Page 25 of The Sorrow of Shadows

“That almost sounds like begging. Typically, that’s done on one’s knees.” I try to joke, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“If I’m getting on my knees for you, it will be for an entirely different reason, little demon.” There is heat in his deep brown eyes. They are so dark they almost look black, and this close I can see flecks of crimson amongst the brown.Such a beautiful and unusual color.

“I will consider it,” I say, trying to break the tension.

“Thank you.”

It’s not a promise I’m sure I can keep, and his insistence that I not bring Prince Ayden to court makes me want to do it even more.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BREYLA

Ifind myself wandering the castle halls, lost in thought. The multitude of information I’ve learned over the last several days has left me more confused than before I arrived. Then, I just had a dead Father, a ghost, and distaste for my mother—or rather her decisions. Now, I have multiple bodies, at least one murderer on the loose, and an ache growing behind my eyes.

I sigh, rubbing my temples in an attempt to assuage the growing headache. Somehow I ended up in the long hall that houses the portraits of the royal family. Paintings of late royals stare at me, their eyes empty, yet somehow still assessing. It feels like the generations passed are staring at me, judging me for the state of my kingdom.

If they could see Rimor now, I’m sure they’d have things to say. “Yeah, I know, I’m disappointed in me, too.” Thoughts of my father’s ghost occupy my mind. He had seemed so sure Aurelius was behind his death, but I had yet to find anything that suggested such a thing. He was hiding things, butnothing fit together. I’m missing pieces of the puzzle. I sigh, moving down the wall to the next set of portraits.

This one is the most recent—a painting my mother had commissioned the day my father officially stepped down and handed the title of General to me. I smile softly at the memory of that day.

“Mother, please stop messing with my hair. Lyla has already perfected it,” I grumbled, trying to push her hands away. She was just nit-picking, but I knew she meant well.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m just so proud of you, and I want this moment captured perfectly.” She stopped messing with my curls, instead grabbing my gold and ruby diadem and placing it on my head.

“We already have family portraits. I don’t understand why we need another,” I mumbled.

She raised an incredulous eyebrow at me. “The last family portrait we have is from the day you turned seven, Breyla. I haven’t been able to get you to sit for another in the eighteen years since then. You can indulge me on this.”

“Listen to your mother, Breyla. She doesn’t ask much of you.” My father's deep timber was kind but left no room for argument.

“Fine,” I conceded. If I gave her this, maybe she wouldn’t bother me for another eighteen years. I could figure out how to sit for several boring hours in the same place.

My mother’s soft hand gently stroked my cheek, and I let myself lean into her touch, savoring the feel of her peace.

“You know I only care so much because I love you, right? I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter and heir. I’m so proud of you,” she said, emotion choking her.

“We both are,” my father agreed, wrapping his arm around my mother’s shoulders and pulling her to his side. He softly kissed her forehead, and she relaxed in his embrace.

“I still remember this day vividly,” my mother says, bringing me out of my memory. I don’t know when she got here.

“I was just thinking about it,” I say. This is my first time alone with her since I arrived home. The situation is one I’ve been avoiding for as long as I can.

“We were both so proud of you,” she says.

“I’m aware.” My tone is even as I say this, hoping it conveys the indifference I feel.

“Breyla, I think there’s something—” she starts, but is interrupted by my blunt question.

“Was it hard pretending to love him, or was the hard part waiting two whole weeks to move onto his brother?”

I feel the sharp sting of her palm meeting my cheek before I ever see it coming. My mother never reprimanded me as a child—that was always my father’s role. Guilt rolls through my gut, and my face throbs where her hand made contact. I touch it gingerly, honestly shocked that she hit me.

“How dare you,” she seethes. Her eyes fill with tears as she stares down at me.

“I’m—” I start.

“No, you don’t get to say anything. Right now, you get to listen,” she spits at me, and I wisely keep my mouth shut. “I loved your father—still love your father—with my entire being. Not a day goes by that my soul does not ache for him. I never once had to fake my feelings for him. Theonlyreason I’m currently engaged to Aurelius is to protect you. I am doing all of this to protect you, you stupid, selfish child.”

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