Chapter 59: Fifty Nine
*Valka*
Prince Cyrus left without me. Without a goodbye. I wasn’t surprised by it.
Because by the time I finally roused from the bed, eyes puffed, soul drained, body sore, the rumor had spread through the castle like wildfire.
The maids who washed me talked about it in hushed whispers. They laugh at me when I transverse the hallways the next day. The courtiers stare and point, hiding their laughter behind their fingers. They say I bled the king’s sheets red. They say I’d done so horribly in his bed that I’d lost his favour. Some say he was so disgusted by me, he couldn’t stand the sight of me.
I’d never had a good reputation here to start with. But I preferred being a prisoner, being known as the one who killed men, than a tramp who parted her legs like a common whore and got ditched right after.
But never looked at me.
Days bled into each other. I stopped sitting near anyone at meals. I skipped training twice, then three times, then stopped going entirely. My body ached, a dull, constant throb, but it was nothing compared to the hollow that spread through my chest.
I had thought humiliation would come with anger. That I’d throw my cup in his face or hurl words sharp enough to cut. Instead, it came with silence. I spoke less. Ate less. Laughed not at all. And so, it didn’t matter how many times Evadne knocked on my door. I just couldn’t bring myself to speak to her. Or anyone, really.
Once, I ran into him alone in the courtyard. Sometime late in the morning, when the sheets had felt too hot on my skin and the walls had begun closing in on me, and I’d run to catch a breath.
In one hand, he carried an empty goblet, tipped over absentmindedly, like he’d forgotten he still held it. The left half of his face was painted in gold glitter and an earring dangled off the tip of his ear. And he’d swayed slightly on his feet, blinking at me with drunken confusion.
And then, he’d flashed a blinding white grin. "Ah, if it isn’t the sly little witch." And then, he tripped on his garments and landed by my feet. "Lying in the dirt now, am I?" he murmured, glancing up at me. "Typical of your kind, but far beneath my...gravitas."
Without thinking it over, I’d crouched to help him up. "How much have you been drinking?"
"Enough to stomach looking at you." His voice sounded light, conversational, but it dropped like a stone in my stomach and my fingers curled back from where they hovered inches away from gripping his arm. He shifted his glance to the flowers. "I do not remember what she smelled like anymore." He stared at the flowers, roses of several colours, flowers I’d never seen or known before coming here. "She planted those herself, you know. Every time she got mad and spiraled out of control, seconds away from setting me on fire, she’d purchase these little seeds and dig up the earth, even if we had all the servants to do the job. She’d plant them, nurture them. Admittedly, there was nothing much she could do, not while she was being held against her will."
He snorted at his own words. And I didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know if he still realized I was crouching beside him.
After a moment, he seemed to come back to himself. His eyes focused on me, glittering in the dark. He reached for me, catching a strand of my hair and combed it through his fingers softly.
That handed glided down, cupping my cheek gently, tilting my head all the way back until I couldn’t tell which was more beautiful. The stars that lit the skies or his eyes. "For both our sakes," he says, voice honeyed. "Stay out of my gardens. Stay out of my path. Stay out of my sight." A sharp claw ran against my roaring pulse and he stared pointedly at it. "I cannot promise I will not kill you the next time I see you."
One tear rolled down my cheek and I hated it. How feeble I felt. "Why not kill me then? Banish me? Throw me out, so you never have to see my face again."
His eyes followed the tear track with tunnel vision and he seemed to find it pleasing enough, because he leaned in and kissed it off my cheek. His lips were warm but the kiss was cold. "Because as much as I despise you, I still need you."
"Because I am just a tool," I breathed, a shudder wracking my body.
"Precisely."
I didn’t see him again for the rest of the week.
****
Contenders aren’t typically allowed to interact with each other outside meals and revelries — a rule meant to prevent intimidation or sabotage. Staying within the castle for the duration of the stages was mandatory, but mingling was rare.
