He is a strange one.
The way the fool stood there, naked as the day he was born, water still dripping from his skin—what did he expect me to do? Turn away? Show him I was weak? Cover my eyes like some trembling maiden?
I will not. I will not.
I can still feel water in my eyeballs. The tears are there, pressing, burning, demanding release. But I will stop crying. I must.
She is gone.
They will all pay. I swear it. I will kill them like I stabbed Luna.
I will.
---
His hand touched mine.
"Before we go... into the crowd... I would like to know your name." He smiled, stretching his hand closer. His fingers were pale, long, elegant. The hand of a healer. The hand of a killer.
What is he trying to do?
All males—especially dark creatures—are monsters. Devil spawns. Every one of them.
"My name is the breaker of Tenebrarum."
His smile faltered. Something flickered in those pale blue eyes—surprise, perhaps. Or amusement. Or something darker.
"Ohhh..." He paused. "Let us go, then."
His face changed. The warmth drained from it, replaced by something cold and unreadable. He pulled me up, his grip firm, and walked me out of the room, up the stairs, back toward the hall.
Fool!
There was blood staining my dress—crimson smears across the sky-blue fabric. My face was still streaked with tears and the remnants of blood. My hair was a tangled mess.
At least clean that!
But he did not stop. He did not care. He simply walked, his hand wrapped around mine, pulling me forward.
He breathed slowly as we entered the ball.
No.
My eyes found him instantly.
Tenebrarum.
He was dancing—dancing—with a woman I did not recognize. A woman with hair like spun gold and a gown like moonlight. She was laughing. He was smiling. They moved together like they had no care in the world.
He killed my sister.
He killed Carla.
And he dances.
The crowd around me blurred. The music became a dull roar. My heart pounded—dum... dum... dum—each beat a hammer against my ribs.
My eyes flooded.
How can they have a life like this? How can they laugh and dance and drink while I have nothing? While I have lost everything?
The crowd began to whisper. Eyes turned toward me. Mouths moved behind hands. I could feel their stares like needles against my skin.
"If you are jealous," Wyatt whispered, his voice low in my ear, "then do not look at them."
"I—"
"Shut up and only stare at me." His hand slipped to my waist, firm and steady. "Just my face. Not the music. Not the voices. Just me."
I did not know what to do.
Was I to push him away? Slap him? Scream?
I could not.
My hand slowly reached for his shoulder. My fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. I kept staring at his blue oceans—those pale, winter-sky eyes. In all the eyes I had seen in this cursed place, his held a different kind of emotion. Something that reminded me of home.
Memories flooded in.
---
A soft harp was played by Flavia. When I said she was a queen, I meant it. She was perfect in everything.
Carla was in the middle of the room, dancing with the air. Humming—what I had always dismissed as noise, but what I would give anything to hear again.
"CARLA, CAN YOU STOP WITH THE NOISE?"
"Manners, young lady. I am showing you how to dance. It is for your own good. And if I remember correctly, you promised Mother you would practice today."
"No. I am busy."
"What are you even doing? Making more noise with the rock and sword?"
"I saw Father sharpening the sword. I am learning. Better than dancing around with ghosts."
"La... la! LA LA!" Her humming grew worse.
"Fine. Fine. Just this once."
I wish I had never said that. I wish I had danced more. I wish—
I wish I had danced with her.
---
"Are you okay?" Wyatt's voice startled me, pulling me back into reality.
I was crying.
Tears streamed down my cheeks—hot, silent, unstoppable. The crowd was watching. I could feel their eyes, their whispers, their judgment.
I hate this life.
I want to go too.
"Rest your head on mine," Wyatt murmured. "Or is it the crowd? I can take you out. You are creating a scene."
He stopped dancing.
"A scene..." My voice trembled. "Have you ever felt like you are all alone?"
"Breaker of Tenebrarum..."
"Have you ever lost everything around you? And it is always your fault?" The words spilled from my lips like blood from a wound. "Have you ever hated something you cannot escape? And somehow you have caused the death of so many... and..."
Before I knew it, his lips were on mine.
Kissing me.
Slowly.
Softly.
His mouth was cool against mine, tasting of winter and something sweet. His hand cupped my jaw, tilting my head back. His thumb brushed away a tear.
I leaned closer. I kissed him back, drawing him closer.
I did not know what I was doing. I did not care.
He pulled away before I was ready.
"You should rest," he said.
He swept me off my feet, cradling me against his chest. His arms were strong, steady. His heartbeat was slow beneath my ear.
I grabbed his shirt. I buried my face in his chest. I cried.
He did not push me away.
He held me tighter.
What is happening to me?
---
Hours later...
WYATT'S POV...
The wine was bitter on my tongue. I still drank it.
"My lord!"
A slave burst through the doors, his sandals slapping against the marble, his breath ragged. He fell to his knees before the table, his forehead pressed to the cold stone.
Thorns erupted from the ground.
They tore through the floor in a violent burst—dark, twisting vines that wrapped around the slave's legs, squeezing, piercing. The man screamed, his voice high and broken.
