Page 23 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

Aziel traced over the design on the arm of the chair, his gloved finger dipping and swirling into the wooden grooves that made up the design of a phoenix.

It was ironic, really, that his father decorated his palace with mystical things but would go to such great lengths to ensure that they were killed.

They did better to remain as bedtime stories for children, never something to witness firsthand.

Phoenixes had been killed off long ago, long before Dorid Yaarborough or his brooding bastards for sons came wailing into the world.

He released a sigh, lifting his eyes to watch as Dorid propped himself against the large oak desk in the study, his gaze homed in on Aziel. "You look deep in thought, boy. What have you to say about any of this?" Dorid demanded.

"About what?" Aziel hummed, letting his head rest lazily against a single finger. "The people going missing or the new sculpture of the sex goddess you placed in the foyer?"

Dorid's face turned red with anger. It was a talent, really—that one simple sentence could nearly put his father in an early grave.

"Don't be smart with me. You know what I'm talking about.

The Mystics are your jurisdiction, so I would like to know how it happened.

How two hundred of them vanished from the camps in one night. "

To be fair, Aziel wasn't quite sure how to answer that question. But whatever magic Trio had worked… well, he did it well. "How would I know?" Aziel asked. "You demanded for me to be here, babysitting my brother—"

"You will address him by his title, Aziel.

" Dorid snarled, his hands curling against the wood of his desk with splintering pressure.

"Do not forget your place. Whatever fun the two of you had, whatever relationship the two of you built on your mission, it ends now.

It ends here. Do you understand? He is your future king. "

"Yes, your highness." Aziel bowed his head apologetically, his stoic expression returning.

"What I meant to say is that when I left my camp, I left with good and noble men in charge.

Men that'd been working those camps for well over twenty years.

It bewilders me just as much as it does you, that something like this would happen. I chose my guards carefully."

"Aye," Dorid seemed to deflate to some degree, his gaze moving slowly to the bookshelves that lined his walls.

He pushed himself away from his desk and strode towards the shelf of crowns.

He plucked one from the batch, the one that looked like silver plated branches of a tree.

Aziel held his breath, watching the pad of his father's thumb skim over the branches.

"Nymiria and Oran have become quite close. " He hummed.

Aziel forced his teeth apart, feeling the ache in his jaw from having ground them so tightly. "Yes, it seems they have."

In the passing weeks since the night of Oran's engagement, he'd watched Nymiria become an ornament at Oran's side.

In the early morning hours, he'd see them in the garden where his mother's bones rested.

In the afternoon, he'd see Oran handing Nymiria some of the most delectable imported apples one could put in their mouth.

He'd watch her, fists clenched, as she plopped the slices into her mouth.

And the only thing he could think of when he watched them together was how she'd looked at him in the garden—the venom in her eyes when she'd snarled at him, the sadness he felt when she spoke those three simple words: "I am nothing. "

"I don't want her near him. Oran's betrothed is growing increasingly jealous and I cannot have him falling in love with a fucking Mystic.

No matter how much I love Nymiria, their relationship would be an abomination and would ruin any chance I have at securing relations with Shidosha.

We need their ships." Dorid's voice broke Aziel from his thoughts, his brow furrowing as he watched Dorid place the crown back on the shelf.

"I am having her rooms moved. She will be in the tower now. Away from Oran."

It was an excuse and Aziel knew it. Oran's bride couldn't have cared less about who or what her betrothed was doing with his free time. This was all just a way to put Nymiria closer to him—so that she might actually be able to finish what Dorid tasked her to do.

Aziel jolted to his feet, his hands clenching to fists. "Absolutely not. That tower is mine."

"Nothing in this palace is yours, Aziel.

And you'd do well to remember it. So," Dorid huffed, plopping himself into the chair behind his desk.

"I would suggest that you have your belongings removed from one of the apartments to make room for her.

" He plucked a quill from his golden cup, twirled it around his fingers as he smiled up at Aziel.

