She felt blessed, like the Stars themselves had granted her this. There was no limit, no rules or constraints. She was boundless; she was home, safe and secure in his unbreakable embrace.
~
Shackled in an abrupt and demanding upbringing, Althera is...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
How could he have been so careless? Valentine groaned inside his head, pacing back and forth before the flickering flames of the fireplace. He ran a hand through his hair, distress erupting inside of him. Lisabette was nowhere to be found, and he'd just allowed one of the residents of the castle to witness a killing.
The horror-struck expression on Althera's face, etched permanently in his brain, continued to remind him of what he had done. It wasn't uncommon for citizens to die under the hand of a king, but Valentine had always resented the shedding of blood. He didn't want to be a murderer. He didn't want to have to ceaselessly kill his way through to create a path for himself. He didn't want to be like his father.
Valentine had a say in what he would become, and that made him even more blamable. He could have turned down his position on the throne. He could have saved all those innocent lives which were brought to an end each year. Each month.
But he was too much of a coward to disobey his father, the late king of Daevoren who had butchered thousands of ill-fated peasants who were brought down for treason like animals. He couldn't disobey him, not one bit, because he knew his father could finish him off completely with just one simple word.
His father, previous ruler of the First Kingdom, would go as far as having his son cruelly hanged for defying him.
He grabbed the mantelpiece above the fireplace, gasping for air. The hearth wasn't helping much, or the collar of his shirt, which was suddenly too tight around his throat. He reached for it, yanking fiercely. The fabric ripped with one jerk and he was free. His lungs dragged in air, and he collapsed into one of the leather armchairs surrounding the patterned rug unfurled on the floor. But that didn't do much help. His heart pulsed furiously, and he clawed at the patch of skin on his chest, trying to rid the pain.
It was burning, and he couldn't stand it. He clenched his teeth, forcing back a loud cry. Valentine tumbled onto the ground, clutching the thin material covering his chest in one hand. The other groped around, searching for water. He was momentarily blinded by the shadows that inched slowly into his head.
A feral snarl loosened on his lips.
No, not now. Stars, please, not now. His begging was no use. The agony spread, and he was biting down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming. It would only cause trouble, and he didn't want anyone to see him like this.
The blue skies were darkening outside of the large window of his office. The framed glass was shut, and he scrambled toward it with stumbling steps. The world was spinning beneath his feet, a blurry whirl of objects and furniture.
The pain was too great for him to handle - too much for him to contain.
His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his arms flailed out uselessly around him, swatting at whatever was within his grasp. Pieces of both important and irrelevant documents flew from the desks, scattering on the carpet; books crashed to the ground with blaring thuds. And all around him, he heard baleful singing accompanied by the wailing of an infant.
With an awkward jolt, Valentine roared.
~
The singing was there again, and it was worse. Valentine's head hurt terribly. He winced as he propped himself up on an elbow, using the fingers of his other hand to probe lightly at his skull. Another wince escaped his lips.
"It's best if you take it easy for now, Val," he heard someone say. There was a flash of pain when he whipped his head around. His cousin was leaning against the frame of the door, boredom engraved on the features of his face. He was faking his concern, Valentine could tell.
"I'm fine," he managed to get out, flipping onto his side. His brows furrowed at the prickling sting in his waist.
"You're clearly not." Rhaye rolled his eyes, crossing his ankles. Valentine bit back a nasty growl.
"How long have I been out?" He made to climb out of bed, ignoring Rhaye's glare. His shirt, which was crusted with blood, was draped over the back of one of the chairs. Bandages snaked about his torso, securing the wounds on his body.
"A while." Valentine inhaled. He had no time for his cousin's childish games.
"How long?" He hurled at Rhaye.
His cousin unfolded his arms, unhitching himself from the doorframe. He held Valentine's stare steadily, eyes guarded and glowing savagely. All the years of growing rivalry showed clearly on the bold lines of his face. The hunger, pain, and struggle for power and praise were all on full display now. As he was able to take a swift glance at the dangerous, hate-filled depths of Rhaye's suffering, he knew his cousin was capable of doing the same for him.
"My, Your Majesty, you need to be lying down." Valentine's gaze dropped away, but not before he glimpsed the impossible, mocking smirk on Rhaye's face. Kartella hurried over to him, a basin of clean water and a white cloth in her hands. She helped him lay back onto the bed, adjusting his pillows to his liking.
When he was comfortable, she turned to busy herself with her sinking the cloth in the basin. But he caught her wrist, grabbing her attention.
"Is she alright?" He asked. He tried to hide the stress in his tone.
She looked at him as if deep in thought before saying, "Yes, Your Majesty. She is recovering from the scare and will be fine in a couple of days at most." A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. He grunted, rolling onto the opposite side.
"Your injuries will take some time to fully heal. It's best if you take it easy for now, Your Majesty," she reminded him kindly. He froze entirely. Those were Rhaye's exact words.
But when he reached back for Kartella, she was already gone. And so was his cousin.
