Page 23 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AURELIUS

I hardly rested in the night, kept so far from the spitfire who haunts my dreams.

Breyla spent months sleeping next door to me or even in my bed. Now, she was half a castle away, sleeping across the hall from Prince Ayden.

It’s better than in his bed, I suppose.

Once the castle quieted, I gave in to the primal need to lay eyes on her.

Being the royal bastard afforded me some liberties, with apparently one of them being the ability to move throughout the castle with little resistance from the guards. I had no doubt my movements would be reported to Ayden, but I didn’t give a fuck. I needed to see her.

My room was the same as I always occupied on visits to Prudia—in the guest wing, far away from the royal family.

It could be worse; they could have housed me with the staff.

When I reached the royal wing, I was filled with relief to find Breyla’s stubbornness had won out. She was sleeping in a separate room from Ayden.

The relief was minuscule, though. Not having her near me is torture. Hence, the two miserable hours of sleep I managed to find before the sun dragged its pale light across the sky.

Morning light spills through the window now, catching the subtle gold accents that adorn the room.

A light wood bed frame and black linen sheets made up the bed I had tossed and turned in all night.

A black carpet covers the white tiled floor.

A modest desk and armoire, complete with gold handles, stand in the corner.

On the nightstand sat a golden candlestick, cooled wax spilling onto the wood below.

The bathroom held the necessities but nothing more.

That was what made up the space I was to call home.

I had never minded it before, but I hate it now.

A soft knock pulls me from my thoughts. When I open the door, I’m greeted by the honey-colored eyes of Rowina, my half-sister, apparently.

“Good morning,” she chirps.

“Morning,” I grunt, the good part yet to be determined.

“Mother has requested a formal family breakfast today.”

“This ought to be interesting.”

“That’s what I said.” She shoots me an impish grin. “But I enjoy interesting.”

“You have the same skill for stirring up trouble as your brother.”

“Runs in the family, I suppose,” she confirms.

Rowina falls into step beside me as we head for the dining room. She’s dressed in a deep purple gown that’s understated but beautiful. It complements her hair and eyes perfectly.

Breyla would look devastating in that shade of purple. It wasn’t one I had seen her wear, but there weren’t many things that didn’t look good on her—myself included.

Her gilded eyes narrow at me. “Why are you exuding lust right now, brother ?”

Nearly all the Gifts of the Mordet line were mental strengths rather than physical. Apparently, I had forgotten she was an empath. “I was thinking of what Breyla would look like in that color,” I reply, seeing no point in hiding it from her.

“Oh, thank the gods,” she sighs in relief. “But by the gods, try to keep those thoughts contained.”

“No promises.” My brow quirks as we turn a corner. “Why did the queen send you to escort me to breakfast when she could have easily sent one of the staff?”

“Oh, that’s really quite fun,” she replies, a smirk forming on her lips. “Mother didn’t send me. She actually doesn’t care if you’re there or not. Ayden sent me to fetch you. He doesn’t trust you won’t… get lost on your way to the table.”

“Smart bastard.” I chuckle darkly at her astute observation. “And what about you, little sister? Do you trust me?”

Her lips quirk as she mulls over my question. “I think that is a tricky question. Do I trust you implicitly? Absolutely not. I think anyone who trusts another soul implicitly is either foolish or arrogant.”

I nod at her assessment, but she isn’t finished.

“Do I trust you not to harm me or mine? I think so, as long as no one threatens what you care for. Do I trust you not to touch our brother’s betrothed?” She laughs loudly before finishing, “You’d be an idiot to, but fuck no.”

“You forget that before she was your brother’s betrothed, she was my brother’s daughter. That didn’t stop me, so why would this?”

The question has her stopping in her tracks. Her previously jovial voice takes on a sharp edge as she replies, “Because there is much more at stake here than getting your dick wet, brother.”

“Breyla is much more than a way to wet my dick.” I meet her piercing eyes head-on, “I made a vow to destroy anything that tries to take her from me.”

“And what if your lies are the thing taking her from you?”

“I stand by my vow,” I say calmly. “If that makes me her villain, then so be it. At least I’m in the right kingdom. This family reeks of deceit.”

Something flickers across Rowina’s face. “You know nothing of this family,” she whispers so quietly I nearly miss it, and we walk the rest of the way to breakfast in silence.

The breakfast table is large enough for the entire Mordet family, plus Charlotte, Breyla, and me.

Queen Josephina sits at the head of the table, politely waiting for everyone to be present.

To her right sits Ayden, and to her left is Rowina.

