Page 57 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

Oran was not interested in anything they had to say about the Duke of Fairnam, but he was required to make an appearance.

He'd known Brandt when they were boys, both of them having spent a few turns of summers together on holiday with their families.

They'd visited the isle together when both Brandt and Oran were seven years old.

And while Dorid had been adamant about leaving Aziel behind, Camalia had insisted upon bringing the boy with them.

He'd just lost his mother, she'd said. Aziel and Oran had hated Brandt ever since. He was never good.

During that time, Camalia was good. She was a wonderful and loving mother with a gracious heart.

She took care of all the children in the kingdom, for she was cursed to only be able to bear one child and her dream had been to have an army of them.

She'd had a rough labor when delivering her second child, a daughter that did not survive, and the healers believed that it ruined her womb.

So, she took to caring for each of the small babes that ran around the palace.

Lilith Haze had never allowed Aziel near Oran. She kept them away from one another until her dying day. And, honestly, Oran could understand why. Considering who their father was and his notorious treatment of others, Lilith probably believed that Oran would kill Aziel or be ruthlessly mean to him.

When she passed, Camalia had taken Aziel under her wing, allowing him certain liberties that no other bastard child received. She schooled him, dressed him just as Oran dressed, and even held small birthday celebrations for him.

But something happened.

During both his and Aziel's fifteenth year, he'd noticed his mother becoming more and more ill.

Her body was frailer, her hair had grown thin, and she looked around in a state of awe at all times of the day.

Like she was not a part of this world, but simply watching it.

None of the royal healers were able to determine what was ailing her and when her body seemed close to death, Oran had purchased his mother a ring.

It was a beautiful ring. The gem was rare, one that'd been imported from another continent and matched the color of her eyes.

She never took it off.

For a time, he was sent to train with the royal guards at one of the posts in Fairnam.

It was a brief stay of two months, but when he returned, Camalia was no longer sick.

It was as if she had never been sick at all—her hair was just a lustrous as before, her eyes held that beautiful gleam once again. But her face… was different.

He could never quite place what had changed with his mother, but she no longer exuded her usual sense of caring.

She was not kind at all, as if the sickness that'd plagued her had simply stolen her heart and her soul.

After he'd given her the ring, she never took it off.

She even wore it during her sponge baths.

But when he returned from his training, that ring was nowhere in sight.

For years, he mourned the loss of the mother he once knew.

Looking at her now, he didn't even recognize the person sitting in front of him as his mother. She was just Camalia. A woman with an entirely different identity—as if they were of no relation at all.

Some days, it still ached. But today, it enraged him.

Oran slammed his fork onto the table and shoved his plate away from himself, having heard enough of Dorid's incessant ranting about Mystics and the harm that they were bringing to the kingdom once again.

They were preparing for war, he said, and they would begin by exterminating the Mystics that were left in the camps as if they were roaches—pests.

Camalia jumped at Oran's sudden outburst, her brow arching in his direction. "What on earth is the matter with you?" She hissed under her breath.

The men at the head of the table were still talking amongst themselves, too busy with their greed and their desire for power to notice that Oran and Camalia were even breathing. He rolled his eyes. "Mother, where is your ring?"

Camalia stared at him for a moment before her eyes dropped to her hands. She wore many rings now. Gaudy ones made of gold and gleaming with rubies, but not the silver one with the blue and green gemstone. She smirked. "What ring?"

He could hear the amusement in her voice—something taunting and teasing. Anger rolled deep in his gut. "The ring that I gave you. You haven't worn it in years."

Camalia scoffed, waving him off with he flick of her hand.

"Oh, please. I wear it all the time. It just doesn't match my dress.

" She smoothed her hands down the front of her gown, seemingly proud of her excuse.

Oran's eyes dipped to the fine blue silk fabric she wore.

It was such a pale blue. A blue that brought out the color in her eyes—a blue that would have looked wonderful with his ring.

"Will you stop grovelling and actually look happy to be here?

Good gods, all of you Yaarborough men are the same. "

Oran tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing as he watched her sip from her goblet of wine. "My apologies." He whispered, a new feeling of terror roiling in his gut.