Page 78 of Wicked Court

Cav

Concealed within a cluster of trees, I observe them from my secret vantage point, my heart racing with a tumultuous mix of fury and longing.

Elara, with hair that glimmers like embers in the moonlight, has Axe slumped before her. He is a formidable figure, his muscular frame regularly standing tall and proud, as if to offset the complications going on in his mind. But here, with her, he’s submitted, curving his spine and exposing his mutilated back.

The sight is a blade twisting in my gut. Those scars are stark reminders of brutal orders I executed under the Sovereigns’ command. Each welt is a map of agony I inflicted on Axe, my brother-in-arms.

As I watch them, conflicting emotions surge. Fury at the reminder of the agony I carved into Axe, desperation to fix what a brotherhood should be, acceptance that my life will never change, and … the illicit thrill of her.

My breath stops altogether as Elara’s delicate fingers trace the ridges of Axe’s scars, her touch laden with unexpected poignancy.

It is a tenderness that should not exist in our world, a show of compassion that stirs something deep within me.

A guttural moan escapes my chest, unbidden, as my body responds to the sight of her.

Her golden eyes hold the type of mercy that could shatter the cold edifice of the Cimmerian Court.

You can’t save him, butterfly.

I watch her, every movement, every flutter of her eyelashes, every gentle sweep of her gaze over Axe’s damaged flesh.

“Who did this to you?” I hear Elara ask Axe, her voice breaking under the weight of her sorrow.

“It depends on which scars you’re asking about,” Axe replies, his voice tinged with bitterness. “But ultimately, they are from people who should have protected me.”

Axe’s words wrap around me like a noose, tightening their grip on my conscience. He speaks the truth, a truth I am all too familiar with. But to hear him say it, to hear him acknowledge the trauma I imposed upon him, it cuts deep.

I have to assure myself that I am protecting him.

If not me, someone worse would do it. The Sovereigns wouldn’t simply choose Wilder or Kaspian, no. I wouldn’t be surprised if they contacted every single one of Axe’s abusive foster families, then line them up for the joy of maiming him again.

They chose me because they believe me to be the most obedient, the most discreetly brutal. And in their warped logic, they’re right.

But I had foolishly thought that I would never be used against my own brothers. The weight of that realization settles heavily upon my shoulders, threatening to crush me under its burden.

I reach into my pocket, and my fingers close around the cold metal of the ruby necklace. Elara, true to her pledge of being our good girl, revealed its hiding place. I had half-expected another lie or half-truth.

I’m almost disappointed she broke.

However, the necklace she worked so hard to hide from us glints mockingly in my hand, its jagged edge a testament to something fractured. Incomplete.

My fury reignites.

She gave us the necklace, yes, but she failed to tell us what condition it’d be in.

Elara and Axe stand out in the open, lost in a moment meant for neither rules nor eyes, especially not mine. I am The Consul, enforcer of the court’s merciless laws, yet here I am, coveting that which I am forbidden from experiencing.

I’m cursed, bound by blood to a legacy of misfortune and permanent servitude to the Court that began with a wrong against Sarah Anderton.

The irony of desiring the descendant of the one we wronged isn’t lost on me.

“Elara.” I finally allow her name to quietly slide off my tongue, a weapon forged in the fires of my restraint.

It’s time to confront them.

Even if it scorches my soul to ash, I will uphold the sovereignty of the Court, regardless of the cost.

Yet, as I shift forward, primal thoughts claw at the edges of my control.

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