Page 35 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

Green eyes flickered to hers.

Through the darkness of the blood spilling into her eyes, Nymiria could still see him—could still see the look in his eyes that begged her to play along. To go with the plan. But there was no plan. And the burning in her skull was making it hard to focus.

"You did good," Dorid clapped Owen on the shoulder, giving him a firm nod before he turned to her fully. His large form loomed over her, his spiked crown an ominous shadow that resembled the steeples on top of his palace. She shuddered under his gaze, muttering a prayer to Greia one last time.

When Dorid knelt in front of her, she tried to tug at the hands holding both of her wrists.

She wanted to wipe the blood out of her eyes.

She wanted to shield her naked form from him, but he merely gripped her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, forcing her still.

"Don't hide from me now, darling." He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it across the gash on her forehead, but did nothing to wipe her eyes clean.

She was still staring at him through black-clouded vision, eyes burning and tears spilling in pale red rivulets down her cheeks.

"Tell me, Nymiria, do you love him? Or was this all just an act of rebellion—a way for you to get under my skin? "

Her eyes immediately moved to the blurred image of Owen, his smirk causing something deep inside of her to gnash it's teeth. Anger. Deep-seeded anger with claws and horns…

"Yes." She whispered. For a moment, she felt his grip on her chin grow tighter, his jaw clenching as he tried to dissect which option she'd agreed to. Her lips parted, licking at the salty and metallic tears that wetted her lips. "I love him."

Dorid turned to Owen with a smile on his face, a small laugh sounding from deep within his burly chest. "And you, boy—do you love her?"

Owen folded his arms across his chest just as Dorid came to stand beside him.

Nymiria felt sick. She wanted to scream.

She wanted to rip the flesh from her body just so that she could grow skin that'd never felt the touch of a man.

Ever. Instead, she was forced to watch a look of disgust flicker across her beloved's face.

"No." He said loudly, his voice flat as if he felt absolutely nothing at all.

The last thing she remembered was being carried to her room. She remembered Aziel's leathered hand covering her eyes and everything fading to a darkness that was all-consuming. Something more than sleep.

Nymiria stirred from a cloud of black silk, her heart racing at unfamiliar surroundings as she lifted her head from the pillow.

She looked across the room to the lone window above a small oak desk, one candle burning and dripping onto the surface.

It was still dark outside, signifying she hadn't been asleep for very long.

Either way, it did nothing to ease the slight panic that was still at war with her heart.

This was not the palace.

And she had the oddest sense that she was no longer in Yaarborough at all.

With a quick glance towards the ornately carved door, Nymiria slipped from the bed and padded softly across the stone floor.

By the way the candlelight hit the veins in the stone, she could distinctively tell that the floor was made of pure amethyst. It gave off a certain feeling that was almost indescribable, radiating a warm calmness that could only come from the belly of the earth.

There was not much else to the room that seemed odd—a bed, an armoire, and a large fireplace that was nearly the height of the walls.

There was a fire burning inside of it, but no heat came from the flames at all.

The room was nice and cool, a relief from the hot summer humidity that surely still lingered outside.

The black wall that the bed was situated against was lined with black leather-bound books, the shelves pivoting to line the wall nearest the door, as well.

On the other side of the bed, purple crystals dangled from the ceiling.

Some of them were their natural shape while others had noticeably been carved to look like moons and stars.

She stared at them for a moment, watching as they twirled as if caught in a light breeze. She glanced at the door again and continued walking, fingers brushing along the leather spines of the books before she passed under the arched threshold that led into another room.

A wash room. And a very nice one, at that.

The obsidian basin was stark against the rest of the room, for it seemed as if everything else inside had been carved from the largest amethyst stone she'd ever seen in her life.

This room opened out into a veranda of sorts, where she could only see darkness that extended for miles.

It didn't matter how far she leaned over the stone ledge, she couldn't even see a lawn. It was all black.

