Page 283 of The Ascended
I found Aelix near the wine table, his golden eyes tracking my approach with obvious amusement.
"That was quite the scene," he said, handing me a glass I didn't want. "Nyvora looks ready to flay someone."
"She'll recover." I set the glass aside untouched. "Where's my father?"
"Eager to escape the aftermath?" His grin widened. "Last I saw him was near the Western balcony."
I nodded my thanks and made my way through the crowd. The celebration continued around me—laughter and music, the clink of glasses, the rustle of elaborate gowns. All of it felt distant, meaningless. My thoughts kept drifting to?—
No. I couldn't afford those thoughts here. Not surrounded by eyes that saw too much and tongues that whispered too freely.
Morthus turned at my approach, and I caught the flicker of annoyance in his expression—still furious with me, clearly.
"Father." I kept my voice carefully neutral. "A word?"
"What is it?" The words carried a chill.
"Not here." I glanced meaningfully at the crowded balcony. "The Eternal City."
One dark eyebrow rose, but eventually, he sighed. With a gesture, he led me to a shadowed alcove. The portal opened with barely a whisper of power, darkness bleeding through reality's fabric like spilled ink.
He motioned me through without comment, and I stepped from Sundralis's oppressive brightness into the familiar shadows of home.
We moved through the palace in silence. Servants bowed as we passed. The tension between us grew with each step, fed by unspoken accusations and disappointments.
Finally, we reached one of his parlors. This was where he'd first explained my duties as his heir, where my mother had sung me lullabies in the ancient tongue during storms that shook the domain.
Morthus moved to the sideboard with measured steps. Yes, he was certainly still upset with me. Crystal clinked as he poured amber liquid into two glasses—ambrosia aged for millennia in casks of bonewood. He handed me a glass before settling into his chair, the leather creaking under his weight.
"What is it you need to speak about?" The words were shards of ice.
I remained standing, the glass untouched in my hand.
"I won't marry Nyvora."
The silence that followed was deafening. Morthus didn't move, didn't even blink, but I felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees. Shadows gathered in the corners.
"We've discussed this," he said finally, his voice dangerouslyquiet.
"No." I set the glass down. "You've dictated. I've endured. There's a difference."
"Is there?" He took a measured sip of his drink. "Both end with you doing what's necessary."
“I won’t.”
“I’ve grown tired of your insolence,” he murmured. “You know the contracts have already been drawn up.”
"I love someone else."
The words hung in the air between us, shocking in their simplicity. I'd never said anything like that to him before, never given voice to what had been growing in my chest like wildfire.
"Love." He made the word sound like a child's fantasy, something to be outgrown with age and wisdom. "You think love matters when we have the fate of the realm resting on our shoulders? When everything we've worked for—everything we've sacrificed—depends on the alliances we forge?"
"I know what we need," I said, my voice hardening. "Better than anyone. I've played your games, attended your meetings, smiled at your allies while knowing they'd put a knife in our backs given half a chance. But the person I love deserves more than being relegated to shadows while I play politics with my life."
"Your life belongs to more than just yourself." He set down his glass with enough force to crack the table. "You are my heir. Every choice you make ripples through the realm."
"Would you have made mother your mistress?" The question cracked between us like a whip. "If duty had bound you to someone else? If your precious alliances had demanded you take another as your wife?"
