Page 11 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

After seeing him stab the guard, Nymiria decided to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

She recognized the guard as one of the few who would always try to flirt with her.

He was the handsy one. It shouldn't have made a difference, she believed that he deserved to be stabbed by someone, but she couldn't understand why Aziel would do it.

He was loyal to Dorid and Aziel's main job was to ensure that Dorid and Oran were not killed tonight, the threats against their lives being one of the main reasons Dorid had arranged for this celebration to even happen.

Maybe he believed the guard was in on the the plan to kill the king and the prince. Nymiria scoffed at the thought. If Aziel suspected that the guard had something to do with those threats, he was highly mistaken.

Aziel was notorious for being ruthless whenever he felt like it. Here in Yaar, he was the monster that haunted your dreams—someone that could and would lash out on anyone who got in his way. There was no telling what the guard could have done to provoke him.

Drawing in a deep breath, Nymiria plopped herself into the chair behind Dorid's large oak desk.

It was littered with correspondences and maps, notes of sale, and other meaningless scraps of paper that the king scribbled on.

She sifted through the piles, lifting a single note up to her face and sighing before she let it feather its way back onto the desk.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

Don't prolong this. The more you wait, the angrier he becomes.

She didn't need this right now.

Knowing that if she opened her eyes, she would see him in front of her, it was usually a comfort.

It was a reminder of why she was doing all of this.

But all of the lies and all of the pretending were starting to catch up to her.

She was starting to believe that they were true.

She was chasing the high of Dorid's approval, of the gifts he'd shower her with whenever she completed a task.

If she was being completely honest with herself, Nymiria would be able to admit that she was tired of fighting.

Any person with eyes could see that she had a good life here.

She was clothed, fed, provided with finery that most in the kingdom of Yaar wished they had.

There was very little she had to complain about.

What was a few more dead bodies if it meant that she'd never have to worry about where she slept or if she would get beaten or raped by the wardens of the camps?

She'd heard the horror stories and she fought, tooth and nail, to ensure that she would never be placed in those circumstances. She'd worked even harder to ensure that her place was always at Dorid's side, doing whatever it was that he asked, even if she hated herself for it later.

It would be worth it in the end, she thought. To have him exactly where she wanted him.

You break your own heart, Nym. You do it every time.

"Please be quiet," she sighed. "I'm trying to think.

" Finally, she lifted her eyes to look at the shadow of a man in front of her, his green eyes strikingly vivid, despite his translucent appearance.

Her heart softened at the sight of his smile, no matter how hard she had to squint to force herself to see it.

"I don't think that I can kill him." She confessed. "His eyes…"

They are blue. Just like yours. There is nothing about him worth saving, Nym. He is just a person.

Perhaps her ghost was right. Perhaps there was nothing special about Aziel Haze at all. Maybe he was just another obstacle standing in her way… but that thought didn't feel quite right either.

Nymiria groaned and snatched the bottle of absinthe from the top of Dorid's desk.

She didn't even bother grabbing a glass from the cart behind her, she just unscrewed the lid and turned it up to her lips.

The moment the liquid hit her tongue, she felt the fire from the alcohol directly in her chest. She coughed and sputtered, face contorting at the shocking warmth that filled her.

It was said that her people drank absinthe all the time, but after that taste, she couldn't seem to understand why. It felt like liquid fire, like drinking one more swallow would make her lungs shrivel.

"I'm fucked." She sighed. "He's like me.

He can sense me, I'm sure of it." She grumbled as she glanced around the room, half hoping that those green eyes were still watching her.

Instead came the crushing reality that, once again, she was only speaking to a ghost. A memory.

Nymiria's face fell as she stared at the bookshelves behind Dorid's desk, at the silver-plated crown on the fourth shelf.

She took one more swallow of the absinthe, letting the horrid burn replace the sadness inside of her.

She sank down into the nearest chair, allowing herself a moment to breathe.

She was safe in this room. Aside from Dorid's most trusted advisors, Nymiria was the only other being allowed in this study. Not even the queen was granted access to this room.

She let out a huff, eyes lifting to the ceiling as she let her glamour fall.

She felt the warmth of her power sliding off of her skin, feeling much like untying a corset at the end of a very long and tiring day.

It was earned, she thought, allowing herself this moment to regather herself before she ventured out into that circus again.

Oran was picking his wife tonight. There was a long line of suitable women waiting for him, each of them were the prettiest princesses the world had to offer.

Those words were straight from Dorid's mouth, as he believed that he would have nothing but the best for his son.

That included a beautiful wife that could produce him beautiful, healthy heirs that would potentially go on to rule this kingdom one day.

It seemed to her that Dorid cared more about his family replicating art than he did about the people who depended on him.

When she was absolutely certain that the revelry was in full swing, she would go make an appearance. It was expected of her. And she needed to uphold those expectations.

A cold wind rushed over her raw skin, the ropes around her wrists digging further into the sores.

Blood leaked down her arms, dripping over her collarbone as she tried to tug herself free for the hundredth time.

It was no use. There was no escape. Her body shivered in the cold—snow already beginning to fall.

The elders of the community had left her to discuss what came next and though they were in the house in front of where they'd tied her up, she couldn't make out a single muffled word.

Her fate was unknown and waiting only made the fear that festered inside of her grow stronger and more relentless.

A twig snapped behind her. Nymiria jerked her head in the direction of the sound, her eyes going wide when she saw a masked figure step out of the woods. The moonlight above them peaked through the thick clouds at that moment, casting its silver glow upon wild blue eyes.

When the music outside kicked up into a joyous beat, Nymiria was roused from her near-slumber by the sound of cheering and clapping.

Grumbling a curse under her breath, she lifted herself to her feet and reached into that part of her where her power stirred, she imagined herself becoming the golden, sun-kissed beauty she presented herself as before.

A quick glance in the mirror confirmed she'd successfully replicated the image in her brain and with triumphant huff, she walked out of the study.

The hall was still empty, but the closer she got to the ball room, the more people began emerging from every dark corner.

Lovers twirled away into the garden, kings of far away lands gathered in circles and conversed politics, ladies and other women of the court grabbed their gossiping partners and skirted off to quiet corners to exchange the latest drama.

Blame it on her encounter with Dorid the day before, but Nymiria could not shake the feeling of disgust as she watched these people.

She did her best to hide her disapproving scowl, but there was not much that could be done to fix her emotions. Nymiria rounded the corner and stepped into the foyer where the ballroom doors were still opened wide.

She craned her neck to get a glimpse of the revelry, eyes following the flow of bodies that were twirling and swaying to the melodic sounds filling the air.

A soft summer breeze blew in from the open windows, catching each gilded curtain and kicking them up just slightly. She nearly hummed with pleasure when the cool air caressed the visible skin of her back, lips curling into a smile when the faint smell of wisteria hit her nose.

She could escape to the gardens, she thought.

Perhaps lock herself in her own personal fortress and pretend that her orders for delivering death did not exist, but she did have relations to maintain.

She didn't know how she was going to get to Aziel, but Dorid believed her capable so she would just have to… figure something out.

That does it, she thought.

And it was that exact thought that had her straightening her spine and asserting herself, walking into the ballroom as if she belonged nowhere else in the world.

Earlier that evening, people had mistaken her as one of the princesses who were in line for the prince's hand.

They all watched her as she moved her way through the crowd—onlookers turning and stepping out of her way as she walked towards where Oran now stood at the center of the ballroom.