Page 213 of The Chains You Defy

Because I didn’t take my eyes off the young fae, who desperately tried to rouse his unconscious mother under tears, I missed the door opening.

At this point, she’d already succumbed to the fast-acting poison, but the faeling didn’t give up on his desperate attempts to wake her. He begged her, pleaded with her.

He knew she was dead, but he didn’t want to accept her departure to Udiona yet. Back then, I’d been helpless in the face of oblivion. I wouldn’t allow myself to be that powerless ever again.

“Mother? Mother. Wake up. You can’t lie on the floor. Please…you promised to read me a story. Please. Mother? Mom?”

“Mom?”

“Please—”

My heart was bleeding. Ghostly tears ran down my cheeks as I witnessed a very young Dion breaking apart as he watched his mother dying.

Her assassination. Murder.

There was no doubt that the cute young fae male was perishing beside her, in a way. I wished I could reach out and comfort him, or at least his older self, but the latter was hiding somewhere from me.

“Scriosta.”

“Where’s Father? Please help Mother, Grandfather.”

“Your sire has been arrested for poisoning my daughter. He killed your mother. Now, go to your room until I call for you.”

Galrach hadn’t changed, not one bit. The cruel glint in his eyes when he’d spoken to Dion enraged me. The future High King’s daughter had just died, the beloved mother of the devastated youngling whom he’d barked at without any empathy, and he—gods, that bastard was emanating delight.

But I couldn’t observe him anymore, as the young fae did as he’d been told and stumbled back into his room.

The memory cut, and Galrach entered young Dion’s bedchambers. And somehow, I wasn’t just watching anymore. I was in Dion’s head, my sense of self evaporating.

“Stop crying, Scriosta. It is only me and you now.”

“But Father—”

“He is a traitor and found guilty—no, do not dare to cry again.”

“But Mother—”

“You are still young. Too emotional. But you are my heir now. This title might not mean anything for the time being, but believe me, soon, true power will come for you.”

Dion opened his mouth, but the older male intercepted him again.

“No, you have to listen and learn. Bury those foolish dreams of yours. No more dallying around. No more music lessons. The library is off-limits to you. You will get all the books that you are allowed to read from me. You have a lot to master that is more important than what you have been taught so far.”

The older male regarded his heir—a faeling on the cusp of pubescence with mussed hair.

His usually bright eyes had dulled from unshed tears. After all, his mother had died just moments ago, and now his father had been convicted of being a traitor.And he didn’t understand why his grandfather was so fixated on having an heir. He wasn’t old or sick or a person of great importance. And no music? No books? “What—do you want me to do?” His voice sounded timid, and he could see the disapproval in the older male’s gaze.

“Learn to live up to your potential.”

“Stop scaring the young one, brother.”

The faeling lifted his gaze, and he wasn’t able to suppress a shaky smile as he noticed his favorite uncle standing in the doorway. But he quickly averted his gaze to the floor since anger blazed in his grandfather’s eyes.

“The weakling needs to grow up. He can be glad he is not sitting in the same cell as his traitorous sire.”

“I still do not believe Mol planned treason, brother. You should let me speak to him.”

“There is no need for that. My mind is made up. He will be executed at dawn. And you, faeling, you will swing the sword.”