“You have a curse, too?” I ask in genuine curiosity.
She shoots me a harsh glare, but I can feel her true anger is directed at the King himself. “Yes,” she says.
“Well, go on,” Cyrus says, the amused smile creeping up on his lips. “Tell her the details.”
X leans back in her seat, crossing her legs, away from Cyrus. And suddenly, she seems incapable of looking at anyone. “I resurrected just after the Queen’s third death. By then, we knew for certain what was happening, that she would awaken from the Royal line. She’d been gone for eleven years.”
She swallows and her eyes drop to her hands, which fidget in her lap. “I’d been around Court my entire life. My father worked with Cyrus, assisting him in anything he needed. So, I had watched Cyrus, seen him with Sevan. Saw the way he loved her.”
She stops speaking for a long moment, and I can only imagine the history she’s reliving in her head. “I’d fallen in love with Cyrus, slowly, over my entire mortal life.”
Finally, she looks up, fixing me with a solid stare, refusing to look in Cyrus’ direction. “So when I resurrected, I pretended to remember things. I’d watched Sevan for some time as a child, knew events. I’d heard stories, plenty of them to make my ruse convincing. I made him believe.”
The shock sinks into every part of me. My eyes flick to Cyrus, who looks to be reliving his own version of the story in his head. I started playing the very same game, toying with this man’s emotions. But I was never in love with Cyrus. My motives were black, twisted. X said she’d actually loved the King.
“She was very convincing,” Cyrus says, his tone low and reflective.
“I was,” she confirms. “But it became more and more difficult to keep up the façade. He began talking about the early days, before he turned himself. Before the uprising and the death of his son. And I only knew little pieces.”
She suddenly jerks her head to the side, snapping her eyes closed. “Cyrus was very upset with me.”
The weight that settles over us all says this is a massive understatement.
“The lie was dealt with,” X finally continues. “But from that day on, no other man would ever love me. No matter what I did.”
And an awkward moment comes back to me. Of when X first arrived at the House of Conrath. Between she and Raheem. It had been obvious there was history between them. The look in her eyes said she felt something for him. But the look in his—there was nothing there in return.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “That’s awful. I know what it’s like to not be loved in return, the way you want to be.”
X takes a deep breath, shaking her head, and seeming clearing away the powerful emotions rushing through her. She offers a cold smile. “It doesn’t matter now,” she says. “It’s all far, far in the past.”
IT’S A FORTY-MINUTE DRIVE to the small airport. We roll right up onto the airstrip and there, just beyond where we park the limos, waits a sleek, beautiful jet. The baggage is loaded, and one by one, the Court members file into the aircraft. A very human pilot and his co-pilot greet us, and the burn in my throat flares hot and furious.
But a strong set of hands grabs me from behind and drags me to the back of the plane. I’m shoved into the seat against the window, and a harsh-looking woman with cold eyes sits directly beside me.
“Let me.” I look up to see Raheem standing in the aisle, death and violence in his eyes as he stares at my companion.
“Not a chance,” she says with a smirk and a shake of her head.
“I’m not giving you an option,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Raheem, don’t,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“You should listen to her,” Cyrus’ voice cuts from the front of the plane. “Your traitorous feelings are quite clear. Your access to Miss Alivia will be limited from now on. I’ve never doubted my trust in you until now.”
Raheem stares Cyrus down, anger and malice, but also fear and respect in his expression.
“Do as he says,” I beg him. I can’t have anyone else getting hurt because of me. “Please.”
After a long moment, he finally looks at me, and I see consent there. He takes a seat in the row ahead of me.
Just before the sun begins to rise, we take off, sailing through the air. The window coverings are secured, not letting in an ounce of sunlight.
The flight seems to take forever. Five hours in the air, and then we touchdown somewhere to refuel. And while they fill up, six humans file into the jet. The fangs come out. The blood flows. Though all the Court members are too careful to spill it. My throat burns, my brain can’t process anything but the smell and how much I want the warm liquid coursing down the back of my throat.