Page 91 of Fated

In an instant, we were back in the cafeteria, the change so seamless it left me reeling.

“I have quite a few tricks up my sleeve Areya,” he added with a playful grin.

I nodded, more than a bit disoriented, my mind spinning. “Because you’re the King of Ambrosia,” I said, almost absentmindedly, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

Ash froze, his body going rigid. “How—how do you know that?”

“That thing inside of you, the curse, it told me.” Yes, I sounded crazy.

“What the hell, Areya? You talked to the—curse?”

“Yep.” I said, still trying to process everything.

“What did it say to you?”

“It said, ‘The king is mine.’”

He stared, waiting for more. “And?”

“And I told it you were mine, and then I killed it.”

A grin spread across Ash’s face. “You’re not freaked out that I’m the king?”

“Oh, I’m plenty freaked out—it’s not every day you learn your boyfriend is a king.”

His eyebrow shot up, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Boyfriend?”

My eyes widened at what I’d just said by accident. “I didn’t mean—”

“That’s a shame because I like the sound of it,” he interrupted with a smirk.

I quickly changed the subject, my face on fire. “Tell me about your father.”

Ash’s playful demeanor faded instantly. He ran a hand through his hair before settling his arm around the back of my chair. His eyes darkened with a heaviness that made me ache for him.

“My father was a terrible king,” he began, his voice low. “He kept more human slaves than all other kingdoms combined. When I was eight, I was exploring the cells under the castle and came across a boy my age. His mother had died the year before; he’d been kept down there since.”

I swallowed hard, barely able to speak.

“An eight-year-old boy? Locked in a cell for over a year?”

“His name was Braun, and he was a little more than skin and bones when I met him. I started sneaking him food from the castle, which he happily accepted, but more than anything, he was just excited to have someone to talk to. I went to see him every day for months, bringing him food and telling him stories about life in the castle. Somehow, despite everything, he alwayssmiled. I promised him that one day, I’d become king, and when I did, I’d free all the slaves.”

Ash paused, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“One day, when I went to see him—a blueberry tart hidden in my pocket—he was gone, and I found my father waiting for me instead. He dragged me out to the grounds behind the castle, where he had Braun tied up to a tree.”

Ash’s voice began to tremble, and my chest tightened.

“The way Braun looked to me for help—the fear in his eyes, tears rolling down his face—I’ll never forget that look. It’s seared into my memory. My father handed me a sword and ordered me to kill him. I refused, of course, and dropped the sword, but my father said if I didn’t do it, I’d end up in a cell under the castle. I didn’t care, and when he realized that, he called me a disgrace, and unworthy to be called his son.”

I couldn’t breathe, imagining an eight-year-old Ash, forced to endure such cruelty.

“Then he … made me do it,” Ash whispered, his voice breaking.

I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand. “He compelled you?”

“No.” Ash shook his head. “He used his power to control my body. Inside, I was screaming, fighting with everything in me, but I couldn’t stop myself. I picked up the sword and plunged it straight into Braun’s chest. My friend died believing I had chosen to murder him.”

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