Page 70 of The Heart of Nym (The Twisted Roots Duology #1)

“Don’t lie to me.” He yelled, his free hand slamming through a glass orb on the shelf nearest her head.

Nymiria let out a strangled cry. “It was Aziel, wasn’t it?

You let him inside of your sweet little cunt—you let him infect you with his rot and his poison, marking you as if you are his own.

Why have more of these flowers shown up on yourskin?

” Even more than before, she wished to kill him—to stab and stab until all signs of life left his hollow eyes.

She would run away and hide, take on a new identity and live her life somewhere different. Somewhere by the sea.

“Your highness, please.” Tears were hot in her eyes, not only for the shame she felt at being so naked in front of him, but the shame of allowing his anger to go this far.

She felt weak, her skin itching so deep underneath the surface that she wanted to peel it from her bones.

“Please. I promise, I am not lying to you.”

Dorid released her neck, her body sagging and her fingers soothing the place he’d held her.

She watched him closely as he walked to the door of his study, opening it just enough to bark orders at the guards to retrieve both of his sons.

Panic began to settle in her limbs, her entire body starting to tremble as they waited.

All the while, the king hovered close to her, pacing around her shrinking frame.

Each time she moved to cover herself, he smacked her hands away from the tattered fabric of her dress.

When the door to the office opened again, both Aziel and Oran waltzed in, one behind the other.

It was utterly shameful. Her stomach churned as they strode into the room, Oran coming in first before his brother.

The prince was obviously confused and enraged, his eyes filled with venom as he took in the scene.

The air around them thickened with the cold bite of death when Aziel walked into the room, that same smell of decay permeating through the room as he slipped his gloved hands into his pockets.

A painful look was etched across his face, his eyes narrowed on his father.

Nymiria felt herself curling in on herself, her arms coming up to shield her breasts.

Aziel did not stand beside his brother on the other side of the room, as directed by Dorid. No, he kept walking. Straight towards the king.

With slow, sure movements, he approached the king.

Nymiria watched him carefully, glancing only once at Oran before she set her focus solely on the assassin.

With one quick movement, Aziel ripped the crimson cloak from Dorid’s shoulders and was already wrapping it around Nymiria.

He looked at her with no emotion, but his eyes spoke of a rage inside of him that was nearing lethal.

"Remain calm." He whispered, just low enough for her to hear. But being calm was nearly impossible. Especially in a situation like this.

“What is this about?” Oran asked. As he spoke, Aziel plopped himself into the chaise lounge on the far side of the room, his gloved hand cupping the back of his head, cushioning it.

Dorid stared at his sons, trying his best to level himself before he spoke again. “Which one of you left a mark on her?” He commanded.

“I suppose it was me.” Oran shrugged. "We've been rather… entangled lately."

The king narrowed his eyes, glancing between the courtesan and the prince. “Where did you leave it?” He asked.

“Her neck.”

“Which side?”

Oran shoved his hands into his pocket, lifting his head to stare down his nose at his father. Nymiria’s heart swelled, hope filling her aching heart as she watched him step forward. “Left.” He cocked a brow. “What is this about? Why have you stripped my courtesan bare in your office?”

“Her markings—"

The prince's head tilted to the side. “What markings?” The king charged towards her, but before he could jerk the cloak away from her body, Oran was grabbing his fathers arm and shoving him out of the way. “You are not to touch her.” He snapped.

Good gods, she was going to die. They were all going to die. All three of them. Oran was an idiot. Handsome and a better friend to her than she had ever been to him, but an idiot nonetheless.

Aziel hadn’t even lifted his eyes to look at her.

He was mindlessly thumbing through a sketchbook, muttering things to himself as Oran slowly removed the cloak from around her shoulders.

Not enough to reveal her entirely, but enough to look at her shoulders and chest. He motioned for her to turn her head to the side and as she did, she could feel him watching her.

She could see from her peripheral vision, his eyes moving over her face, settling momentarily on her fear-filled eyes before dropping to her neck and body.