I take my place next to Rowina, Charlie on my other side.

Breyla sits directly across from me on Ayden’s right.

Breyla fidgets, constantly readjusting her dress. The gold gown lifts her breasts as if they are a dish being offered for sampling—and gods, would I love to sample—but it clearly makes her uncomfortable.

My lust is dampened by sadness as I take in the color. Truth be told, it looks horrendous on her. Gold suited Genevieve, but Breyla belongs in dark colors. This is nothing more than a gilded cage meant to soften her edges.

Seeing her like this guts me in a way I didn’t expect. It’s like looking at a ghost—and for a moment, it’s not Breyla I see, but Gen.

The words slip out before I can stop them. “You look like your mother in that dress, Princess.”

Hurt and sorrow flash in her eyes as they hold mine. She says nothing, turning her gaze away from me to speak to Ayden.

I’ve said the wrong thing, and my gut twists. The resemblance is bittersweet, but the observation wasn’t meant to inflict pain.

Warm breakfast pastries, smoked meats, fresh fruit, and potatoes are laid out in front of us, the aroma delighting my senses as I inhale deeply.

I frown as a plate of eggs is served. Hushed conversation continues around me, Charlie and Rowina chatting about the weather.

But all I can focus on is the eggs and the way they turn my stomach.

Pushing the offending food from me, I make room for the smoked meats and potatoes instead, even opting for a pastry.

Anything but the eggs.

We’re only a few bites into breakfast when Queen Josephina asks, “What colors shall your maidens wear for the wedding?”

Breyla chokes on her potatoes. “Pardon me, what?”

“Your attending maidens, at your wedding to the prince,” the queen repeats, tone clipped. “What color will they wear?”

Clearing her throat, Breyla replies, “Firstly, I have no maidens. Secondly, I don’t give a shit. They can go nude for all I’m concerned.”

The queen’s jaw tics, her pulse visibly fluttering in her throat.

“Of course you have maidens,” she says coolly, gesturing to Rowina and Charlie. “They’re sitting at this table.”

I stifle laughter at the ensuing storm Breyla is about to release.

“Like hell,” Breyla snaps. “Rowina, fine. But Lady Charlotte? Not a fucking chance. I couldn’t care less if she’s the prince’s cousin or not.”

“Lady Charlotte is a female of good moral standing and manners,” Queen Josephina snaps back. “Something you could learn from.”

“Lady Charlotte openly propositioned Aurelius in front of my mother while they were engaged.” Breyla leans back, crossing her arms. “I may be foul-mouthed and ill-mannered, but she can claim no moral high ground over me.”

I hide my smile behind a drink of tea while watching the chaos unfold. We had done far worse things together, but at least it was behind closed doors—mostly. You wouldn’t hear me bringing that up, though.

“Alright, Mother,” Ayden says placatingly. “Perhaps Breyla would like to choose her own maidens. It is our wedding, after all. Not yours.”

“Maybe I’d like to choose my own husband, too,” Breyla mutters, rolling her eyes.

“Unfortunately, that decision is no longer available, love,” Ayden says, tone full of unbothered charm. “I suggest you enjoy the choices you do have.”

Like hell, I think.

Breyla’s emerald eyes flare, pinning me for the briefest moment before snapping back to Ayden.

“Perhaps I’ll choose which side of your face looks better with a black eye,” she grumbles.

Ayden only chuckles and keeps going, rattling off about wedding dates. “Would you prefer a winter wedding or a spring? Personally, I find a solstice wedding irresistibly romantic.”

Anger boils beneath my skin, a dangerous growl rising from my throat.

Mine.

I recall Ayden’s warning about there being more at stake here and keeping my feelings in check. The logical part of me is thrashing against the part of me that is entirely male. I’m not sure which is winning at the moment.

He rattles on about colors and a guest list, my temperature rising with each question.

Breyla’s giving him grunts and one-word responses, but I can’t see past my need to possess her and mark her as mine.

Finally, when I can rein it in no longer, I smirk, and retaliate the only way I can.

As Ayden stands to leave, his brow furrows. Conversation stops mid-sentence as he feels my Hemonia Gift being used against him.

He wraps his arms around his mother in a hug as I redirect blood flow from his brain to his dick, making him painfully hard.

“Darling, I think your sword might be on wrong,” Josephina comments uncomfortably. “There’s something poking me.”

“Does the prince not know how to handle his sword?” I taunt, sipping my tea as if bored.

Ayden shoots a murderous look in my direction. I raise my cup in a mock-toast, a lazy smirk playing at my lips.

One point for me, brother.