Page 21 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

"She found me." Aziel sighed. "Unfortunately I was in a very compromising position, but she did find me." He forced a chuckle to hide his disgust with himself.

"You had your pants around your ankles or something?"

Aziel made a face. "Or something. Anyway, I have been keeping an eye on her. I thought that she was planning to kill my father and my brother."

"And why not just let her kill them?" Thorn whispered. "You hate your father. Yaar hates your father."

There was no easy way to explain it. It was not love, it was not respect, nor was there a single ounce of care that he felt when looking at his father.

It wasn't even the fear of missing out on any potential relationship between the two of them—he'd given up that hope years ago.

In fact, there was no good reason why he didn't let Nymiria or anyone else just go right ahead and gut them all.

"She could gut Dorid in front of me right this second and I wouldn't bat an eye.

But Oran is different, Thorn. I told you that.

" He sighed. "I was wrong, anyway. She changed. "

"Changed? What do you mean by that?"

She wasn't the person he was expecting her to be.

He expected for her to hate everyone just as much as he did, that it would be some kind of natural instinct.

But after seeing her fawn all over his brother and play pretty pet to his father, he didn't know what to think.

He tried reminding himself of what Desi said—that she could have just been acting, but he didn't believe it.

Him clinging to the hope that she was the person who wrote those threats was all that he had.

Now, with great frustration with both himself and fate, he was forced to despise her, too.

"She's been too long without fae influence, Thorn." Aziel shook his head. "Ten years is a long time."

The burly man folded his arms across his chest, his gaze turning to the sky in remembrance of the little princess he'd spent most of his days chasing around the palace.

He'd been the closest person to Inasha, Nymiria's mother.

"Perhaps you should get to know her. Maybe it is an act. Everyone has to survive somehow."

"You haven't seen the way she looks at Oran. At everything. She tries to be one of them—please them."

"Then do your best to change her mind, little charmer. I know you are more than capable."

Certainly, he was capable of charming many people.

He'd inherited the Yaarborough's good looks, along with his mother's ethereal beauty.

He was nearly an unstoppable force, but his personality had a tendency to act as a repellent in terms of wooing—something that he had only ever attempted once, years ago, before this cruel world ripped away any hope of him having normal relationships.

After a while, the desire to find love vanished completely.

"You certainly are the brooding type, aren't you?" Thorn chuckled. "Gods above, boy. Smile a little." He clapped Aziel on the shoulder, earning a subtle roll of the eyes.

"Smiling hurts my face." Aziel grumbled.

"I'm also worried about wrinkling. Crows feet.

Around the eyes." Thorn let out a loud laugh, finally shoving Aziel into the direction of the clearing where Inasha's castle once stood.

Though there was nothing left of the once-grande castle, there was still an air of unease that could be felt as they passed by the rubble.

That palace had housed Seelie rulers for thousands of years, passed down through one of the longest-running bloodlines in all of Gaellagh history.

To see it reduced to ash made Aziel's skin prickle uncomfortably, his guilt like a rock in his stomach.

"Of all the things I've done," Aziel began. "Burning this palace down was the one thing I regret. I would have loved to see it one more time."

Thorn frowned. "Why? There wasn't a damn thing left to take pride in. Nothing but pain and heartache left here."

"It was beautiful."

"It was darkness."

He remembered the palace. He remembered walking the crystalline halls when his mother brought him to meet her parents, in complete awe with the brightness of the magical world that surrounded him.

It was a vast difference from the damp darkness of the spired prison he was raised in.

The women were all dressed in flowing, gauzy gowns, their hair braided in intricate designs that showed off the peaks of their pointed ears, which were usually decorated in silver cuffs.

Each wore diadems upon their heads, large jewels gleaming in the center of their foreheads that represented their elemental powers.

The men, all of them large and proud, were branded with silver tattoos, their family trees permanently marking them.

Thorn still bore his markings proudly—the silver names forever flowing over the length of his back, which was now covered by a ruddy tunic, stained with sweat and dirt.

