Page 20 of His Dark Delights

Ren

Lilliana’s taste lingered on my tongue, provoking a pep in my step as I swaggered through the palace. The corridors were warmer than they’d been in weeks. My steps were light, unburned by my brief release with Lilly and a newfound sense of triumph.

Lilly was finally here—with me. Where she belonged.

I’d seen her, held her, tasted her, just moments ago.

Eyes as vibrant and enchanting as I remembered.

The new fire in her gaze could melt iron, and though her tongue was sharp as a blade, I couldn’t stop myself from needing her, wanting her—claiming her.

Angry and brutal with her words, yet I couldn’t help but worship the sight of her.

And her righteous fury was further proof of her spirit, only drawing me deeper into her .

Part of me understood her anger. It wasn’t unfounded, I mused.

I’d had to send knights to retrieve her instead of going myself, and that must have been a shock.

Forcing her to leave her home was a decision made in desperation, ignited by the all-consuming fear of losing her forever.

Her torrent as she raged against me was necessary, merely the first step in healing the chasm between us.

My boots clicked along the marble floors and gilded sunshine sparkled on the surface of the sapphire stone walls. I walked with my hands behind my back and contrasting sensations clashing in my chest.

Lilly would understand, given time. She would come to understand that my actions were essential to keeping us together.

I could convince her that her presence here was for the best, a requirement for her security, given the state of the war outside the walls.

After all, she’d found one wounded soldier within range of her home.

Too close for comfort, and I couldn’t leave her unguarded.

I was protecting her.

Comforted by my conviction, I strode confidently through the castle toward the blasted gathering. One of the many infuriating responsibilities of a king. Why so many meetings? Most of the information could be a missive, easily read and discarded.

Those old bastards just liked to hear themselves talk.

Eyes of servants and guards followed me through the halls, intensely curious and hinting at apprehension.

Most still weren’t used to seeing me since I’d spent most of my time in the field of battle or hunting fae in the past two years since I’d ascended to the throne.

I didn’t blame them, but I also didn’t give a fuck. Less so with Lilly finally here.

For so many years, I’d been a shadow of my former self, consumed by grief and the gnawing hunger for revenge.

Lilly had provided a taste of peace and serenity during our time on the farm.

A beacon, a life raft, carrying me through listless days of war and despair.

With Lilly at my side again, I had a second chance.

Despite the deception, she would love me again.

We were inevitable. The lie about my identity as king, as I told her, was an imperative deceit.

How else could I have gotten her to see me simply as a man during our time together?

The blinding light of the crown might have hoisted burdens and untold expectations on how she treated me otherwise.

Perhaps not so secretly, I’d also wanted to escape the chains of kingship while with her. And I had found that escape on her farm, by her side, in her bed. I longed for that internal peace again, this time located at the heart of my command.

Lilly would learn, she would see. She would realize that life in the palace could be as equally fulfilling as her life on the farm, if not more so.

We would face challenges, surely, but nothing I hadn’t overcome once and couldn’t overcome again.

I had faith in her ability to adapt as I had when life thrust me into the palace.

She had saved my life, and in return, I would show her the possibilities of the future that lay ahead. I’d repay my life debt to her by giving her the entirety of it and all the luxuries I could afford. Lilly would see, she would understand. She had no other choice.

My mind shifted to the matter at hand as I entered the grand assembly office; a half-rounded room where the wall of arched windows led to one of the many ostentatious balconies overlooking the city.

Several stuffy, primly dressed councilmen and high-ranking members of the nobility lounged around the long, white wood table.

Near the head, as one of the last remaining descendants of the Carnifex line and ranking high in the royal family, sat the ancient woman that was supposedly my relative.

The late king’s aunt, Grand Duchess Cecily Carnifex.

A formidable yet downright cantankerous old bat.

Her long-held influence over the royal court was a powerful force, and her opinions of me were vitriolic garbage.

The old viper loved to wield her venomous tongue against me.

