KINGSLAYER

♕ 6 | 1 ♕

Everything was dark oak, red velvet and radiating expensiveness. On one end of the sprawling room was an artificial waterfall made to look as if it was full of molten gold. There were glass sculptures as partitions between gambling tables that shone from the dazzling chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings. It was so bright I felt inclined to squint. When I averted my eyes to the floor, I found the entire place was carpeted in black and white patterned carpet. Better for the perfectly-shined shoes of rich businessmen than hardwood.

Everyone was gambling with little golden chips and laughing and drinking champagne and showing off. This whole city was a competition of who had the most diamonds encrusted in their pocketwatch or the biggest rings on their fingers, but the game was heightened here, where money was worshipped above anything else. It was beautiful, but at a cost. None of these people were anyone anymore. They were only rich.

But then...I looked again. Past the gaudiness, through the painted smiles. I'd heard rumors of the casino's outrageous bets—that some people literally bet their own lives. And if they did not win, the casino legally owned them. It was slavery, just as I had known it. Except here, it was self-imposed.

For a split second, I worried that was what became of Igor, that that was the reason he was here so often. But I'd heard that he made it rich, and slaves were not talked about in thrall.

My attention locked on a man at the head of the gambling table nearest to the waterfall. I took in his light, light hair pushed back from the beginnings of a receding hairline, his pleasantly tanned skin, the lines on his forehead that appeared whenever he frowned or smiled. It felt as though a chapter in my life was simultaneously coming to a close and opening to a new beginning.

"Igor," I said in a voice that felt too flat to hold all the emotions I felt.

I felt seen for the first time in eleven years when his gaze snapped to mine. "Alexei."

My stepfather.

Jaylah's questioning eyes were on me, but I didn't care as I normally would have, especially as Igor beckoned me over with a ring-covered hand. I went to him as if being pulled on a string directly connected to my heart and let him pull me in for a one-armed embrace. As I rested my chin on his shoulder, it occurred to me how much it felt like he was embracing an old friend. He didn't wear the same cheap cologne he used to either.

With a hand clutching my shoulder as if not quite sure I was corporal, he whispered, "It's been too long, khitumna." Little fox. It had been eleven years since anyone called me that, and as he said it, a faint female voice echoed through my memory.

When he pulled away, putting hands on my shoulders, I remembered how little my features resembled his. My hair was darker and curled at the ends, my nose was sharper and pointed out more than his curved one. Even as his fingers spread over my arms as he beheld me, I was aware of how pale and fragile my skin looked compared to his.

And his dark eyes, misty with the effects of alcohol. I supposed we had one thing in common now.

"You've grown so much," he said, but he was barely able to focus on my face. "Look at you." At once, he turned to the entire table, arm extended. "My son has returned. Everyone's drinks are on me!" Everyone erupted into cheers and patted him on the back.

There was that word: son. He had claimed me as his child in nearly all the important ways, and yet... He was a hundred times wealthier than we ever were at home before the war; his accessories more than confirmed it. I'd learned he won his own way out of servitude, becoming a sort of legend amongst fellow slaves. The City of Luck really is a place where dreams come true, they said.