Page 91 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
But understanding dawned in Zarathos’s eyes. “Running a kingdom can take up all your time, if you allow it, leaving little room for anything else.”
The pain of her father’s absence, even before he was dead struck her then. And she hated herself for the hurt and resentment that coursed through her. Her father was a demon, she shouldn’t expect him to place her before his kingdom. She shouldn’t expect him to be anything other than the demon he was. When she sent the weft through, it was with more force than was necessary. “Demons always place something else ahead of what matters the most.” She cast him a side glance. “You should know, after what your father did to you.”
She wondered if she’d taken it a step too far by bringing up the previous arch king.
He was quiet for so long, she thought he might throw her out of his sanctuary. But then, “My father turned survival into a game. That note you saw was only the start. If I didn’t do more things, more merciless things, he threatened to kill me. And then I found out that he…” he took a slow breath and he continued in an even quieter voice. “That he was killing off my siblings, one by one. He was comparing us. Those who managed to be of the most use to him stayed alive, and those who weren’t…”
“He killed them,” she whispered, horror running through her. Her existence had been rough, and she had often wished her mother would have stepped up and protected Aryana more, wished that her father cared enough to be more present, but she couldn’t imagine the terror a child might experience constantly being in fear of a parent. The one person who should make you feel safe.
“Every day he came into my life, I was terrified it would be my last. I don’t know if I won because I was born the monster he wished me to be, or if I became it in the process of trying to stay alive.”
“He manipulated you.” Twisted his own son, broke him, and shaped him into something it was clear, in this moment, that he’d never wanted to be.
His shoulders lowered, and he stared at her. “I never knew my mother. It was one of my father’s maids, Gresil, that raised me. If there was a demon who exemplified kindness and selflessness, it was her. Understand, Aryana, there are demons who aren’t like me and my father. If anything, she taught me not to judge a beast on his pedigree.”
“She sounds very special.”
“She was.”
“Where is she now?”
“I killed her.”
Aryana couldn’t move. It was as if someone had dunked her into a lake of freezing water. She struggled to come up for air.
Zarathos stepped back, and she noticed the volatility in his expression, his eyes swirling with a darkness that dimmed the light in them. They flashed, and he turned away. “The mid-trial banquets are approaching. One before the second trial and one after. The first one is tomorrow night put on by Kingdom Inferna.” His voice was gruff and dangerous. “The kalators are to attend as our servants. I will send Vivane to dress and prepare you beforehand.”
And with that, he stalked from the room, leaving her staring at the back of either a monster or a tragedy. She wasn’t sure which.
A knock sounded at the bedchamber door, and Aryana watched as Zarathos opened it. Vivane stood there, laden with fabric and other supplies. “Come in,” he said. “I have a few things to do before the dinner.”
She entered, and he stepped out. He turned back to Vivane with narrowed eyes. “And behave yourself.”
Vivane waved an annoyed hand at him. “Your wish is my command.”
Zarathos’s eyes narrowed further, but he closed the door, leaving Aryana alone with the demon woman.
“This is the dress you are to wear,” Vivane said, throwing the mess of fabric onto the bed.
Aryana picked it up. At one time it might have been beautiful, a dainty dress made of off white tulle that clung lightly to the chest and descended in gentle layered streams, except the material was ripped in the shoulder, the skirts shredded and torn on one side and dirt stained the bottom, as if it had been drug along the ground.
“This dress is ruined.”
“No,youare ruined,” Vivane countered. “Put it on. Here are some bandages. Make sure you wrap your mark and an arm or something,so it’s not so suspicious.”
And she realized this was another one ofhisgames. She lifted the garment close and breathed in the fabric covered in Zarathos’s musky scent. It calmed her enough to trust that he must know what he was doing.
As she dressed, Aryana’s thoughts returned to his confession in the sanctuary and the story of how he had killed the female who raised him. Likely the only demon he’d ever truly cared for.
Even as he spoke the words, she could see the weight of that choice still haunted him. No wonder he kept everyone at arm’s length. But if he was capable of killing someone he so clearly loved, what did that mean for her, his mere kalator?
She shivered.
Vivane fastened the dress, though it hung torn from Aryana’s right shoulder, and a high slit up the side left her feeling far too exposed. Taking the lengths of cloth given to her, Aryana wrapped one around the mark on her thigh, then added another strip encircling her left bicep.
Once finished, she sank into a chair, letting Vivane pull her hair into a loose, messy style that might have once appeared nice, but looked as though someone had raked their fingers through it too many times. Then she applied some light makeup, the rouge a touch too uneven, the lipstick a tad too smeared.
Lastly, Vivane set a tiara on her head. “The great vampire princess is now Zarathos’s whore. I bet you didn’t think this would be the part you played when you came here.”
