Page 44 of Angel in Absentia (Light Locked #2)

“You’re Alkerrai al Shambelin,” she said. “You’ve killed thousands, likely millions of people. You’ve ravaged the continent with warfare. You are the opposite of everything that I have strived to be since birth, and I am a tragedy in that I have your heart and you have mine.”

He let her go, and she almost thought he winced at her calling him by his title instead of the name she’d once used.

“Oh, please,” he said, backing away from her and taking a small turn in the room.

“Thousands? Millions? Strange how history always seems to be so vague on the details. You accused me in my blindness in King Kartheen’s castle; I’ll now accuse you of the same in your own castle,” he declared as he approached her again, lowering his voice to a sharp whisper.

Clea braced herself, prepared in her defenses and fully ready to battle him with words.

“You,” he started sharply, his eyes aglow, “are a queen only of the forests of Shambelin. A personification of its beauty and its duplicity, you reflect the light of the sun with such staggering brilliance and beauty.” His voice softened, words alternating with severity and admiration.

“And yet, the moon, as I am, exposes the feral creature that you are.”

“Liar,” she hissed back, thrashing once in the chains to show her protest. “If anything is to be exposed, it’s the infection that you are. Your heart is a poison that I steel myself to resist every day. I should never have healed you.”

“Ha!” he laughed, pacing back as he shook his head with a grin.

“Resist? You cling to that heart, Princess, just as I cling to yours. You keep comfort in this room where they once locked you”—he gestured around at the room—“because this entire city is a prison to you.” He marched up to her again, ready to deal a final blow.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, shall we?

” he said, face close to hers, arm circling her back and pulling her close with a jolt.

He breathed the words, “Every night you lie in the comforts of this lavish bed when all you really want is to be back on that stone altar, strewn out like an offering to, who was it again?” he asked, voice low and gruff as a wicked smiled turned his lips. “Oh, yes, the Warlord of Shambelin.”

A flush burned through her because not so long ago, she’d had a similar dream in which she’d felt completely captured in such feelings, a woman, part of the forest, an offering under the moonlight.

She was terrified for a moment that somehow, he’d seen that very dream.

She couldn’t hide the obvious signs of her embarrassment, and he inspected her face, clearly pleased by it as if it had secured his victory.

Even feeling the firm press of his hand at her back softened her against him, just as his touch had softened her on the altar.

She tried to convince herself, looking into his eyes, that he was different than Ryson, but his eyes, his voice, his sharpness were all the same.

She kept her mouth firmly closed, when every inclination urged her lips to part and receive a kiss that would never come.

His touch urged her to relax in the shackles and let his arms hold her instead.

“You can’t touch me,” she warned, trying to make it sound like a threat when instead it sounded like a note of relief.

“Right now, it’s enough to see what just my words can do,” he breathed back, lifting his other hand to her face, the sharpness on the ends of his finger replaced by a metallic coat that mirrored the shape of his hands.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, moving it behind her temple as he watched her eyes with an otherworldly softness.

“Patience,” he cooed. As if at last consenting to some secret request she was making, he continued, “You’ve rushed it from the start, but I’ll ensure the torture of your transformation will be slow. ”

Slowly, he pulled away from her and walked out, leaving her in the silence, her heart pounding.

Several minutes passed as she gathered herself, collecting pieces it had taken him only minutes to shatter.

It was harder to gather up her resistance than she had anticipated, harder to be angry, to reject the ideas he seemed to seamlessly inject into her mind.

Horrified at the state he’d left her in, she took a deep breath and whispered to herself in declaration, “I’ve got to get out of here.”

She waited in the silence, determined and patient, listening to the silent halls until she was certain Ryson would not return again. Granted, it wasn’t like she’d heard him the first time.

“Prince,” she whispered again. “Prince, are you still there? Can you come back please?”

Silence.

“Prince, please. I need you,” she urged.

Another moment passed, and she saw the mask appear murkily in the corner of the room.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, though it felt strange to do so. He inched closer again. Trying not to sound too rushed, she asked the question she’d been itching to ask him. Truthful or not, she knew he could be useful.

“Prince. Your vice is death? Bodies? You can’t quite resist them, can you? Are vices truly so irresistible?” she urged.

Truly , Prince replied, though often their strength parallels our power. It’s the price we pay for power.

“You miss it, right?” she said slowly. “Having a body.”

Prince hesitated, but the mask became less translucent and more concrete, inching toward her. His masked face dipped slightly, a ghostly nod.

Clea’s mind raced.

“After I die,” she said, heart hammering, “you can have mine. If you help me escape now.”

The silence between them snapped taut as the air cooled and seemed suddenly electrified with cien. Then, slow and sinuous, Prince floated closer.

Yes?

“Yes,” Clea said. “Wait. The condition is that you can’t have anything to do with my death. I don’t want you to try and instigate killing me to get a body out of it.”

I wouldn’t dream of it.

She highly doubted that.

I’ve never been offered one before from a living person , he said.

“And doesn’t that make it more special?” she offered hopefully.

A moment later, her shackles dissolved.

She rubbed her wrists, exhaling shakily. That was a lot easier than she was expecting. Now, she had to think through how to navigate the castle without being sensed by Venennin.

She inspected Prince carefully. It was yet another mad idea, but she was convinced by now she was in the realm of madness and was ready to try anything.

“Prince,” she said with a lilt. “Can I try something?”

The mask nodded. Carefully, she reached for the mask, pulled it forward, and then slowly moved it over her face.

His misty form collapsed, swirling over her skin like smoke. She held her breath as cold flooded her veins, making her stagger.

She inspected her hands. It felt like wearing a cool cloak.

This is rather lovely. A body. I have never considered this before.

Clea was rather disturbed to find the whispers now directly in her ears, but she pushed on, knowing her mad idea might just work. Prince’s presence over her should conceal her ansra.

“Can you make me invisible?” she asked.

Silence.

“Prince?” she asked again, and her body faded from sight before her eyes.

Perfect , she thought.

“Now, don’t get too comfortable,” she whispered back as she snuck through the door, inspecting the empty hallways.

There was a small part of her that was concerned that Prince might never let her go, or perhaps that he could somehow start controlling her body, but as with all mad ideas, this was an experiment.

As she snuck through the halls, she reassured herself that in most ways, Prince seemed to be a rather harmless creature.

She became convinced the risk was worth it as she eased through the halls uninterrupted, even by a passing Insednian. No one sounded an alarm. She eventually navigated back through the dungeons to find Dae and Catagard.

“Dae,” she whispered, and he jolted up from the cell wall, searching around.

Clea reached for her face and softly pulled the mask free. The ghost form fell away from her body, recoiling into the shape of her outline. Still wearing her shape, it tiptoed away.

It giggled in a distortion of her voice, a hollow, airy sound, and twirled once, savoring the stolen body shape.

Dae’s lip curled in disgust. “Monster,” he muttered as he watched it go. The ghost shivered at the insult and withered, folding in on itself until it vanished with a soft hiss of air.

Clea was disturbed herself but glanced over at Dae in offense, stopping herself from scolding him.

Dae met her eyes, sensing the scold, and whispered, “Seriously?”

Her expression softened as she unlocked the cells with the keys from the wall, glancing both ways. “He helped us.”

“Seems to be a theme lately,” Dae replied bitterly.

“Let’s go,” she barked. “Now isn’t the time.”