A mixture of panic and wonder made it feel like she couldn't breathe. With no route of escape, she should have felt nervous. But there was a stronger sense—a stronger desire that made her want to stay.

"Are you hungry?"

Nymiria whirled around at the sound of Aziel's voice echoing through the washroom. He stared back at her with absolutely no expression. No anger, no disgust, just… nothing. It wasn't unsettling, but it was different from the way he'd looked at her before.

She was partially thankful for his nonchalance. She didn't know what to say yet—if she should be thanking him or running for her life. She just needed a moment.

Aziel's appearance was much more relaxed than how he was in Yaar.

His hair was disheveled, hanging in his face instead combed to perfection.

He wore his usual black clothing. Though, now, there were no high-collar shirts or jackets with gleaming silver buttons.

No chains and no jewels hanging from his person.

All that remained was a single obsidian earring hanging from his left ear in the shape of a tear drop. And the gloves.

She still hadn't figured that part out yet. The gloves, that is. She never saw him without them and even found herself wondering, not too many nights before, if he bathed in them.

He held a tray of food, a suggestive glance shot in her direction as he waved for her to follow him.

She glanced back at the impenetrable darkness before following him, taking a quick look down at the nightgown that replaced her shredded gown from earlier.

She didn't know how they'd managed to change her clothes, but she hoped and prayed that it wasn't Aziel that'd taken it upon himself to strip her and change her.

She shoved the thought away, determining that she didn't even want to ask.

It was better to save herself some dignity. After all that'd transpired.

They walked out of the door to the bedroom, entering into a small dining area that was more intimate than a dining hall, but far more elaborate than any regular dining room she'd ever seen.

The table was made of a different black stone than the tub—onyx, she presumed, if only for the way the corners of the tables seemed to glow a soft orange and brown when the firelight hit it.

Aziel placed her tray onto the table before ushering her into her seat.

She whispered her appreciation to him as she took up the silver utensils into her hand.

One glance at her reflection in the polished metal showed that she was still without her glamour.

Which was freeing. She usually slept in full glamour unless she knew there were no visitors in the palace.

Because Dorid usually wanted her to be presentable at all hours of the day.

She never knew when she would be needing to kill someone or if he just wanted to show her off.

"Thank you," Nymiria said again, louder this time, as Aziel slid into the chair across from her. His eyes moved up to hers. "For your help in the garden. He would have killed me if you hadn't come."

The air around them seemed to shift, Aziel's brows ticking together and his jaw clenching behind the closed fist he'd propped on the table.

"He was going to do more than kill you." He lowered his hand away from his mouth, watching intently as she scooped food onto her spoon.

"And there is no need to thank me, Nymiria. Any real man would have done the same."

She couldn't help the small snort that sounded from her, her hand flying to cover her nose as more laughter bubbled from her chest. "Any real man?" She hummed. "You aren't a man. You are fae. A Mystic."

"Half."

"Your father comes from a Seelie line."

Aziel grumbled something under his breath, his irritation with her returning. "A little over half, then. But who is truly keeping count? Besides—you know what I meant."

"And you consider yourself to be a real man?"

Aziel smirked at her, a smooth and seductive half-grin that had her turning away from him before he realized she was blushing.

"I know I am… darling." He threw that final word at her with extra sarcasm, rolling his eyes as if to pay homage to his father's disgusting pet name for her.

She cringed, doing her best to discreetly fan her warming skin.

But Aziel was not wrong.

She couldn't argue with him on the fact that he was more of a man than any she'd encountered in Yaar.

It didn't matter how much fae blood ran through his veins, blood quantity had nothing to do with it, he was what he was.

Although she certainly did enjoy besting him with her quick wit and horrible attitude, there was no way she could deny him of his truth.

She was appreciative. "May I ask where I am?

" She placed her spoon down, folding her hands over her plate.

"Everything outside is in complete darkness. "