Page 15 of Impaled by His Omega Prince (Reluctant Fae Princes #2)
Askara
Kershai came to visit him often, his face a peaceful mask. They played cards together and spoke of the world outside, spoke of it like Askara would be allowed free someday.
In time, he promised.
Askara had nothing but.
“Question for you, Askara.” That night they played champion, a game played with three-sided triangular tiles painted with numbers at each end. He moved a tile and turned it, besting Askara’s budding arrangement.
“Hmm?” Askara focused on the board, looking for a place to put his next tile. The total of the tips joining had to match or come as close to the opponent’s as possible. Every match let a player take a tile from them, reducing the number of points of the teammate, giving those points to the other. A mismatch was a loss of the difference. He put one down and tallied a point away from himself.
“The goddesses. You can speak to them.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. Askara nodded, studying the board for his next move while Kershai idly fingered a piece in his hand. “What would they think of Croatens now?”
Askara frowned and glanced up. Kershai held a piece in his hand, avoiding playing it. “I’ve asked in the past about life here. I had dreams about what I’d do if I was ever allowed to leave.”
Kershai’s face twisted with pity.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. Up until Cilan and his mate arrived, my life was pretty good—” Askara perked up when Kershai laid a tile down carelessly and lost two points. “But the goddesses said that Croatens was a nation of people that had lost them. They’d turned their back on the land.”
“Were they angry?” Kershai turned his gaze to the board again as Askara moved a tile, creating a match and earning three points.
“Not as angry at Croatens as they are with Liaberos. They said that my older brother, Virion, that he’s the only reason Liaberos hasn’t been burned to the ground.”
Kershai fumbled a piece and hastily laid down a tile that matched, taking Askara’s. “So Croatens…”
“I don’t think it’s a priority for them.” Askara laid down another tile, losing two points. “Curses…”
“Curses, exactly. You know Croatens is cursed, right?”
Askara nodded. “I think Croatens has been punished enough. They’re not cruel.”
Kershai made a hasty move that lost him five points and depleted his pool, ensuring his loss. “They aren’t? It’s not been my experience. But I must be off.”
“They’re kind, forgiving. and full of love. But before you go…” Askara swallowed hard and averted his gaze. Lumic hadn’t come to see him, but as usual, Askara asked. “How is L—your son?”
Kershai shrugged. “He’s shaken. But he’ll be fine.”
Askara sighed and watched Kershai leave. He had an urge to slap the tiles to the floor. How cruel was his life that the moment he was free, he was prisoner again, and the first kind soul to truly like him for him—wouldn’t even come say hello.
Askara prayed, because that’s all he knew how to do. “Mother Goddesses, sky above…” In the cells, he wasn’t able to tell night from day. “I miss you, but I am so unhappy. I wish I’d have never left.”
A prickle at the back of his neck made him glance skyward, but no words came.