He didn't remember it being a place filled with darkness.

But, then again, he and Thorn had very different experiences within those walls.

"C'mon," Thorn took in the dark and thoughtful look on Aziel's face, waving him onward. "The kids have missed you."

A piano and violin were being played in a dark corner, the thick red curtains casting an ominous glow about the smoke-filled room. The stench of tobacco clung to each velvet surface, but did nothing to quell the overwhelming aroma of sex and alcohol.

Oran was not partaking in the nefarious deeds of his friends, he merely sat at a game table shuffling through a deck of cards as if he were searching for one in particular.

He rolled his eyes at their boisterous laughter, shook his head at a friend who had his hand up one of his courtesan’s dresses.

It was nothing out of the ordinary in a place like this.

Nothing in that room was abnormal save for his brother who, like him, was sitting at that table and trying to ignore the sins happening around them.

Either of them could have a pick of any woman in that room, but Aziel had suddenly taken a vow of celibacy and Oran… well, he was engaged. And as much as he detested the arrangement, he was a man of his word. One woman for the rest of his life.

Fiernan seemed as if she’d rather run for the hills than to be next to him. He’d heard talks of some prince overseas that she’d been in love with.

How unfortunate.

It’d been him and his hand for the last four years. He could survive an eternity without sex. Possibly.

Not realizing that he’d bent his cards back as tight as a bow string, the cards inevitably popped out of his grasp and sputtered into the air, raining down on the table and ground.

He swore under his breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he turned and lowered himself to the ground to pick them up.

He was too distracted with cleaning to realize that Nymiria had walked into the room, but Aziel was already watching her—had already felt her coming.

Her presence was like an itch at the back of his throat, like a suppressed scream that pressed at his vocal cords.

She wore that same damned glamour, entirely oblivious to the greedy eyes that roamed over every inch of her barely-clothed form.

From her golden coiffed hair to her pink silk gown, she was the very image of beauty.

The plunging neckline on her gown did nothing to hide the perfect swell of her breasts, nor the perfect silver flower on the center of her chest. It was a burning reminder—a slap in the face, really.

Far worse than any punch she could dispel upon him.

His kindness was on display for the world to see, his sacrifices taken for granted.

Because when her eyes landed on him, they were filled with a fair mixture of fear and disgust. He returned the sentiments as well as he could, flicking the ashes of his cigarette onto the floor before stamping it out onto the table.

Dorid’s little pet. Killing in his name, bending to his every will… he had a hard time believing that that was all she was doing for him. Now that all hope was lost of her being the one conspiring to kill the king, his thoughts were wondering to much darker places.

She stared at him for a moment, neither of them moving until Oran rose back up from the ground. Nymiria bristled, wishing that she could look away from Aziel and give Oran her attention, but her head wouldn’t move.

“It’s a pleasure for you to join us this evening, Nymiria. Though, I must say that I’m surprised to see you here—our father hardly lets you out of his sight.” Aziel smirked.

Oran glanced between the two of them, his brow furrowing when he saw the sheer ire burning in both Nymiria and Aziel’s eyes.

“Never mind that,” He started, waving her to the seat next to him–away from his brother.

“Come have a seat. We’ve been waiting for another player so that we can start the game. ”

Nymiria looked around at the people in the room.

“I can see why you haven’t had much luck finding another player.

" She slid into the seat nearest the prince, doing her best to ignore the feeling of Aziel’s gaze.

Which wasn’t really a gaze at all, but a glare.

Nymiria was beginning to wonder if that was just the way his face looked—if he’d been so menacing for so long that his face was just frozen in a permanent scowl.

“Is there a problem with me being here?” She bit out.

Aziel shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve been dying to see what you look like when you lie.”

She could sense the truth in his words. Fear prickled up her spine, her teeth chewing at the inside of her cheek before giving a small laugh to ease the tension.

Oran was watching them. If he suspected anything, all of her plans would be for naught.

“I’m a horrible liar, so I don’t think that you will have much trouble discerning whether or not I am bluffing. ”