Olethros

seven - freyja

I'd never known such torture as I sat at the dining table with my parents, brother, and Cassian. Mor had returned to the Hewn City and Azriel hadn't made himself seen since the morning he walked into the bathing chamber. It had been three days. My brother and his friends planned to return to Velaris the next day. It used to sadden me to see them leave, but now I couldn't wait.

Cassian had been casting glances at me as though he could see what plagued my mind. I had a constant roll of shivers down my spine with each look. I hadn't seen Mor, either, and part of me feared that they'd wanted her to stay away from me because of what I'd confessed to Azriel.

"Freyja, darling, you haven't touched your supper," my mother announced, poking her fork in the direction of my full plate. My gaze travelled over the roasted chicken, pasta, and vegetables. My stomach roiled at the thought.

"I don't feel well," I muttered, glancing between her and my father. His gaze was scrutinizing. I think he knew something had been wrong with me but I didn't have the nerve to stay around him when we were alone. I was afraid to find out if Azriel ended up telling him my secrets.

"If you do not feel well, go to your room. Better than to infect us all," my father scolded, his thick brows furrowing. I nodded, glancing to Rhys before I slid my chair back.

"What is wrong with you?"

My brother's voice filled my mind. I ignored the urge to turn to him and fall to his feet in sobs. This was not a problem that he could fix.

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar. I'll come to your room after supper."

There was no use in arguing. I left the veranda and trudged down the corridor. My mind felt as though the cruelest of sicknesses had taken over. Like my mind and soul shriveled within me and left me no more than a body. I guessed that was all I would ever be. Was there any use in trying to have separate thoughts than those that were planted in my mind by my parents? I'd never be more than a warm body for a High Lord's son.

My eyes snapped to the bedroom that my mother often used when she didn't want to be with my father. A servant that I knew as Leona slipped out. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen. My brows furrowed. Where did she plan to go looking like that? My mother would have her by the tail if a single hair was out of place. I opened my mouth to question her, but another body slipping from the door had the words dying on my tongue.

Azriel followed Leona from the bedroom, his gloved fingers combing through the messy curls on his head. He had a sheen of sweat over his forehead and his lips were also swollen. My cheeks flushed when his eyes met mine. Gods, why did I feel so jealous of a servant? It was a shame those fingers couldn't touch me when he settled for the servants. His lips parted but I turned away before he could say anything.

I didn't want to hear any excuses, nor did I deserve them. I was not important to him. I was his best friend's younger sister. I was no more than a name and a passing face. I slipped into my bedroom with that thought heavy on my chest. The room was dim, lit only by the cast of moonlight through the open window.

I wanted so badly to fall to the floor and cry like the child I felt like, but nothing would come. I felt no tears, only the hollowness in my chest as though my ribs would splay open to show an empty cavity. I felt like the ghost I was raised to be. Silent but my presence known.

I turned to my wardrobe, desperate for anything other than the awful feeling in my chest and stomach. I dropped to my knees, tearing open my trunk. My stomach dropped as I stared into an empty space. My stashed wine was gone. I could've sworn there was two more bottles the last time I'd opened it. I fell back on my heels, grinding my teeth as I stared. It had to be Cassian or Azriel. If my father had found it, I would've been getting scolded in his study by now.