Junie laughed. My brother—my mad, reckless brother—laughed.
"How dare you enter without permission!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with delight. The vines tightened. The slave's blood pooled on the marble.
I watched.
Junie's power was magnificent—the ability to command trees, to bend nature to his will. But magnificent things burn out quickly. Already, I could see the sweat beading on his brow, the tremor in his hands. His breath came in heavy gasps.
Great power. Fleeting strength.
He withdrew his hand. The vines withered. The slave collapsed, sobbing, clutching his ruined legs.
Junie stumbled back, reaching for his wine cup. He drank deeply, the red liquid spilling down his chin like blood.
"Fool," he spat at the slave. "Say what you came to say—or I will finish what I started."
The slave's voice trembled. "Prince Tenebrarum... he barged into your chambers. He carried the lady out."
The room went still.
"THAT BASTARD LACKS RESPECT!" Junie roared, hurling his cup against the wall. Wine splattered like a wound. "HE—"
"ENOUGH, JUNIE."
My voice cut through his rage like a blade. He stopped. He always stopped when I spoke.
I gestured to the slave. "Leave."
The man scrambled to his feet and fled, blood trailing behind him.
Junie turned to me, his face twisted. "Are you not going to do anything? Tenebrarum grows bolder by the day! He takes what is ours, he flaunts his power, he—"
"What can I do?" I took another sip of wine. The bitterness was comforting. "Father loves that monster like gold. He has taken everything from us—our birthright, our standing, our name. And still, Father looks at him with pride."
"You kissed the fool. All of Tenebrarum's concubines are whores—Cornelia, Luna, and now this new one."
"She is wild."
Junie raised an eyebrow. "It is still shocking that you kissed her. You are always against ladies. You call them natural holes. You say—"
"She is wild and different."
"Do not tell me you fucked her before entering the ball."
"No." I set my cup down. "I am saying she is different. She is jealous—or perhaps she loves Tenebrarum so deeply that she cannot bear to see him with another. She spoke of losing her place, of her desperation. I think she is jealous of Tanaquil."
"And how on earth is that useful?"
"She is desperate." I leaned forward, my voice dropping. "If I can plan with her... I can get her to bring him to his peak. And when he is weak, when he is vulnerable—I will kill him myself."
Junie stared at me.
Then he laughed.
"Fool," he said, shaking his head. "I thought you were wiser, Wyatt."
"What?"
"Kill Tenebrarum? That is impossible. And I do not think that is all you want to use such a beauty for."
Thud.
My fist hit the table. The wood splintered. One leg broke, and the table crashed to the floor, wine and fruit scattering across the marble.
I stood.
"Do you think I cannot kill him?" My voice was low, dangerous. "All my life—all my life—I have trained for one thing. To bring that bastard down. To watch him fall."
Junie said nothing. Perhaps he was mocking me with his eyes.
"I will kill Tenebrarum," I said, my voice a whisper against his skin. "Anywhere. Anyhow. No matter the sacrifice. No matter if I die doing it. I will take what is rightfully mine."
"Let me go."
Junie's power surged. A tree root erupted from the floor and struck me across the chest, sending me sprawling to the ground.
"AHHHHHHH!" I lunged toward him.
"You speak of killing him," Junie said, his voice cold, "when you had the chance and stopped us. You think I would not notice?"
The past rushed in like a flood.
---
Tenebrarum was small then. Frail as a dying sparrow.
He was older than me by three years, yet he looked like a skeleton wrapped in skin. You could count every bone in his body. You could see the pulse trembling in his throat.
We were in the armory—Umbra, Junie, and I—practicing our skills, showing off our strengths.
Then Tenebrarum burst in.
His mask was screwed onto his head—Father had ordered it, because the fool kept forgetting to wear it, and he had already turned half the palace staff to stone.
"Brothers!" he called, his voice bright, hopeful. "Can I join?"
Umbra sneered. "Weakling. Leave now."
"Please!" Tenebrarum stepped closer. "All the maidens are scared of me. They will not play hide and seek. Please—can we play? Just once?"
I opened my mouth to refuse.
But Umbra smiled.
"Yes," he said. "Let us play."
I thought it would be a game.
It was not.
They locked him in a drum of water. A great bronze thing, sealed tight. Tenebrarum thought they were helping him—he climbed inside willingly, still smiling, still trusting.
Then the pipe opened.
Water poured in. Slow at first. Then faster. Then a flood.
I heard him screaming.
"Brothers! Please! Please! I cannot—"
The screams grew weaker.
Then there was no sound again.
I do not know what came over me that day. I do not know why I did what I did. He was of no use to Father then.
But I broke the drum.
I saved him.
I pulled him out, coughing, gasping, trembling.
Still with that foolish mask on.
I wish I had never saved him.
Look at what he grew into. Look at what he took from us. Look at how our birthright was given to him—to a bastard, a cursed child, a creature born of sin.
That was the worst day of my life.
---
"You should have let him drown," Junie said, his voice cold.
I said nothing.
I stared at roof top.
Yes.
I should have let him drown.
But I did not.
---
To be continued...