My friendship with Evadne had been considered scandalous enough, with courtiers whispering of alliances between House Kaldrith and Nythorn, or schemes to take down the other competitors. Political nonsense that still hurts my brain if I think too hard about it.
Which is why I don’t expect to find Lilith waiting in my chambers on the eve of the final Selection.
I stop dead in the doorway.
She is dressed in a sheer black dress that is made mostly of lace and thin scraps, doing more to reveal than hide. Her flaming hair is plaited into regal braids, silver woven through each strand and her lips are painted a dark shade of red.
"You can come in," she croons. "I promise, I don’t bite."
I stare at her elongated fangs. Seconds was all it’d take before she ripped my throat out. "I’m fine right here."
She nods and turns in a graceful twirl, retrieving a small box. She parts the lid and I find myself staring at the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen. The stone in it’s center is an onyx black, with gold trimmings crawling around it in a circle like ivy. "The King gave me this last night," she says with a wicked smile. "Beautiful, isn’t it? I didn’t know he could be a kind lover."
The words hit harder than they should. I swallow against the bitterness clawing its way up my throat, but the ache spreads anyway, deep, dull, familiar, until I feel completely numb again. Of course I’d heard the servants whisper about how often she’d been summoned to his chambers this past week. And at some point, I’d stopped hating myself and started hating everyone else."Congratulations on finally getting picked?"
She laughs humorlessly and though the sound is feminine and soft, I feel the heat in the room spike. "You misunderstand me, Lyra. I have not come here to rub salt on your obviously very fresh wounds." She takes a step forward. "On the contrary, I sympathise with you. You are not the first to get swept up in the Lucien-storm. He is King. Women and men alike would die for a turn with him. It is completely normal."
"Are you here to talk me to death?"
Lilith glides closer, stopping just a few feet from me. "No. I acknowledge that we started off the wrong foot. It’d serve us better if we became allies, rather than remain badgering for each other’s throats. I am the best choice for the Crown. I always was Lucien’s first choice. Should you help me tomorrow and stick to my side, I shall have no problem letting you live and remain his whore, still. I’ve never minded sharing my lovers."
My blood heats. "You can keep him."
"I will," she says simply, like stating a fact. "Still, you shall need allies to stay alive. The final stages of the Selection rely heavily on working as a unit. I never quite considered that you might be a useful ally. But I’ve been thinking about the cliff and how you saved my life. For a moment there, I thought you might have called me your sister."
Her green eyes search mine, silence hanging heavy between us. "Did I hear you correctly that day?"
That was Ilya. Not me. Either way, I didn’t trust Lilith. Least of all with my truth. "You’re imagining things."
She nods again, like she expected that answer. "So, will you take my offer? There are perks, you know. I will shield you--"
"By killing others. No, thank you."
A flicker of irritation passes through her eyes before vanishing behind that perfect, practiced calm. "This world is kill or be killed, Lyra. And more than life, we fight for a crown that carries a boon from the gods. You fight for freedom. I fight for power. Lucien is not merely a man. Unlike the rest of us, whose bloodlines are diluted by time, across many generations, he is pure-blooded. Bred from two of Tiber’s founding heirs, those who built this kingdom with their bare hands. His grandfather is the first King. His great-grandfather is Great Thandric. You look at him and see a man, a mere Lycan. We see deity. A living legacy. It is nothing that your small mind can comprehend."
Her voice drops into a low hush that feels like reprimand. "So judge me as you see fit, but do not let it cloud your judgement. You will do better beside me than before my fire." She steps past me, silk and smoke in her wake. "The offer stands until we step through those doors. I will shield you and in return, you will help me win. That way, you live. In my opinion, it is a win-win. Choose wisely."
"You left your box," I call out, noting it still seated pretty on my dresser.
Lilith looks over her shoulder. "You can have it. The King will give me that much more once we are mated."
I grab the stupid box and throw it into the hearth, watching it erupt into flames.