Page 13 of A Story of Sinners

My stomach churned as we drew to a halt before the ornate wooden doors of the throne room. Brandon sucked in a breath and shook out his arms, as if preparing himself for a brutal meeting.

“He’s willing to be forgiving. Just be compliant. Be submissive, and everything will be fine,” he whispered.

I scoffed.Compliant.Submissive. The wording was offensive, but that fire burning inside me, the one fueled by hate and rage, had been snuffed out long ago. My physical limitations and mental capabilities were too limited to put up any sort of fight.

I pushed myself out of Brandon’s hold and stumbled. “Why should I be compliant?”

“He’s trying, Dahlia. He wants to be a good king and has changed many of his father’s rules. He treats Gabriella well, and magic is no longer outlawed. He freed you from prison. Just give him a chance.”

I sized Brandon up. Aiden had done nothing more than what was expected of him.

The legality of magic was a joke—anyone with any sort of power had fled once they’d been freed from the dungeons. “Then why am I wearing these rune cuffs, Brandon? Why have I been drained of power and left defenseless? It’s easy to make magic legal when there is no magic in the land.”

Brandon rolled his eyes. “Change is slow and progressive, but it’s change. He wants to fix his father’s wrongdoings, and he’s giving you a chance. Give him one too.” When I didn’t respond, he sighed and straightened his spine, then pushed open the door to the throne room.

My head spun as I gripped the wall, breathing slowly. At this point, walking would surely mean falling.

Brandon wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into him. “I’ve got you.”

We moved together as one, and I leaned into him, seizing every ounce of support he offered. He moved slowly, taking small steps so mine wouldn’t falter as my eyes remained cautiously glued to the floor.

I always knew, deep down, that Aiden would make a fine king, but he wasn’t the boy I once loved. He’d plotted. He’d killed. He’d thrown me in a dungeon and tossed away the key. How wonderful a leader he would make didn’t matter anymore—at least, not to me.

I would never be able to forgive him, and I doubted he would ever be able to forgive me. We would remain enemies until the day one of us died.

When we reached the center of the throne room, Brandon halted. My eyes lifted, taking in the surroundings. Everything was purple and gold, from the walls to the rolled-out carpet to the gold throne on which Aiden sat. He wore a purple and gold doublet to match the decorations. A golden crown lay nestled in his blonde hair—the crown that was once his father’s. His blue eyes blazed in my direction, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth.

This meeting would not be a friendly one.

George stood behind the throne, his hand carefully placed along the backing of the chair in a symbolic gesture of his new position—the hand of the king, second in power. Still, knowing him, he thought himself the one truly in charge.

“Kneel before the king,” George commanded.

I sneered at the command and locked my knees, refusing to kneel, not after all they’d put me through. All it took was one push of Brandon’s hands on my shoulders for me to collapse to the ground. On my knees, I shot Brandon a withering glare, and he released a deep sigh, shaking his head.

“Are you done?” Aiden asked.

His elbow lay propped along an armrest, a casual gesture that in no way eased the vehemence radiating from him. He cradled his head in his hand, as if bored with my pathetic attempt at a fight.

The muscles in my legs burned with fatigue, and I knew no matter how much I tried, there would be no way to rise unassisted, so I nodded.

“Good,” Aiden said. “We need to have a little talk.”

“Go ahead, my liege,” I mocked, and Brandon groaned behind me.

Any other day, I would have found his annoyance humorous, but my humor was nowhere to be found. The lack of concern these men held towards my health and wellbeing was frustrating. I’d awakened from a coma mere hours ago.

“You look horrible,” Aiden stated, confirming my thoughts, but his statement didn’t come from a place a sympathy. Instead, a brief look of satisfaction crested over his expression. My poor appearance felt akin to justice in his mind.

“I wonder why? It was you who sent me to that dungeon. It was your command that left me without food or water or the barest of necessities, like warmth or hygiene.”

The satisfaction on his face dropped. “Those were not my orders. I explicitly expressed you were to be well taken care of—fed, clothed, and looked after. The guards took it upon themselves to ensure your suffering.” He exhaled on a sigh. “You are unaware of this, but nobody is on your side. The cheating. The lies. Everyone knows what you did, and the rumors have only grown tenfold. The things others are saying…” He shook his head. “What those guards did was of their own volition, and they will pay for disobeying my orders.”

I levelled him with a glare. “So why am I here and not in the dungeon? What do you want? Will you order me to be your mistress again?” I scoffed. “I’d rather be locked away than feel your hands on me.”

George and Brandon tensed at the insult, but they both remained silent.

“It may be hard to believe, but the last thing I want is to touch you. That ship has long since sailed. What I want, however, is your compliance,” he stated. “I called for a summit of nations, due to the darkness expanding into our world. The heads of each nation and state will attend, and for appearance’s sake, you will be presented as my mistress. Many leaders have known you under that role, and I can’t have any questions regarding my kingdom’s affairs. Not when it is imperative we unite as one to prepare for the potential of war.”

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