Page 64 of The Horned King

With painstaking slowness, he helps me with the parts of dressing that he can, easing my shirt over my head, gently retying my pants, and placing my shoes on my feet. The contrast between his rough treatment and this new sweet and soft touch puts a weight on my chest, an ache I've not felt before.

Before leaving the library, he puts the terrifying helm and cape back on, the facade of his feared moniker back in place. Even with the terrible thing on, as scary as he looks, I want to feel him. On top of me, beneath me, any way I could get him. I want to have The Horned King.

And that is a terrifying thought.

As we walk back to our rooms, I twirl the ring on my finger, considering the promises I made to my people and whether I could still fulfill them and somehow have what fulfills me, too. I know the answer is no. My only choice is to return home, keep the vows made, and leave this part of me behind here with Kai.

No matter how badly I want to carry it with me, it doesn't belong in Rhyma. It belongs with him, even though the rest of me cannot. The weight of that sits heavy on my chest for the rest of the day and into the night, realizing that when I leave here, half of me will stay here forever, and I'll have to learn to live without it.

Eighteen

Kairon

I haven't been able to prove it yet, but I am almost positive Rhyma is responsible for the assassination attempt. I can't believe I didn't realize it the moment the killer had a gun. No one carries fucking guns. They're loud and vulgar things.

In a very public setting, too. They wanted the spectacle of their pretty little martyr being gunned down brutally. But there's no way anyone would believe that they would be capable of this. They've always been uppity assholes, content to stay in their little bubble. They've ruled through fear since their inception, but this... this is something far more sinister.

For the last couple of weeks, every spare moment has been filled with communications with my spies in Rhyma, and yet, nothing. Whoever this scheme belongs to is keeping it completely secret, even from their own colleagues. There's not so much as a whisper of it.

In fact, everyone over there thinks the announcement of the upcoming ball is good news. That we're all going to be making international celebrations a regular thing. Not a single person even suspects that relations are worse than they've ever been.

Over the last few days, I've witnessed Elva glaring daggers into King Colm's head more times than I can count, likely imagining all the terrible ways to kill him. I've also done the same for Prince Tirriel as he tries and fails to seduce Elva.

Maren, the witches, and I decided that today we all need a fucking break from each other to prevent a murder. Mostly Tirriel's, if we're being honest. If I catch him salivating over her magnificent breasts again, I'm going to suck the life from his body without even meaning to.

I'm no better, but she wants my attention. And I love giving it to her. Her cries of pleasure in the library filled me with a need the likes I've never felt before. Her flushed skin, sweating and writhing as she fell apart around my fingers yesterday make it quite clear that this thing between us isn't going away, and it isn't going to be ignored any longer.

If nothing else, the fact that Rhyma is responsible for the attacks, the one already passed and the one coming, makes it even more difficult to resist her. Her good intentions, boundless curiosity, and powerful mind are all miraculously genuine. She's nothing but a victim of her own country's machinations, deserving none of the mistrust I've shown her. I should tell her and give her all the pieces of the puzzle I've found. Especially after the incredible piece of her she gifted me yesterday. But if there's one thing I know about Elva, it's that she won't believe me anyway.

Her need to believe in the good in everyone will blind her to the reality standing right in front of her. She'll insist it's a coincidence or that I'm jumping to conclusions. But I'm not. It's like I thought weeks ago, even before I suspected Rhyma, she's the perfect martyr.

I've got a plan to distract myself from the inevitable and show her a secret part of myself so we can begin building real trust.

Long before we would normally meet for breakfast, I'm knocking on Elva's bedroom door, a swirling in my stomach that I've never felt before. Swinging it open, she starts, "Raya, I thought we went over this. You don't have to—oh, it's you. Hi?"

"Good morning, Elva," I greet, handing her the coffee. "Get dressed. I have something I want to show you."

"Really?" she beams, gingerly taking the drink from me and sipping it with a blissful sigh. "What is it?"

"If I tell you, it'll ruin the surprise." Her eyes light up, and the sense of adventure fills her blood like it always does, making me grin. "Wear sturdy shoes; you'll be walking a lot."

"Okay!" she all but slams the door in my face, so excited to be getting out of this castle and going somewhere else. Before I can sit on the couch, the door swings open again, "Umm, can you get Raya for me?"

"Do you need something?" I ask.

"Sort of?" she pulls at her wild, glorious hair. "I just... she does my hair better than I can. I can't seem to figure out how to deal with how wavy it's gotten since being here."

Unable to hide my smile, I nod. "I'll send her right in."

"Thank you," she says and disappears behind the door again. A few minutes later, Raya disappears behind it, too, waving at me as she darts by.

The longer I sit and wait, the more intense the feeling in my stomach becomes. There's a pressure on my chest that I can't explain, a sensation that is both horrid and wonderful all at once. Raya explained this feeling to me once, and I laughed at her.

I shake my head, trying to forget what came just after that conversation. The only experiences I've had with affection in this life have been disastrous, to say the least. Raya deserved far better than what she got in return for her love. Shan's only version of love is the kind that lasts as long as his erection.

And my parents... fuck, I am not getting into that now. I'll have to face that situation today, but no need to start the pity party so early.

Finally, Elva's bedroom door slowly opens. Raya pops out first, comes to sit by me, and steals a couple of tiny, powdered sugar-covered pastries. She nudges me with her shoulder, pointedly looking back at the door.

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