Page 161 of A Fate so Cruel

The guards inside the palace backed away as he strode down the halls.

Rion eyed the familiar paintings. The vases and floral decorations that came with the winter solstice so near. He inhaled the sweet evergreen fragrances that reminded him of his childhood.

Rapid footsteps sounded down the hall, and Rion paused when Saoirse skidded to a halt in front of him. The two stared at one another, her mouth gaping and shoulders heaving as if she’d just run from the other end of the palace.

Rion’s lips parted. Saoirse’s green eyes scanned his body from head to toe. He hadn’t seen his sister since the night he’d killed her friend. He’d been afraid to confront her then, and if he was being honest with himself, he was afraid to confront her now.

But he missed their conversations. Their games. The way she’d joke and treat him as if he were anyone else. Rion opened his mouth to greet her, but a dozen Fae guards raced from the other end of the hall. Their commander shouted an order, then the guards surrounded his sister, their weapons drawn and aimed at the new threat in their presence.

Him.

Rion eyed the males and females, then with a sinking gut, met his sister’s gaze.

“Rion.” It was a million questions in a single word. But despite the longing, Rion turned away and headed up a narrow staircase toward the third floor. He felt that familiar pain bloom in his chest. The reminder of why he’d begun pulling away from her in the first place.

Because the people looked up to her. They relied on her to make sound decisions, and if she were caught with The Demon, then she could very well lose everything.

So Rion tucked her away in his heart, went to his room, and prepared to face the world once again as a creature of the night.

Chapter Two

Noise from the gathered crowd echoed off the ballroom’s marble walls as the dancers bowed to their partners, then stood face to face, readying themselves for yet another round on the floor.

Some flitted between partners while others stayed with the ones they’d walked in beside. Rion memorized every face. He’d been back less than two weeks and had already thwarted a dozen attempts on his life. He’d killed half of them and left the other half in the dirt. They’d all be seeking a new profession once they woke.Ifthey woke.

He sipped from his drink, the amber liquid burning his throat. Rion crossed his ankles, his back pressed against the wall farthest away from the food tables. He didn’t want to deal with their cautious steps. Here, in the darkness, they simply avoided him.

Rion eyed the bottom of his glass. He’d poured it himself from a bottle hidden in his room. He should have brought it down. He supposed he could always find an unopened one in the kitchens.

Alec had already planned the celebration before his “untimely arrival,” as his brother had so kindly put it. He didn’t need words to know Alec wasn’t happy. He’d probably thought his little brother long dead. Likely hoped for it.

Rion eyed the guests of honor. They’d emerged victorious in a skirmish to the north involving a rogue group from Pádraigín. The small port city usually kept to itself, but its citizens had been stirring lately. Rion imagined they were likely tired of their boring life at the edge of the continent.

He eyed his glass again. It wasn’t his concern. Even if he got involved, it wasn’t as though Alec would throw a celebration in his honor.

A male’s rough voice rose above the crowd, drawing several gazes. Glass shattered, skidding across the polished floor, then Rion watched the male slap a half-breed across the face. The slave barely reacted to the hit. Blood leaked from the corner of the female’s mouth, but she bowed and quickly began collecting the shards with her bare hands.

The scent of her blood filled the space as glass cut across her palm. The male kicked her in the stomach, then stormed away. She curled in on herself, sucking down breath.

Anger clouded Rion’s vision and those who’d dared to step close quickly moved away. He stared at the slave. The half-breed. Stared at the Fae who sneered at her in disgust.

She kept picking up the glass.

Half-breeds hadn’t asked to be born different. Their parents had made that decision for them. Some were love matches, as forbidden as they were, but most resulted from a human female’s unfortunate encounter with a disgraceful male.

Rion couldn’t fathom ever forcing a female, human or no.

The gods allowed the half-breed’s conception. Just like they’d allowed his. And the gods also tolerated their mistreatment. Just as they’d always turned a blind eye to his plights.

Rion continued watching the slave. Another took her place, the two barely nodding to one another in a silent language they’d developed to survive.

He followed her as she weaved through the crowd, carefully balancing the tray of broken glass. He followed her again through the set of double doors.

She didn’t notice him, and Rion remained silent as he watched her deposit the glass in a trash receptacle before tending to her hand in the sink.

Moments later, she fetched a pair of tweezers from a side drawer and began picking at the tiny shards embedded in her palm.

The female winced, then cursed. A foul word Saoirse had scolded Rion for using in his youth. The memory brought a smile to his face.

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