Page 9 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

“If you’ll excuse me. I think I need to turn in before I do something reckless.” I stand, swaying slightly as I feel the alcohol’s full effects.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Elijah calls.

“That doesn’t give me many limitations, E.”

“Then, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Ophelia chimes in.

“That I can work with,” I say with a chuckle, saluting them both as I exit the library.

Stumbling towards my chambers, I realize Elijah had made the drinks much stronger than I originally thought. I have surpassed tipsy and gone straight to drunk.

“You okay, darling?” Ayden’s baritone voice drawls, sending shivers up my spine. I hadn’t noticed him exiting his chambers until I stood just a few feet from him.

The anger bubbles close to the surface, and I decide I’m not playing nice tonight.

“Not in the least, Prince.” Before I can stop myself, I’m closing the distance between us and shoving myself into his space.

“But that tends to happen when you lose both your parents in a matter of weeks and find out you’re engaged and everyone knew, but kept it from you. ”

“Still angry, I see.” He smirks at me, pushing off the wall and slowly backing me against the opposite side of the hall. “Good, I like my fianceé with a little fire in her veins.”

He leans an arm against the wall, effectively caging me in. “Yeah, well, I’d like my fiancé to be someone I actually know.”

“Someone who isn’t full of secrets,” I add. His woodsy citrus scent overwhelms my senses, and I catch myself wondering, once again, how I was so blind to not notice how similar it is to Aurelius’ before now.

“Oh yeah? Someone like my brother?” Ayden challenges, a twinkle in his eye.

“I may have secrets, love, but I do nothing without reason. As for wanting to know your fiancé—give me the time of day and I’ll let you get to know every part of me.

” He smirks, knowing his twisted words have hit their mark.

The barely audible sound of a door creaking open catches my attention, then I feel it—feel him . Aurelius is watching this display, and my anger spikes. I remember I’m mad at both these males, and I want them to hurt like I’m hurting.

“No, not him,” I snarl, curling my fist into his shirt, and pulling his lips into mine. Our kiss is all teeth and tongues, and I pour every emotion I’m feeling into it.

His hand threads through my hair, deepening the kiss, as he pulls my leg up and nestles himself against my core. Fingers trail the bare flesh of my thigh, leaving me desperate to feel more.

Aurelius’ patience snaps, and I hear the door swing wide open. I throw up a wall of shadows, holding him in his chambers. Flipping him off, I wrap my hand around Ayden’s neck, trying to deepen the kiss.

Much to my disappointment, Ayden breaks away, leaving me breathing heavily as I search his eyes for answers.

“How much have you had to drink, Breyla?”

“Enough to know I want this and not regret it tomorrow.”

“She’s drunk,” Aurelius snarls.

“Thank you, Breyla ,” Ayden says sarcastically to Aurelius, before turning his gaze back to me. He drops my leg, straightening my disheveled dress and stepping back. “As much as I would love to repay my brother for his earlier kindness and fuck you in front of him—that won’t be happening tonight.”

“I told you I want this,” I repeat.

“Right. You want this— not me. You want to drown your pain with a warm body? Fine, but that won’t be me. Especially not when you’re doing this to hurt him and not because you genuinely want me. When that changes, you know where to find me, My Queen .”

Ayden places a soft kiss on my forehead and steps back to his side of the hallway. “Goodnight, darling,” he says, disappearing into his room, the lock clicking shut behind him.

Aurelius manages to break through the wall of shadow surrounding his room and storms towards me.

“Leave me alone, Aurelius,” I say defeatedly, turning towards my door.

“You know I can’t do that, Princess,” he says lowly as he grabs me by the waist, pulling my back to his front. His other hand wraps around my throat. The grip is possessive, but he doesn’t apply any pressure.

“Listen closely, little demon. I know you’re hurting, that you’re mad at me right now. But mark my words, I will earn my way back into your bed and your heart.” I stiffen at his words, but he continues, “And when I do, I will remember this little display. You’ll regret playing with fire.”

