Page 53 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

OPHELIA

“ M y Lord, there is someone here to see you,” Lyla says from the doorway of the royal family’s private dining room.

This room was the last place that offered even a sliver of peace, outside of Elijah’s chambers. And since we’re more inclined to partake in other activities there, we’ve taken to eating alone in here.

Elijah and I have been run ragged preparing for the influx.

A week after Jade sent the survivors to Ciyoria, we received a missive from Pelanor reporting attacks nearly identical to the ones that decimated Caedel.

While Pelanor hasn’t been formally evacuated, its residents are arriving in droves.

The late King Raynor’s and Lord Aurelius’ parents were among them.

Not long after, Nameah’s family arrived, bearing grim news that every farmland between here and the towns south of Pelanor has been burned.

All the livestock and crops we rely on for winter. .. gone.

“Who is it, Lyla?” Elijah asks, smiling. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, though. Deep purple circles rim the brown of his irises.

I squeeze his hand in a sign of silent reassurance.

“He told me he was Rimor’s newly appointed guard dog,” Lyla says, her tone lifting at the end, like it’s a question rather than a statement. “Though he used several vulgar words that I won’t repeat.”

At her words, Elijah tenses. His fork hovers halfway to his mouth, frozen.

“That sounds about right,” Elijah mutters, dropping the forgotten food onto his plate. “Tell Cillian we will see him in here. Thank you, Lyla.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Lyla curtsies before backing out of the room.

“What do you think he wants?” I ask as the door clicks shut.

“It can’t be anything good,” Elijah sighs.

With a soft hand on his cheek, I turn his face to mine, looking deep into the brown of his irises.

A soft afternoon light catches them, illuminating the amber bursts that surround his pupil.

My thumb strokes his skin softly, and he leans into the touch, savoring the comfort I wish I could wrap him in.

“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it,” I whisper, leaning my forehead to rest against his. “The weight on your shoulders is immense, and I wish I could bear it for you.”

“You make the load feel like a warm blanket rather than the crushing boulder it is, Ophelia.” His lips ghost against mine in the slightest of kisses. “You make everything a little easier to bear.”

Though I’m desperate for more of his touch, more of these quiet moments with him, the spell is broken by the crash of the heavy wooden door slamming against the stone wall.

“What a touching moment,” Cillian drawls, the lilt in his voice uncharacteristically unmasked.

“It was,” Elijah says, drawing back. “Until you graced us with your presence.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. I don’t mind waiting.” A smirk curls the corner of Cillian’s lips. “Or watching.”

Elijah shakes his head, sighing deeply. “Sometimes I wonder what females see in you.”

“I don’t,” Cillian replies flatly. “I have a massive cock and I use it to make them scream. Loudly. And Frequently.”

My eyes flare wide at his vulgar description, the words sparking an image in my mind that I definitely don’t need.

“Gods, I forgot how blunt you could be,” Elijah says, a hint of reluctant humor slipping through his irritation.

“Says the one who is best friends with Breyla. She is the bluntest female I’ve ever met.” Cillian snorts. “I find it quite refreshing.”

“Fair point.” Elijah shrugs.

“Why are you here, Cillian?” I ask, steering the conversation back to what matters.

“I do love it when you say my name, darling.”

A low sound closely resembling a growl escapes Elijah before he catches himself and clears his throat.

Cillian smirks, clearly pleased with himself, before lifting two fingers to the corner of his mouth and letting out a high-pitched whistle.

Another one of his mercenaries enters the room, dragging a bound form. Dark material covers their face, but the stature tells me they’re male.

Elijah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who is this?”

“I don’t know his name.” Cillian rips the covering from the male’s head. “The fucker wouldn’t divulge it.”

The blood in my veins turns to ice.

Eyes the color of steel stare into mine. Mottled purple skin and swelling distort the face in places, but the eyes are unmistakable because they’re mine .

Dark brown hair frames the misshapen face of my father.

He can’t speak from the gag, but I see the disgust and contempt clear in his face as he eyes me up and down.

A breath catches in my throat at the memory of every time I had seen that look before. It was frequently followed by the burn of his Gift frying every nerve ending in my body.

Elijah and Cillian speak, but their voices dissolve into static. I hear nothing but my own breath and the rush of blood in my ears.

Two strides.

That’s all it takes to cross the space and wrap my fingers around his throat.

I squeeze, feeling the way he swallows against my palm, fear filling his eyes.

“Layne is dead because of you,” I cry.

His brows furrow, an emotion I’m not accustomed to seeing on his face—confusion.

Before I can second-guess myself, I unleash my Gift. Black light flickers to life around my hand, a dull glow as I press against his windpipe.

He has no time to fight. No time to resist. His life drains beneath my fingers as his skin pales and cracks, shriveling until he’s nothing but a husk. His eyes go glassy, and I release him, the breath rattling in my chest more relief than remorse.

“Ophelia,” Elijah says softly, stepping forward. His hand wraps around mine, drawing me toward him.

Something like concern flashes in his eyes as he looks from me to the dead male at my feet.

“Yes, Elijah?” I ask after a long moment, my voice soft and empty.

“What are you doing?”

I struggle to understand why he would question me removing the male responsible for so much pain and death in this court. “Dealing with a problem.”

“We don’t even know his name, Ophelia.” His tone is hesitant, cautious. “Much less why Cillian brought him here.”

“Who cares what his name was?” Cillian chimes in, tone reverent, as if I were a goddess blessing her chosen or performing a miracle. “That was brilliant.”

I shake my head, confused by them both. “Of course, we know his name. That is, or was, my father, Lord Seamus.”

Cillian looks puzzled, while Elijah just looks… sullen. He pulls me into his chest, wrapping an arm around my middle and holding me close.

