handle of the knife a cool and calming presence in my palm, I barely notice when my fingers clench around the weapon. As I glance at everyone in the throne hall, the final pieces of the plan fall into place.

“Let’s put all this hatred behind us, Ela.” Father extends a hand towards her. “Join me.”

“Set me free right now, and I’ll show you what we can do together.” Her voice trembling with uncontained rage, she yanks at the soldiers holding her back, widening her stance until Father retreats.

A guard closes the distance in a few steps and lands a blow on her face, busting her lips unceremoniously. Ela answers with a wide smile, her teeth reddened by the blood filling her mouth.

These reckless fools know nothing but violence, and it appears to be amusing Father. He always sounds so carefree and full of life when he laughs like this. Almost genuinely blissful. But I’ve been fooled by it for too long not to recognize there is no humanity left in his body.

“I could have killed both of you on sight, you know?” Father says in between chuckles. He sighs, and his tone turns dark. “But I always try to find the good in others. My biggest flaw, I must say.”

When he turns his back to me to stare at the wall, I follow him on instinct. I might never be presented with an opportunity like this again.

“I’m surrounded by mad people,” Father mutters to himself. “Will none of them see reason, dear?”

His question meets with the deafening silence of the room and everyone stills, even Keryth.

“No, you’re right. They won’t,” he adds, with a shake of his head.

Madness dances in his irises as he glances around the hall, his mind ridden with paranoia.

“It has to be done, you’re right.”

Father’s glacial tone permeates every fiber of my body as I recognize what’s coming next.

My head snaps to Azran just in time to lock eyes with the fallen High Lord. I nod slightly.

Time suspends when Father snaps his fingers and guards grip their weapons a little tighter, waiting for the order.

“Kill her.”

As the words leave Father’s mouth, a scream leaves Azran’s and he pushes to his feet. Crouching, he goes for the closest guard, knocking him to the ground.

A cry accompanies the melody of breaking bones as Ela headbutts the guard behind her. It was a mistake not to cuff her, a mistake she takes full advantage of.

Soldiers come to life, stirred from the shock of the attack, gathering around Azran and Elanor while others run to protect Father.

A sword flies at Azran and he raises his hands to meet it. The blade slices through his cuffs, earning him a cut in the process. He pulls his assailant into a neck brace with blood flowing from his forearm, and snaps their neck before jumping back. He rolls on the ground and reaches for a sword, but another guard kicks it away.

Guards close in on Ela, who’s already keeping two assailants at arm’s length with her fists.

Azran lunges at the nearest soldier while I remain frozen in place, assessing their every move to decide whether I should make mine. Going low, he escapes a blow and reaches for the guard’s belt. His fingers grip the handle of her knife and the blade ends in her throat a second later.

He parries a blow with his weapon and aims for his attacker’s neck, having found the weakest spot in their emerald armor with a short blade.

“Seize him.” Father’s orders fill the hall. “Kill her. Kill her.”

Seizing the split second his back turns, I lunge—plunging my small blade hilt-deep in a guard’s spine. The wet crunch of shattered vertebrae gives way to frantic shouts as his body slumps—my route to freedom cleared.

Father gasps and my heart sings for the first time in ages, only I have no time to relish his surprise.

Two guards are closing in on Azran, forcing him to retreat.

“You’re dead,” says the short one.

“And we’ll kill her next,” the other adds, cocking his head towards Ela, who is still fending off attackers.

“That’s right, we’re—“

My blade pierces the back of the soldier’s head and blood rolls down his shoulder blades as he collapses.

“What the—“

The other guard’s words remain frozen on his tongue as I run the blade across his throat from behind. His hands go to his neck as he chokes on his own blood and drops to the floor.

Azran squints at me, raising his knife and no doubt debating whether to take me down or not.

Without a glance back, I turn and search the room.

Taking advantage of the guards’ confusion, I make a beeline for my tormentor.

Raising my arm, I move to strike. I’ve hidden in Father’s torturous shadows long enough.

As the blade draws close to his neck, I can picture it.

The knife stuck in his throat, blood dripping down his back, and the emerald light draining from his eyes, the accursed color stoking deeper fires of hatred.

A world without my father in it. Sitting on Nyths’ throne with everyone at my feet seeing me, truly seeing me. Even I couldn’t have devised a more perfect plan. This attack has made for the perfect cover.

The blade mere inches from its target, Father turns faster than I thought him capable of, and my blood freezes.

With a roar, I put all my strength in the strike until steel digs into flesh.

Blood drips down the blade, each crimson drop rolling down my wrist and forearm—a red river, its origin my father’s strong hand wrapped around the knife.

My stomach drops as his fingers find purchase on my knuckles. Father grabs me by the neck with his bare hand, but my gaze is still fixed on the blade cutting into his palm.

“Foolish boy.”

With these two words, I’m returned to the damp cells underneath the castle. Survival kicks in. Reaching for his shirt, I tear it open.

“No.”

The word slips my tongue as panic flares.

The medallion should be around his neck. My salvation should be within reach.

I searched the entire palace of Nyths when he was busy inflicting pain on his captives. I looked everywhere and found nothing, leaving only one possibility. Father kept the pendant on him at all times and never took it off.

Terror fills my bones as the gravity of my mistake dawns on me.

“How easily you are tricked. You’re nothing but a tool. A useless one.” Father’s words barely reach my ears as his fingers squeeze my throat. My hand goes to his.

Groaning under the pressure, my mouth drops open as I gasp for air and attempt to undo his deadly hold.

“Don’t you think I noticed all these years? Even with my eyes closed, I could feel your murderous gaze on the back of my head.” My eyes widen as his fingers tighten on the side of my neck, crushing my airway. “I tried my hardest to beat it out of you, but alas.”

With each shallow breath I manage to steal, his pressure on my larynx strengthens. I scratch at his hand while battling to regain control of the knife, but he doesn’t yield an inch. Staring back into his eyes, I lose my grip on the blade. As it clatters to the floor, Father kicks my knee and pins me down. Straddling me, both his hands press down on my neck and I see his undying hatred for me.

Clawing at his hands, I give it all I have left. I pour the same hatred into my touch, reciprocating his disgust. I manage mere scratches, the intense burn in my lungs growing stronger by the second.

So, this is how our decades-long feud ends. No more hiding behind false pretenses. No more games. One winner.

“You robbed me of my last memory of her. You’re no son of mine, and certainly no son of hers.”

My father’s last words ring in confirmation.

My eyelids grow heavy, the pressure in my head and chest unbearable, like my heart is going to explode.

Father’s mouth is still moving, but I can’t hear a word as my vision clouds with black dots.

Maybe this is a victory too. Father finally gets what he’s always wanted. I found a way to finally please him. I could never be worthy of his love in life, but maybe I will be in death.