His words are a promise, but one I didn’t need. I had already played with fire and been burned. The pain of his flame was a constant companion at this point.

I say nothing, and he releases me, pushing me into my chambers. The door closes behind me, and I quickly strip out of my dress, leaving it forgotten on the floor.

Naked, hurting, aroused, and angry, I fall into bed. I’m met with vivid dreams of my mother’s death.

The next afternoon, I’m hiding in the private sitting room my mother favored. When I was young, I would find her here anytime she needed solitude. Even now, I swear I feel her presence in the room.

“We need to talk,” Elijah says, breaking me out of the stupor currently consuming me.

“About?” I ask, curling my feet under me to make room on the chaise.

Taking the space next to me, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his heat. “Look, B,” he starts, his tone something I don’t care for. “This is going to hurt, but there are some things your mother wanted you to see.”

“I’m not ready, Eli,” I protest, nuzzling my head into his chest.

“I know,” he whispers, “and I’m sorry. But we don’t have the liberty of waiting for you to be ready.”

I look up at him, studying the serious set of his brows. It’s an expression I rarely see on him—one I know I should heed.

“Okay.” My voice is more broken than I ever imagined it could be.

“Okay,” he agrees, laying a hand to my temple.

I close my eyes, letting the subtle warmth of his Gift wash over me as the memory unfolds.

“She’s perfect, my love,” Raynor smiles, holding a squirming baby—me—in his arms. She’s tiny and pink, a wild mess of red curls framing her face.

“I highly doubt that after what she just put me through,” my mother sighs. “Twenty-seven hours of labor would suggest she’s stubborn and headstrong, not perfect.”

She looks exhausted, sweat soaking every inch of her, blonde hair plastered to her reddened face.

With a wide grin, my father sits on the bed next to her, handing the bundle back to my mother. “She is half you, and you are perfect.”

“She is also half you,” my mother teases.

“Are you suggesting I am not perfect?”

She scoffs. “I know better.”

“Be that as it may,” Raynor smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “To me, you are both still perfect. I love you both so much.”

The scene changes.

“You’re going to refuse Lennox’s offer?” Lord Seamus asks.

“Of course I am,” my father replies.

“As your advisor, I must insist you reconsider. Having Lennox as an ally would put an end to our war with Prudia.”

My father sighs, annoyance etched in the laugh lines that bracket his mouth. “I do not care. I will not betroth Breyla to their prince at just six years old.”

Lennox had offered to aid us in exchange for my hand in marriage? This was the first I had heard about this proposal.

“We wish for Breyla to have a say in whom she marries,” my mother adds, lacing her fingers with Father’s.

“Royalty is never afforded such liberties, Your Majesty,” Lord Seamus argues. “You, yourself, were promised at twelve,” he says, this time to Mother.

“Yes, and while we were blessed in that match… we find the practice barbaric and will not subject our daughter to the same.” My father’s tone leaves no room for argument. Conversation over.

A new memory.

“How was your meeting with Lord Craylor?” Mother asks as Father enters their chambers. She sits in front of her vanity, thick robe draped over her thin shoulders, running a comb through her waves.

Exhaustion carves lines through his typically jovial face. Something heavy is weighing on him, but all he says is, “It was fine.”

“Has he heard any whisperings from Prudia? Their silence unsettles me.”

“Nothing, My Queen,” he replies, slowly beginning to shed his weapons and outer clothes.

Mother, clearly not satisfied with his clipped answers, pushes, “What are we to do about Prudia and Prince Ayden II?”

Something unrecognizable crosses my father’s face, leaving it cold and harsh as he barks, “ We are to do nothing, Genevieve. I am working on a plan to ally Rimor with Prudia and end the bloodshed.”

I had never—in all my years—heard my father address my mother in such a tone. And apparently, neither had she.

She flinches, her aqua eyes flaring wide in disbelief. Then hurt.

“Ally with Prudia?” she breathes. “I can imagine no world where the prince would agree to any terms you propose. He is too embittered.”