She sat there, beady eyes glaring at me with her gnarled, wrinkled hand loaded with gleaming gems folded on the table.

The silence in the room informed me they’d been speaking of me before my arrival, likely discussing their distaste for the war.

Or any rumors already circulating after the debacle in the throne room earlier.

I loathed the endless debates about their opinions on the war.

The fae had taken everything from me. My mother hadn’t deserved to die at their hands, and their claim on her soul led to the ensuing conflict.

No self-serving aristocrat whispering his own agenda in my ears would dissuade me from my path.

As much as they tested my paper-thin patience, today’s assembly had a purpose.

The council members already seated at the table watched me enter with a mix of barely disguised loathing and caution.

It pained me to plaster a smile on my face directed at them when someone more worthy waited for me upstairs, but I needed to placate them.

I needed to convince them to send our combined forces back out in search of the elusive Fae Wild.

The meeting was crucial to persuade them to protect our kingdom from further fae incursions and seek justice for my mother’s death.

Grand Duchess Cecily watched me sink into the opulent seat at the head of the table, her presence almost as commanding as mine. I’d give her credit for that. Perhaps we were related. But her eyes were as sharp and scrutinizing as ever, if not more so.

Keeping my composure blank and borderline haughty, I sank into the king’s seat, not bothering to hide the boastful grin I knew they hated. Those fuckers bristled at the sight of someone from the lower rungs hoisted above them.

“We have much to discuss,” I said by way of greeting. “What counsel would you offer me?”

And they were off, beginning the discussion in the same way racehorses bolt on a track.

Each member of the royal council vied for my attention, racing to speak ahead of the person next to them.

A stocky man I believed was a viscount presented his views on the state of the kingdom.

A woman who might have been the widow of the late Duke of Haymeadow murmured about the state of the economy.

The grumpy general relaying the state of the military got more of my attention than the others, but his singular bushy eyebrow distracted me.

They spoke of the alliances swapping hands among the nobility.

Of trade between the major cities. Then briefly, of the delicate balance of power we maintained in the shadow of the war.

It made us potentially vulnerable to neighboring realms. But their voices droned on, blathering noise that grated my patience, until finally, finally, they narrowed onto the subject of the fae and the war.

“The fae have been absent since the battle that nearly took you, Your Majesty,” Lord Farndale spoke up, twisting the absurdly long ends of his graying mustache. “Perhaps in this lull we might send an envoy to offer a truce?”

“A truce?” I repeated, keeping my tone measured despite the scoff building in my chest.

“Diplomatic avenues are always a potential to explore—”

“With a history of tensions behind us and a mountain of proof that the fae’s word is as fragile as glass, you would suggest this?

We cannot lower our guard now, as we cannot trust the fae.

Under any circumstances.” The side of my fist banged on the edge of the table, punctuating my words with the finality of a gavel.

A moment of tense silence swept under the table as the council found their voices.

“War is costly—”

“Our people grow weary of the conflict, sire.”

“—both for our resources and the lives of the kingdom.”

“Your Majesty, the treasury’s allotments to fund the troops are not limitless. There are restraints on supporting conflict without end.”

I surged from the chair, almost knocking the hefty beast of wood over. The legs scraping on stone snatched the attention of the room, making me the rightful center of attention once more. A healthy dose of apprehension colored their expressions .

“Honestly, fuck the costs. We must weigh gold against the price of inaction. My own mother was slain in cold blood by a fae. Their revels and forays into our lands have disrupted our villages and left our children vulnerable. The people of Elleslan, like my mother, deserve retribution. They deserve a future where they receive justice.”

“Justice?” Grand Duchess Cecily spoke then, her voice waspish and sharp. “Soren, all you ever talk about is justice. You use it as a paltry guise for the revenge you seek. Justice. Justice. Justice. But what of peace?”

Peace.

That word summoned echoes of sunlight on a farm, of a spring breeze accompanied by the cacophony of animals, of soft touches under the stars, and a far-reaching meadow of dazzling flowers.