“Ophelia, whatever you just saw…” Elijah says into my hair, running his hand up and down my back. “It wasn’t real.”

“What do you mean? Of course it is,” I argue, heat creeping up my throat. “I know what my own father looks like.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. But I need you to look again. Really look. And tell me what you see.”

Pushing out of his hold, I turn back towards the lifeless male.

“What color is his hair?” Elijah prompts.

“Brown,” I answer without hesitation.

“And his eyes?”

“Gray—just like mine.”

“Look again, O.”

I look again, blinking several times as the gray shifts, softening into a steely blue rather than gray. “They’re not gray,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“What else do you see?”

I study the body again. The face is still misshapen, but the features are clear enough.

A strong brow, a thin scar dissecting the left at its arch.

His nose was long, but slightly crooked, likely broken at some point.

That wasn’t right. My father’s nose had been perfectly straight.

Then I notice the birthmark just above the male’s cheek.

My breath catches. “That’s not my father.”

“No, it’s not,” Elijah says gently. “We burned him alongside your brother and Queen Genevieve two months ago.”

“Oh gods,” I gasp, stumbling back a step into Elijah’s arms.

“Breathe, Ophelia,” he urges.

But I can’t. A sob tears through me, jagged and raw. “I killed someone I don’t even know.”

“Shhh,” Elijah soothes, pulling me tighter, trying to quiet the hysteria clawing at my throat.

“Elijah, I killed someone. I killed an innoce?—”

“Oh, he was far from innocent,” Cillian chimes in, cutting me off. He’s standing right behind us now, close enough for me to notice his clove and vanilla scent.

I twist in Elijah’s arms and reach for Cillian, my fingers fisting in his tunic. “What do you mean?”

“He was a spy,” Cillian replies without hesitation, meeting my gaze head-on.

The tension in my shoulders bleeds away, replaced by a rush of relief. Guilt still lingers, but it no longer threatens to choke me. I can live with this. I can live with ending the life of someone who may have taken others.

“You could have led with that, asshole,” Elijah mutters, prying my hand from Cillian’s shirt and lacing our fingers together.

“I was getting there.” Cillian shrugs. “But the little goddess of death kind of interrupted my explanation. Not that I’m complaining, much, because watching you end his life was like watching a piece of art come to life.

I’m only slightly annoyed that you stole my job and killed the bastard before I could. ”

“You can keep your job.” I shudder. “It makes my skin crawl.”

“That’s not how it looked from here, darling.”

My cheeks flush, my eyes dropping from his to the spot on the floor that had suddenly become interesting. I can’t face the truth in his words.

The thought of ending an innocent life is abhorrent to me, but ending that life didn’t feel wrong. I feel the best I have in days. But that isn’t a truth I can speak aloud.

“How do you know he was a spy?” Elijah asks.

“Some of your guards are idiots,” Cillian says bluntly. “The spy approached them in my brothel, of all places. They were drunk, and I heard them answering questions about sensitive matters of the crown.”

Elijah curses under his breath.

“Needless to say, you’ll also find yourself short a few guards when you do roll call tomorrow.”

“You really should have turned them in for questioning and discipline,” Elijah says, jaw tight.

“Not really my style.” Cillian shrugs, inspecting his nails and picking at some speck only he could see. “They were guilty of treason, and I passed the sentence.”

“Did you happen to catch where the spy was from?” I ask.

“Not exactly, but I know it’s not from any of the four kingdoms.”

Elijah’s brow raises. “How do you know that?”

Cillian crouches next to the body, brushing the hair back away from his ear, revealing an elongated point. “The last time I checked, nobody around here had ears like this.”

I gasp. “Was he Fae?”

The spy’s elongated canines peek out through parted lips. Other subtle features stand out now, details that had blended in before.

Cilian crosses his arms, leaning casually against the wall. “I’m no expert, but I’d say it’s a distinct possibility.”

“How was he able to go unnoticed?” Elijah asks, his brow furrowing.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Cillian says. “He had some type of magical cloak over his features, making him appear like one of us.”

Elijah’s eyes narrow. “Then how did you know about his ears if they were cloaked?”

“Gods, you’re dense.” Cillian lets out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t know about them before I arrived here. Whatever magic he had must have died with him. I only noticed after Ophelia ended him. Were you even paying attention?”

“My sincerest apologies for being more concerned with Ophelia in that moment,” Elijah responds, his voice sharp with sarcasm.

“See, this is why you’d make a terrible mercenary.”

I stifle a laugh at Cillian’s mildly inappropriate humor in the middle of a serious conversation.

“It’s a good thing I have no interest in being a mercenary. I’ll leave that to you, Your Highness ,” Elijah says with a dry smile.

“Why, thank you, Your Majesty, ” Cillian drawls, sweeping into a mocking bow.

Elijah throws him a crude gesture, shaking his head at Cillian’s jest.

Cillian just grins.

“Dispose of the body,” Elijah demands. “Discreetly.”

“No problem. My hounds need fresh meat, given the kingdom-wide food shortage.”

At the sound of Cillian’s sharp whistle, the mercenary from before enters and hoists the body on his shoulder like it were a sack of flour and not a fully grown Fae male.

“Until next time, Elijah.” Cillian salutes, turning to leave.

He stops next to me, close enough that I can smell each note of his masculine scent. Spice, vanilla, and something dark.

“Don’t worry, Goddess,” Cillian whispers. “Your secret is safe with me.” His hot breath pebbles the flesh on my neck, turning my stomach at the implication of his words.

Once he’s gone, Elijah asks, “What did he whisper to you?”

“Uh—I’d rather?—”

“None of your concern, Elijah,” Cillian yells from down the hall.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and forcing a smile to hide my inner turmoil.