“I wasn’t the one who proposed them,” he answers flatly.

“And what are his requests?”

“None of your concern.”

“Raynor, tell me you didn’t…” Fear and concern cover my mother’s face, her mouth hanging open as she stares at him.

"I haven’t done anything. Yet. But I will do what I deem necessary to secure peace.”

“But at what cost?”

“Enough, wife.”

“What have you done, Raynor?” A stray tear rolls down her porcelain cheek.

“I said enough,” he roars, his fist landing so heavy on the desk that the wood shudders beneath it.

My father was not a violent male. Whoever this is… it’s not him.

Tears stream down Mother’s face, her body trembling. Not out of fear, but out of anger, I realize.

“You will not speak to me that way,” she says calmly. Too calmly.

Something shifts in my father’s eyes, the mist lifting from his mind just briefly enough for him to understand his mistake.

“I will stay in the queen’s chambers tonight. When you come to your senses, you know where to find me.”

I had never known my parents to sleep in private rooms. It was something other royals did—but not them.

“Genevieve, wait,” my father calls after her.

Without saying another word, my mother unleashes her Kaminari Gift, freezing his boots to the floor.

Message received.

A half dozen more memories flash by, all of similar encounters. My father growing distant, cold, and borderline cruel. His warm hazel eyes fading and dimming with each passing memory.

I watch the father I had loved all my life transform into someone I didn’t recognize.

And in the process, I watch my mother love him despite it all. Never leaving his side, never giving up.

I see the first instance of her Visions manifesting and the sheer panic and confusion it left with her.

Every instance of the vision becomes more vivid, greater detail revealed as time progresses.

My gut churns, nausea growing as I watch my people being slaughtered on repeat.

How did this not drive her mad?

Finally, we land on the one memory I’ve been dreading above all others—the night of my father’s death.

It happens just as Elijah had conveyed. The scene unfolds with my mother leaning over my father in bed, an ice blade poised against his neck.

There’s no anger in him. He doesn’t even fight her. Betrayal and confusion fill his eyes as he tries to understand why the love of his life is poised to kill him.

I hear everything from their mouths—the truth of what led to this moment and how much it’s breaking them both.

It’s breaking me, too.

My attention snaps to Mother when she asks, “What do I tell our daughter?”

“When she’s ready… you tell her the truth. And you tell her that I love her—that I am proud of her. Tell her I’m so very sorry.”

He’s sorry? Sorry for what?

My mind screams at me to find out what he meant. But my heart’s caught up in his last confession. What I wouldn’t give to have had this conversation in person with him—to hear him tell me he loves me so I can say it back.

“I will tell her, my love. When she’s ready.”

“Gen, the council will force you to remarry to maintain the throne.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

“It has to be Aurelius,” he says definitively. “I trust no one else with my kingdom or my wife.”

“I couldn’t possibly marry ? —”

“You can and you will. And just know that I forgive you. However you choose to survive this, I understand.”

She stares into his eyes for the final time and says, “Until the very end.”

“Until the very end,” he echoes as she slides the blade into his skull.

The exit from the memory sequence is violent, leaving me gasping for breath as I sob into Elijah’s chest.

“Until the very end,” I softly utter my father’s dying words.

“Until the very end,” Elijah echoes.

I can’t stop the torrent of tears that erupt from my eyes, burning a path down my cheeks.

“I’ve got you, B,” Elijah reassures, squeezing me tighter. He rubs gentle circles into my scalp, while I tremble against him. Gasping, sobbing, pants are all I can manage, the room blurring around me.

I feel his chest shake against me, his own tears flowing freely as we mourn together.

He pulls me into his lap, and I bury my head into the crook of his neck. I wind my arms around his neck and let it all go.

“They loved you, too,” I choke out, needing him to know I recognize his pain.

“I know they did,” he whispers. “There were memories shared just for me.”

“Good,” I murmur. “I love you, E.”

“I love you too, B.”