“Have you lost your mind?” Oran asked suddenly. He motioned for his father to look at her. “There is nothing on her body, you old fool!”

Dorid was in complete disbelief, immediately rushing to her to see that there, in fact, was not a single mark upon her skin. “Th-this can’t be. I have not lost my mind, I assure you, they were there!” He exclaimed.

“You should take it easy on the absinthe, father.” The low, snarky voice across the room finally drew her attention away from the king and his son.

Aziel rose to his feet and Nymiria let out a sigh of relief when he closed one eye in a wink and stretched lazily, groaning to mask his subtle reassurance.

Oran shook his head and signaled for Nymiria to come to him. She did immediately, her feet moving at their own accord. There was no need to look in Aziel’s direction as she crossed the floor, she knew that there was a smug grin on his face just by the aura he emitted.

Once safely on the other side of the closed door, Nymiria felt herself wilt.

It'd taken years for her to gain Dorid's trust. She'd done everything he asked, even when it nearly killed her.

She'd played the part, ruined her wretched little soul to make him believe that she was on his side so that she could get close to him and learn all of his secrets.

Every time she got close enough—every time she felt like justice was just within reach, it was ripped from her again and again.

Either by her own fickle little heart or by the universe.

She was weak. With or without Aziel's power to help numb the emotions inside of her, she was weak. A coward.

She was so lost in her horror, in her shame that she hadn't realized that Oran was holding her upright or that her stomach had been churning until bile had risen to the back of her throat.

She looked up at Oran before pushing him away, nearly tripping over her own feet as she rushed to the nearest vase and emptied her stomach into the hollow center.

Leather moved over her temples, gently pushing the hair away from her face and gathering it into a loose knot at the back of her head.

"Did he hurt you again?" Aziel snarled.

Nymiria shook her head frantically, stubbornly declaring to herself that even if Dorid had struck her, she still would not have uttered a word of it.

She was still angry with Aziel, still too riddled with her own shame to even deign a response.

Him saving her was a catalyst to her swooning for him all over again.

Aziel was the epitome of a savior she always longed for, but she never thought that she'd start falling in love with him.

Her body went rigid, her eyes snapping up to meet his in fear that he'd been perusing through her thoughts. He gave no signs that anything besides her current circumstances were bothering him. He just looked worried.

Drawing in a breath, Nymiria righted herself, stepping away from the gentle touch of his hands.

"I…" Her eyes flickered to Oran, who was standing by one of the windows with his fingers pressed against the sides of his head, massaging them slowly.

"Thank you both. For your help. But I do believe that I will be taking my leave now. "

"Nym—" Aziel reached for her as she turned away, but he did not follow.

It was strange, really. All of the other times she'd been wallowing in her emotional distress, he was right on her heels.

Maybe he'd truly grown tired of her, or perhaps he had enough kindness in him to not continue goading her like he'd done before.

Either way, she was not fond of it. She half-hoped that he'd distract her from her embarrassment, that they would argue and everything would just go back to the way it was.

The moment she entered her room, she let Dorid's cape and her tattered dress fall into a pile on the floor.

She grabbed one of her simpler cotton dresses from the armoire, blinking back tears as she pulled it over her head and let the soft fabric swish down around her ankles before slipping her robe over it and cinching at the waist. But it was not near enough to rid her body of the feeling of unwanted exposure.

Nymiria rushed to the bathroom, nails clawing at the skin of her arms until she reached the tub.

She turned the water as hot as possible, placing the stopper in the drain and watching as the steaming water filled nearly to the brim.

There was not an ounce of dignity left inside of her, her thoughts muddled by the aching in her bones.

She climbed into the tub, clothes and all, and sank as far under the water as the tub would allow.

Water sloshed over the sides, spilling onto the floor, but she couldn't hear it.

All she could hear was the gurgled scream that escaped her mouth, the feeling of the blisteringly hot water burning her skin.

She could claw, scratch, and tear at the flesh. She could wash it a thousand times, but it would never rid her of the sensation of an unwanted touch.