“Really?” A sneering and proud smile pulls at his lined features. “I am the Mad King, Violence. It wouldn’t be surprising to learn you inherited my madness as well.” My jaw clenches as I think about my constant unsteady thoughts. He pauses just long enough for his words to sink in before lecturing me some more. “Tell me how alike you and your mother were. Tell me what pleasant attributes you two women share.”
He tilts his head at me, studying me intently. He’s waiting. He’s waiting to hear what he already knows.
Nothing. I share nothing with my mother. No common features. She was all delicate beauty and calming love.
While I shake with quieted rage.
But we did share one thing.
“We both hated you, Father. We hated you with a submissive smile on our faces. Not even your own family loved you.” I pause, and that daunting smile of his starts to slip away. “How could we?”
Stalking steps guide him closer to me. The others behind me take a silent step closer. My father’s eyes shine down on me. They dart between mine, shifting, searching for something within them.
“No one loves me, Violence. It is not something I sought out in my life. Love is nothing compared to power. It is true; no one loves me. But what does that say about the child who is. Just. Like. Me?”
My heartbeat kicks up once more. It thunders in my ears, warming me with wild magic.
I do my best to ignore the remark. He’s trying to push me.
“Are you building an army of the dead?” My words are spoken in an even tone.
That smile overtakes his haunting features once more.
“What would an army of the dead do for the most powerful ruler in all the world? It is an interesting suggestion though. I may have to look into that. Thank you, daughter.” He takes a step back from me before pacing the length of the room once again.
“What I wanted from the book, I have already taken.” He turns toward us once more. “I’d be happy to return it to your little Witch friend. You children did not have to come running in here, blades blazing.” A hint of laughter stings his words.
“You’ll give the book back to us?” Cameron’s words hold confusion and skepticism.
“Of course.” My father waves a hand at the Witch. “For a price.”
My heart drops into a low spot within my stomach.
Cameron’s attention swings back to the open book on the desk.
“What's the price?” I hate how quickly her question came.
Cameron is young. Really, she’s about my age. But somehow, the Wild Hunt aged me. It made me see the dark parts of the world at an early age. And I’ve been hesitant to trust the world ever since.
Cameron’s question makes delight shine in my father’s eyes. His pacing halts, and he turns to me, looking deeply within my eyes.
“I’ll be taking Violence back. I gave her power to the Wild Hunt, and now I’ll be taking back my gift.” His gaze is cold as it rakes across my features.
“You’re crazier than I fucking thought you were if you think we’d let you take her for some journal written by Mary Fuckwit Crows.” Nollix stomps to my side.
“That’s my grandmother. If you could watch your filthy tone,” Cameron reminds him.
Another sweeping step brings my father closer. Only a few feet separate us.
“You, my boy, are not nearly as intelligent as I thought you were if you were under the impression I was askingyou.” His gaze swings from Nollix to me. “Violence speaks for herself. Isn’t that right, darling?”
My lips part to speak, but he tramples over my thoughts.
“Do you not agree that it would be a fair trade: you by my side and that incredibly dangerous book out of my hands?”
There’s a deadness within his eyes, a numbed sense of life that he’s clinging to within him.
He knows. He knows I’d give my life to save everyone else’s.
