Lykalis has a new obsession: a bewitching man carrying secrets stained in blood. But is he worth less than the safety of her kingdom? Or is he worth more than she could ever imagine?
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The King...
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A Colorful Truth
SOUNDS of a broad audience reached her ears before she saw anyone other than the half-blood currently guiding her through the halls. It was a cacophony of sounds that echoed like a joyous choir singing dissonant notes that clashed in a warbling mess. The only comfort she found came from Phobos, who was happily humming a pleasantly horrifying tune as Lykalis stepped beside him.
She tried her best to memorize the twists and turns they took, the markings on the floor and the walls– but everything became a messy blur the more she thought about it. There was no exit hatch either, which left Lykalis questioning her ability to escape at all.
Ilioszo had a plan of his own, crafted by him, created for her.
But she questioned the liability of his words; of his desire to help her escape. She didn't know how he could possibly leave his cell without getting caught, much less this frustrating maze. He might've been more familiar with these walls but they would still face the same issue– guards, the Duke's other half-bloods and guests.
Yes, guests, Lykalis realized as she entered an enormous coliseum with a marble center and rows of seats filled to the brim with guests of all kinds. Oredrans, Kolteans, Leutens and Sidiens were all present– Isetíans never integrated themselves with the others.
Not that it mattered.
Phobos paused, giving her a moment to look upon the sea of beings, all cheering and shouting jubilantly for– for what? She couldn't see from this distance– too many wealthy nobles were standing and hollering like blithering idiots. It was unbelievably puzzling to see. Nobles who carried themselves like Queens and Kings were excitedly throwing their hands in the air, relinquishing all knowledge and memory of royal etiquette.
"Come," Phobos flashed her a grin, "my Duke wants to sit with you."
Oh, and Lykalis wanted to slit his throat.
He and whoever gave the order to Ilioszo would face her wrath.
That was the thing about this all– the more she spoke to Ilioszo, the more she found herself blaming the ones above him. There was a part of her that wondered if she was willing to dismiss the blood Ilioszo had on his hands because his mind had not taken part in the act and the intimacy she'd shared with him was peculiarly foreign.
It was true though, wasn't it? His body had been used to kill her family, but the one who used him as a tool, a weapon, a thing, was his puppeteer. It was Duke Orfeo who utilized him like the ultimate weapon– who used him for his own enjoyment.
