Page 85 of The Curse of Ophelia

Lucidius’s eyes turned a hungry green, so deep it was almost black. Barely darker than his son’s, but in them I saw an emotion I recognized.

“It was more than just a treaty,” I breathed. The end of the war, the diplomacy he masqueraded behind in signing that agreement, it was all a farce. The relationship between Queen Kakias of the Engrossian Warriors and Lucidius Blastwood, Revered of the Mystiques, was—could it be called love? Something rooted in such vile goals, manifesting into such atrocious actions, was surely a different kind of burning passion.

“I believe you two understand. A connection that deep cannot be explained, nor can it be severed.” His eyes flitted between us, narrowing at the Bind on Malakai’s chest. “She was everything to me, but only for that month of every year. For the rest of the year, I was to remain in the Mystique Territory, learning to rule from my false father’s hand.”

“If you were truly loyal to the Engrossians, how did you ascend to a full warrior?” The Undertaking surely should have killed him.

His answering smile was spiteful, as if he had been waiting for me to ask. “The pools of magic in the Engrossian valleys are rife with dark secrets.”

Bile coated my throat. He had fooled our most sacred ritual. Made a mockery of it. Though I did not want to believe it, with each piece he revealed, his story became more irrefutable.

“The years went on, and it was clear that my father intended for me to marry another woman of a great Mystique bloodline.”

At the sneer on Lucidius’s face, Malakai and I both released low growls. Akalain.

He scoffed at our reaction. “She was beautiful, yes, and a talented warrior. She would make a good match for a future Revered, promised strong offspring, but my heart was elsewhere. When I told Kakias, she offered to kill the other woman—no questions asked—but we both knew that was a temporary solution to our larger problem.”

His face softened a bit as he spoke of the queen, but my stomach rolled. Akalain was a true warrior, not this monstrous woman whose legacy was coated in unnecessary bloodshed.

“Kakias’s mind is a wonderful thing. So ambitious. We found our solution. I would marry whomever my false father appointed, become the Revered Mystique Warrior after him, and Kakias would be the queen of her people. After decades of strife between Mystiques and Engrossians, my wife would die, and I”—he took on a tone of mock sadness—“the poor widower”—his voice turned cold again—“would propose the idea to unite the two most powerful clans, bringing honor to our Engrossian bloodlines that had been shunned for generations.” He panted as his plan formed fully before my eyes, his chest rising and falling with unhinged aggression.

They’d been planning this for decades. Every clash between our clans in that time—it was all calculated. They’d created strife only to give them cause for a union when the time was right. It was cruel, calculated, a plan fitting of the queen I’d heard rumors of.

But somehow it had gone wrong. My mind sped ahead of the story, grim understanding spreading through me, making my limbs heavy with sadness for the man I loved. “But you messed up. The marriage was consummated, and you had a son with Akalain. A son and heir to the Mystique Warriors.”

He nodded, his eyes shifting to Malakai. “I’d successfully avoided an heir for so many decades, until twenty years ago.” He paused, and I could not read whatever emotion flitted across his face. It almost looked like uncertainty, but he masked it. “You were never intended to exist. You were the foil to our plan.”

Anger flared hot and deep within me. It was an effort to remain where I stood.

Lucidius turned his eyes back to me, as if his son truly did not matter. “Kakias and I had a son the same year Malakai was born. A warrior who is three parts Engrossian and one part Mystique.”

That final, key piece of information slid into place in my mind, and I gasped. The bastard-born heir to the Engrossian throne was…Lucidius’s son.

Malakai’s half-brother.

We had seen him before. Fucking Spirits, it had only been in passing during exchanges, and rarely for long enough to speak, but I dragged his face to mind now. The untamed black curls, the strong jaw and shoulders…if it wasn’t for his mother’s sneering grin and icy skin, he could have been a twin to the one I loved.

I scrambled to put my thoughts in order, shove away all emotional reactions to unpack later. As unbelievable as this was for me to discover, I knew it was harder for Malakai to hear. He had been so still as his father spoke. The only sign of life was his pounding heartbeat, but I squeezed him tighter and reminded myself why I needed to focus.

I no longer doubted Lucidius’s threat to kill us.

“You staged a war—slaughtered thousands of innocents—in order to get this child into the Revered’s position.” I thought of the unrest now brewing within our territory. “Do you even care for the dozens of Mystique cities that are now going hungry, living in devastation thanks to your greedy grasp for power?” And for what? He already had power; he just could not share it with the woman he desired. Desperation born of love could truly turn you rotten.

“Don’t you see? They need to suffer before they can be liberated by their future king. My true son will save those that survive.” His true son. As if the one that stood with us, sharing his blood, meant nothing.

“So, you thought that by faking Malakai’s death you would be able to usurp his title, place this other child into Mystique rule and unite the two clans? After the war it would look like a show of good faith to restore peace. You would send the people that make up half of your bloodline into such turmoil, take their honor away, to what end?”

He’d planned it all. The dismantling of trade deals between cities and clans. The lack of funds for quicker reconstruction. It all went back to Lucidius. I wondered if he was somehow involved in the disruption of the forest creatures and appearance of the beast that had attacked us, in the fae strife. He’d likely known of the talks of rebellion. That’s what he’d wanted—to drive Mystiques to such desperation and then send in his new heir to save them.

The instinct to fight tore through my bones. While the man in front of me may be powerful, I was fueled by injustice, and that passion upheld a promise of revenge.

“The Engrossians showed me honor that the Mystiques never did. The Mystiques taught me to be a ruler, the Engrossians taught me to be a conqueror. They taught me what it takes to be a man who leads his people to glory.”

I laughed, one breath of disbelief. “You are not a man. What you have done to your son…That is shameful; that is not something a man does.”

“Everyone must sacrifice something, Ophelia. That is a truth you must learn if you wish to play this twisted game. I chose what I was willing to sacrifice, and before this is over, you will have to, too.” Lucidius shrugged.

I did not want to play this twisted game. I did not want to play any games unless they ended with Starfire piercing Lucidius’s heart and Malakai’s spear impaling the queen’s.

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