Page 68 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)
The night passed slowly. And while he was thankful that Camalia hadn’t requested him for the evening, there was a part of him that worried about why she hadn’t.
He believed that she’d perhaps gone back on their deal.
That Nymiria would be sent to the camps.
Or worse—killed. She’d promised to keep Nymiria safe, keep her identity hidden and to not allow her to fall victim to the men in this palace.
He didn’t want to know what kind of witchcraft Camalia worked to make it happen, but she did.
When the morning came and Aziel was requested in the throne room, he was forced to go as himself. Dorid didn’t like him without a glamour and Camalia preferred for him to look exotic and wild for the court.
His place was beside the dais, behind the curtain, away from the crowd and separate from his family, but close enough to where he could react to a threat if needed.
Philter, his trainer, stood at the other side of him, looking at Aziel with an expression that was a mixture of curiosity and heartbreak.
Boys his age were not supposed to cry.
But the moment he saw Nymiria being dragged into that room, her purple dress in shreds, he couldn’t help it.
While her body remained unharmed, someone had ruined the dress he’d given her. His mother’s dress. And when his eyes moved to where Camalia sat, one leg thrown over the other, dressed in her gaudy lavender gown, he knew who the culprit was immediately.
Jealousy.
She reeked of it. Even from where he stood so hidden and separate from the family that was his, but not his at all, Aziel saw Camalia’s jealousy as she looked down at the chained princess.
Dorid was rambling on and on about unimportant matters—discussing the new shipments of foreign fruits and cattle that’d arrived that morning.
Finally, when the beautiful prisoner was shoved to her knees in front of the king and queen, Dorid stopped blabbering.
He went completely silent, as did the rest of the room.
It was the single shaking breath that Dorid released that had the crowd shifting in their seats, people craning around those in front of them to get a better look at the glowing girl in the center of the room.
The king commanded her to stand and without a moment of hesitation, Nymiria was slowly rising to her feet.
“You are exquisite.” The king’s words came out in a breathy whisper as he lifted himself from his chair. Aziel tensed, his hand going to the sword at his side.
His quick movements caught Philter’s eye, his brow furrowing. “You think she’s going to try to kill him?” He asked.
Aziel said nothing. Only watched.
Dorid walked around Nymiria, looking her over like she was a piece of art that could be owned.
His Grace struggled against the spells burned into his back. The runes that Camalia had placed on him were burning with the fury of a thousand suns. His knees buckled under the pain, teeth grinding together as he watched Dorid tuck a white and silver strand of hair behind Nymiria’s pointed ear.
“She stays here.” He declared.
There wasn’t an argument from the crowd, nor the jury that was sitting in a row beside the dais. The room was entirely silent as they watched Dorid remove the iron shackles bound to Nymiria’s wrists.
The metal clanked to the floor, echoing through the throne room.
Aziel bit back on his cry of pain, letting out a strained whimper that Philter could no longer ignore. He gripped Aziel’s arm, hauling him off of the floor and to a more confined area.
“What is wrong with you, boy?” He growled.
He couldn’t speak. The pain was too strong, too fierce.
His spine felt as if it were made of pure fire, burning him up from the inside, out.
He understood immediately what this meant.
That the runes Camalia carved into his back were not just to keep him from harming the royal family, but to punish him for even daring to think of it.
The smell of Camalia’s perfume enveloped his senses, despite the pain—he could still fucking smell her. The sound of her heeled shoes against the marble floor drew his attention to where she stopped, merely feet in front of him.
When he looked up at her, it was not with shame or regret. He wanted her to see what she’d done. He wanted the world to know what he would do—the lengths he would go to to keep Nymiria safe. Even if it meant sacrificing himself to do it.
Aziel was in love.
No matter how much he wished to deny it, he couldn’t. It was the only explanation that made sense.
Camalia gripped his face in her hand, her sharp nails digging into his skin until they poked through the surface.
Droplets of his blood pooled up under her fingers, spilling down his chin and dripping to the floor.
“I will keep our promise. Your whore will not be touched, but you will receive every ounce of pain I am saving her from. Is that understood?”
Thick brows drew together, pure and unadulterated anger countering her vicious sneer.
Aziel grinned at the swell of power filling him, a power that could not be confined by the markings of the witches.
It grew inside of him, twisted and splintered through his soul until he was swallowed by the presence of the god that Graced him with the gift of decay.
“Retribution doth come from the branch with twisted root.” The light outside of the window dimmed at his words, the sun winking behind a thick blanket of clouds.
Thunder rolled in the distance. “The corrupt will know no mercy at the hands of death’s son.
They will not be rewarded by the hands of life’s daughter.
Destined to hate, but fated to twine, the son of death and the daughter of life will cleanse the world of the traitorous swine. ”