Page 132 of A Monarch's Fall

When had my father become so cold?

Had this always been his true demeanour? Had my mother’s presence softened him and prevented me from knowing who he truly was before now?

Since my mother’s passing and his own near-fatal poisoning, he was not the father I had known.

He was the man that General Creel would tell me stories of. The darkness that swallowed his enemies whole with inevitable brutality. I remember when I had the realisation that King Nyx from those stories was my father. I had always known him simply asFather. The recognition that he had a name beyond his role as my father was troubling. I realised that it was the first time I understood that he was someone else to everyone else. I could not mesh the dichotomy of Father and King in my youth.

To learn that he was the monster that invaded my nightmares as a young child was upsetting.

For months, I had watched him, waiting for him to turn from my father and into the monster from General Creel’s stories. He never did. And I forgot to be scared.

I had come to the foolish understanding that I would always experience him as my father — recent events had shown otherwise.

The man before me now, the way he looked me over disapprovingly, was not the father who raised me. His barbaric treatment of my Percy was monstrous, but he was not the mastermind tactician of his legends. I was unsure if he ever truly had been.

I saw him clearly then as he approached to greet me with a kiss on each of my cheeks: he was desperate, scared for his and my future. He could have approached me about his fears openly as my father; instead, he attacked what was most important to me and schemed to take her from me. I saw him for the frail old man he was becoming, and I pitied him.

“I am representing House Ardens,” I reminded him.

“Yes, of course. I admit that I prefer you in Borealis colours. Nevertheless, you are stunning as always,” he complimented me.

“Thank you,” I replied.

He glanced behind me as if expecting something.

“Your pet is not accompanying you this morning?” he asked.

“I felt it best that I attend alone, her presence would be a distraction,” I answered.

He smiled, pleased.

“That is a wise choice. How has the girl been since her return?” he asked.

“A handful. She is quite distressed still,” I answered and feigned slight exasperation. It was important that my father believed his ill-considered plan was flowing as he wished.

“Is she still requesting to return home?” he pried.

I looked away, my upset at simply the memory of Percy’s demands to leave me, that she didn’t love me, due to my failures, was not acting.

“She will learn to accept her place. She is my soul match, and I will not be separated from her again,” I said.

He looked disappointed and patted my shoulder condescendingly.

“Do you believe it is the best option to keep her against her will? Truly, can you not see how your refusal to accept her standing or let her go has weakened not only yourself but the kingdom?” he asked.

I shrugged off his hand.

“She is my soul match, and I will not discuss this further. The ceremony cannot begin without you,” I said.

“Selene, my daughter, our relationship has been strained recently, but I am still your father, and I want only what is best for you and the kingdom. A soul match is such a burden, but it does not need to be,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to suppress my anxiety at his words.

“I have spoken with Dennis Aqua, and he has led me to believe that a soul match bond could theoretically be broken, similar to a blood oath,” he answered.

For a moment, I was almost blinded by rage. To break a blood oath and live was such torture; I knew of no one who had willingly chosen to do so. Before Adamantia’s letter, I knew of no living example of someone successfully being freed from one. I had read of attempts, but the individuals had all either died from the process or had chosen to invoke the curse of the oath and the painful death it promised rather than continue. To suggest something similar be attempted with Percy… I would kill him first. Rip out his throat with my teeth.

“No,” I growled low and threateningly. I could not control myself.