Page 10 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

"Enough, Aziel." Oran hissed. By the red of his neck, Aziel could tell that he'd finally struck a nerve.

He was quite satisfied with himself, but he did not have much time to wear the smile that'd crested over the darkened planes of his face.

The doors to the ballroom were already opening to reveal the crowd that'd gathered to watch the Prince of Yaar pick his bride.

A plethora of young princesses were gathered in a line below the dais, their faces a mixture of fear and eager excitement.

Aziel could only imagine what those women must have been feeling. Some of them had been groomed for moments like this, others were sheltered in their comfortable palaces and were probably dragged here, threatened and chastised.

He straightened himself, nonetheless, and kept his gloved hands folded in front of himself as the music procession began.

The song of Yaar echoed through the ballroom and Aziel trained his eyes on the faces he passed, scanning over each gold and red-clad body for signs of knives or swords being pulled from their scabbards.

There were none, clearly, as Aziel would expect.

He knew the minds of rebels and he knew that they were more inclined to strike during a heightened moment of excitement.

During a waltz or, hopefully, after an explosion.

Still, he did as he was expected to do. He kept a close eye on the foreigners, on the servants, and the other lowly beings that were allowed entrance to this historical event.

His eyes skimmed over a few familiar faces, but narrowed on one person in particular that stuck out among the sea of gold and black satin gowns.

She was holed in one of the farthest corners of the room, her blue eyes wide and following each of his steps.

She looked different from the other times he'd seen her.

Her once wild white hair now fell over her shoulders in golden ringlets.

Her skin was not as luminescent—she even bore the slightest hint of a sunburn along the bridge of her freckled nose.

But the thing that caught his eye was the unmistakable flare of silver that dusted her shoulder and the slightest bit of silver that peaked above the line of her dress.

The woman seemed terrified, her gloved hand curled around the thick curtains as if one wrong move from one of tonight's attendees would have her vanishing behind them, dressed in a peach and orange gown, decorated with the same gold that everyone was wearing.

She was obviously out of place and even though she'd disguised herself to look like the other humans, there was still something about her features that was not quite right.

She still looked different. Far more beautiful and angular than those who surrounded her.

It occurred to Aziel that she was the only courtesan in the ballroom. Clearly, their father saw her as much more than a hole to fill. His favorite, he reminded himself.

His hand curled into a fist.

Despite the insatiable urge to approach her, he knew that his duty was to stay at his brother's side for the entire night.

He also knew that the party Oran was planning to have after his engagement would involve his courtesans, Aziel made the decision that he would be in attendance, as well. He needed to know something.

His glare intensified when Nymiria Celentas finally met his eyes, her lips parting and her hand moving to the center of her chest. Her cheeks flushed red and her other hand trembled as it tugged at the curtain behind her. Aziel finally blinked and when his eyes opened again, Nymiria was gone.

Oran was ushered to the foot of the dais where the line of suitors stood in wait, their eyes following him as if he were the only person in the room.

In that very moment, he may as well have been.

Tonight was about him, about deciding the future of Yaar based upon a single glance and a few shallow exchanges of words.

If that was all it took to claim a wife, Aziel believed the world would be doomed.

But that was how it worked here—it was tradition.

Though Dorid Yaarborough claimed that he was a man who admired women, his sentiments did not reflect the reality in which they lived. Just having courtesans in his palace, alone, proved that the king was full of shit.

"See anything?" Oran whispered.

Aziel gave a subtle shake of his head, forcing an amused smile on his face. One that would give the impression that his brother had said something funny, rather than asking if there was a killer in the room with them.

Once at the foot of the dais, Aziel walked to where the rest of the guards stood.

His black outfit did not match all of the finery that surrounded him.

Even the guards were in full-armor, gilded from head to toe, their weapons drawn and held in front of them as a show of what would plunge through someone's stomach if they got too close.

He was used to being stared at, used to being feared. But the eyes that watched him now made his skin itch.

From where she sat upon her golden throne on the center of the dais, Queen Camalia of Yaar watched him with great fervor.

