Page 55 of The Depraved Prince
There sits Kallum and Hayden.
Both handsome as ever, and yet still, Hayden’s cruel, entrapping, handsome smirk glimmers back at me, and a cloud of bliss rings through my veins.
How does a picture of him manage to do that to me?
I clear my throat after Queen Drago catches my vision lingering on her sons.
“I do like peonies. They’re my favorite flowers.” I try to distract myself from getting caught.
I’m not sure how she’s justifying this entire situation for herself. Her son kidnapped me! I want to shout out to her to do the right thing and let me go, but I’m sure once I do, Charles over here will whisk me away to my room for the rest of the day. I have to pretend that everything is fine.
“I want to show you my garden.” She pulls against my arm harder. “Sorry, I just get so excited sometimes. I’ve never had a daughter or a little girl of my own to share my hobbies with, like gardening. My sons aren’t interested in this.”
I’m not her daughter, and I’m thrown off that she’s so callous and dismissive towards my situation. I’m only here because they took me, and I’m being held against my will.
A minute or two passes, and I’m staring at acres of land through the red stained glass. The sun is out, and I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that she isn’t burning, in excruciating pain, or even getting lit on fire like in the movies when the red rays shine against her skin.
“Who was the man and woman in the portrait, Queen Drago?” I pry, my curiosity getting the best of me. The aura surrounding her makes me feel welcomed, and the words fall out so easily. I’ve always been good at reading people.
“Oh, please call me Cordelia,” she corrects me delicately, palming my hand with her cold one.
“Sorry, Cordelia.” We stare at her enormous garden behind the glass, acres of land with tall trees, other mountain terrain, and a giant lake in the far distance. It’s beautiful up here.
“That was my brother, Amos, and his fiancé, whom he never got to marry.” Her mood shifts, and her once warm voice turns cold with despair. She crosses her arms and looks into my eyes. Her light brown eyes turn glossy, and a black tear falls out. She wipes it away, and I refrain from comforting her. Whenever I see someone cry, I yearn to wrap them in an embrace so they’ll know they’re not alone. It’s a reflex.
“He was executed at the Inferno for falling in love with a Valkyrie. It’s a law. A law created out of fear that the living would be exposed to the underworld they live above. Everyone was afraid of Valkyrie’s exposing our kind. That they would create a mass of destruction and start a massive problem for Immortals and humans, which would lead to the extinction of our kind.”
“What’s the Inferno?”
“A place where we hold our justice system. If you’re found guilty, you get executed by being burnt alive until your body turns to ash in front of council members and all Immortal Kings.”
Damn, that’s brutal.
“So kidnapping a human against her will isn’t illegal?” My candor spills out before I can stop it. Cordelia stiffens momentarily but regains her posture.
“You are safer here. You have a chance to live longer if you stay here in this Cathedral. If any other immortal finds you, they’ll kill you and take you for themselves, you?—”
“Wife, will you come back to bed? Let Charles escort Ms. Flores back to her room.” A man roars behind us like he’s scolding her for sharing an insight into their lives. I jump involuntarily, and my stomach flips at his unexpected interruption. I palm my mouth to stop my shrieking. I’ll always be on edge in this damn Gothic Cathedral.
“Arthur…” Cordelia pivots on her black heels and observes what looks like Hayden’s father. He’s tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, and has a short beard covering his chiseled jaw. He wears all black. Black top with black sweats, and black socks.
“I was just showing Millie my garden. I want her to take care of it for me during the day when I can’t.” She smiles at him, and his face contorts into a frigid expression. His eyes beam black at us…and then he fixates on me. He leans his shoulder against the wall, unimpressed, and his hand bows forward, searching for Cordelia’s.
I tense my legs up and change glances.
“Plant peonies for me. I want to spice it up from the usual red roses. Charles will help you get set up with that.” She winks at me as she takes his hand, holds up her dress, and walks effortlessly and beautifully to her husband, who still stands furiously.
What have I done to him to receive this prejudiced, vicious treatment? If looks could kill, I would be six feet under the ground with the way Arthur keeps his deathly stare on me…and on my neck.
He sees what his son has done to me. I know he does.
His gaze is sharp and venomous, glaring disappointment into the branding of his son’s teeth on his captive’s living flesh like he’s connecting the dots to a puzzle he doesn’t want to decipher. I can’t hold his sharpened gaze, so I palm my neck and let Charles guide me back to my room, passing by a sympathetic Cordelia and a glacial Arthur.
19
HAYDEN
Dear Diary,