"First, you give her my mother's grave and now, you're pushing me out of my own space?

" He scoffed. This wasn't going to end well.

That tower housed very fragile information and one whiff of what Aziel was truly doing would ruin everything and all of this would have been for naught.

He couldn't trust Nymiria. Not when she spent all hours of the day eye-fucking Oran and eating pretty little fruits from his and their father's palms. This couldn't happen.

Not now. Not when he was so close. "I'd rather die. "

Dorid chuckled. "Then kill yourself."

Of course.

Aziel took a steadying breath and forced a grim smile onto his face. While this was the last thing he wanted to do, it seemed he had no choice. He'd certainly have to send a message to Trio to come… retrieve a few things. But if Dorid Yaarborough wanted Nymiria closer to him, then so be it.

He would be close to her—so close, in fact, that the king would lose his little pet. He could be seductive, he supposed. It wouldn't kill him.

After Aziel was dismissed from the meeting, he took to making his rounds.

Scouring over every inch of the palace grounds was one of his least favorite duties when he was younger, but now…

especially now, it gave him the perfect opportunity to watch over his target.

Learn her schedule, learn her routines. He could find something to bond over and swoop in and be just as devilishly charming as Thorn told him to be.

Stealing a princess's heart was no easy task.

He approached her garden with a slow stride, a smirk toying at the corner of his lips when he saw her small frame hunched over the plaque that bore his mother's name.

The wildflowers she'd planted had all wilted.

Every single one of them with browning flowers, their stems shriveled and no longer the colorful, brilliant things that they were a couple of days prior.

She worked furiously, grunting and swiping at her forehead to clear the sweat as she ripped the dead flowers out of the earth.

Under the rot, green vines adorned with closed buds were pulsing with life.

Nymiria was cursing to herself, shaking her head back and forth when each new vine sprang free from their rotted prisons.

Aziel stepped into the garden, his brow furrowed as she tossed a clump of dead flowers to the ground and let her head fall into her hands.

Genuine confusion took over him as he walked closer to her, his eyes scanning the bed of moonflowers. "What happened?" He asked.

Nymiria's head snapped up in his direction, her eyes narrowed—sharp like the tip of a dagger.

"Go away." She snarled. Aziel did not move.

He simply leaned down and plucked a closed bud from the vine.

His confusion did not go away, but mingled with amazement as he watched a new bud spring up in its place.

He smiled.

"You did this, didn't you?" Nymiria was now within inches of him, her hands braced upon her hips. "You're the one that's doing this… this magic."

Aziel flicked the bud out of his hand like one would a cigarette, his smile slipping. "I'd watch what you say around here, Nymiria. Accusing someone of tinkering with magic could get somebody killed."

She took another step closer to him. Filling the space that separated them was now a small garden shovel, the sharp point of it pressed directly over his heart.

"And what makes you think that I care if you live or die, Aziel Haze?

All you have done since our first meeting is growl at me, glare at me, question my freedom, and look at me with that… look."

"What look?" He hummed. Her anger amused him, made something inside of him that was darkened and dull feel like it was flickering to life again. "What if this is just my face?"

Nymiria scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. "Well, then, I hate your face."

"I don't see why you're angry with me. I should be angry with you—you punched me in the throat for no good reason.

And you tried to stab me." She was getting angrier.

He could tell by the pale pink flush along the base of her throat.

And as much as he could not stand what she represented and who she had become, he had to admit that she still looked absolutely beautiful in pink.

It suited her. "I also don't shove myself into your business in sketchy alleyways. "

"I don't do business in sketchy alleyways.

" Each word was spoken through gritted teeth, her arms folding over her chest. "You may believe that what you were doing was private, but I could smell your death all the way from Dieve's stall.

" Aziel stilled, his heart giving a solid thud at her words.

All of the air escaped from his lungs, and he could feel the blood draining from his face.

"You could smell my death?" This changed things. If she could sense his Grace, it meant that there was more power inside of her than mere glamours.