He could feel the sickening lust that radiated from her body, could see her mindlessly running her red-tipped fingers along her heavily decorated decolletage.

She was bold tonight and that thought, alone, had him wondering if it had anything to do with the presence of the little blond courtesan that had vanished from the room.

Nymiria hadn't returned yet.

Her sudden absence was not enough for him to speculate that she was plotting anything against the king or the prince, but her position was one that he had to consider.

He'd been intimate with enough courtesans to know that majority of them were terrified to fulfill their duties when they were first faced with them and he knew, for a fact, that Nymiria Celentas was unused.

Her fear could drive her to kill. Her anger could drive her to kill.

He hoped it was her. Aziel hoped that she wasn't just as enchanted with Dorid Yaar as the attendees of this cataclysmic event.

He truly hoped that there was still a trace of fae in her that naturally made humans the enemy.

It was all he had. Because the thought of her truly being under the influence of his father, his thoughts and his teachings being ingrained in her, made him fearful.

If she had betrayed all logical thought and actually sided with Dorid, she was ruined.

But if that nagging feeling he had, that slightest bit of speculation, was correct… there was a way.

Aziel kept his eyes trained to the door Nymiria had disappeared through, occasionally glancing at Oran.

By now, he had already made his way through the majority of the suitors presented to him.

He was now talking to one half of a set of twins, but the girl was glaring at him as if Oran was the biggest annoyance she'd ever been presented with in her life.

Her twin did not look much more pleased to be there.

She twirled her brown waves around her finger, her green eyes fixed upon the vaulted ceilings as she huffed her displeasure.

Still, Oran moved through the line.

It was when he arrived upon the most terrified looking young princess that Oran seemed to soften.

She looked up at him with wide, doe-like eyes.

Her plump lips parted and, finally, formed a smile when the prince lifted her hand to his lips in greeting.

And it was a good sign, indeed, because Oran had not kissed the hand of any of the suitors thus far.

When he tugged the woman from the line, she and Oran were then escorted to one of the private rooms. It was customary for them to spend a few moments alone—making introductions, exchanging small talk and other needle-minded pleasantries that were all very much chaste and very much boring.

Aziel stood with his hands clasped together in front of him, eyes still fixed on the place Nymiria once stood.

He felt a slight jump in the muscles underneath his eye the longer he looked at that corner, having half the mind to walk over there and figure out where she'd run off to.

He didn't like the way she looked at him, like she knew he could see right through her.

He would bet good money that, if anyone in this palace was planning something against Oran and Dorid, it would be her—it had to be.

"See anything?" One of the gilded guards behind him asked.

Aziel gave a barely noticeable shake of his head. "Not exactly. There was a woman—blond hair, pink and orange dress. Did you see where she went?"

"Nymiria?" The guard nearly laughed. "The Mystic?

" Aziel was glad he wasn't facing the guard.

If he was, he would certainly see Aziel's eyes nearly rolling out of their sockets.

"She wouldn't harm a fly. I'd be more concerned about convincing her to let you get a taste.

Prudish bitch, if you ask me—has a mouth on her, but I'm sure stuffing your cock in it could—"

He didn't intend on stabbing the guard, but he couldn't listen to another moment of him talking. So he did.

It was quick. Just a simple turn and a sharp plunge into the stomach, in the gap between the gilded plates of armor.

It wasn't enough to kill him, but it was sure as hell enough to get the fool to shut his mouth.

"Have a little more respect." Aziel hissed, driving the blade deeper into the gasping guard's stomach.

"I'm going to leave this blade inside of you so you don't bleed all over the floor.

When I turn back around, you're going to go straight to a healer and spend the rest of the night thinking about why I did this to you.

Understood?" The guard nodded, his lips trembling and eyes watering.

Aziel could smell his pain—he could feel the cold caress of it against his skin.

He smiled. "Good boy." And with that, he turned back to face the now-cheering crowd.

Oran was lifting the hand of his newly betrothed, a forced smile plastered across his face.