House of Royals(70)

A pastor gives a generic sermon on life after death and God’s plan. There’s no hint of Ian in it. It could apply to any John Doe.

Rath watches us all from the shadows. I don’t see him, but I can feel him there. Ready. He’s injured, but I’d still bet on him in any fight. He won’t be caught off guard again.

There are no other attendants of Ian Ward’s funeral.

There’s a stone in my stomach that grows heavier and heavier as they lower Ian’s casket into the earth. He’s all on his own down there and that wet, dark dirt looks so cold.

Silent tears work their way down Elle’s face. She leans her head on my shoulder and I hold her as she silently weeps.

Neither of us speaks a single word through the entire service. It’s short. And cold. Just like Ian’s end was.

I go back to Lula’s house. I want to be with Elle. She needs a sister or a mother in this situation, and since she has neither, I want to be a stand in. But I only last thirty minutes before Lula cusses me out of the house.

I wander slowly across the backyard that leads to the cabin. The stairs creek loudly as I walk up them. It starts to rain lightly when my fingers touch the doorknob. For a moment, I rest my forehead on the door, close my eyes, and pretend.

Ian is on the other side of that door. He’s sitting on the couch, sharpening a knife as he watches some old school action movie. When I walk through the door, he’ll look at me. That lopsided smile will pull on one side of his mouth. His eyes will unabashedly run me up and down. I settle down into his lap and he’ll kiss me and make promises he has no intention of keeping.

I take a deep breath, and twist the doorknob.

The cabin is cold. The fireplace in the corner is dark. There’s a few dirty dishes in the sink. Ian’s bed is unmade. There’s a bag on the table that’s full of weapons. The remote sits innocently on the couch.

It’s like the cabin is just waiting for him to walk back through the doors.

And that’s not going to happen.

The floor creaks under my feet as I cross through the kitchen and into Ian’s bedroom. Springs push back at me when I lie on the bed. And Ian’s scent envelops me as I rest my head on his pillow.

Anger is what keeps my heart from breaking into a thousand sharp shards as I stare up at the ceiling.





THE RAIN HASN’T LET UP as I stare down at the freshly turned dirt. My jacket has long since soaked through. Rath knew better than to offer the umbrella he holds in his hand. He stands back at a distance.

Even when footsteps come up from the side. I don’t turn when someone stops beside me and observes the grave as well.

Jasmine doesn’t say anything for a long time. The mix of emotions roll off of her like a tangible cloud. I wonder if she really was bi-polar in her human life. I’m not sure if she’s more extreme now or if she was completely out of control before.

“I know you’re angry with me now,” she finally says. “But eventually you’ll realize that I did us all a favor. You’ll return to the House. And we’ll finish what we started.”

My jaw clenches hard. Hard enough to threaten to crack my teeth.

“You may not be ready by your birthday anymore,” Jasmine says. “But it won’t be long.”

And the tone of her voice tells me that she will make me ready whether I am or not.

“You have a fatal flaw,” I say evenly.

“Enlighten me,” she challenges.

“You believe that people will do what you say, simply because you place yourself upon a throne.” My fingers ball into a fist. Air flows into my lungs in deep pulls. The anger and the hatred that has been building up inside of me for so long now comes out in eerily calm confidence. “That they will remain loyal to you because you tell them they should.”

“I’ve made sacrifices for the House,” Jasmine says, her voice dipping. The desperation surfaces in her tone. “I have kept it running for a decade and a half because your father chose to abandon us.”

A smile forms on my lips. I let my eyes slide closed and shake my head. She truly doesn’t get it.

I take another deep breath. Give myself two seconds to collect. When I open my eyes, I turn to face her. I take two steps toward her, so we are only a foot apart.

“You’ve taken and taken,” I say, completely calm and collected. “And now, I promise that I will take from you what you love most.”

There’s a moment of reflection as Jasmine tries to figure out what she loves most, which tells me that she is incapable of the true meaning of the word.

“You’ll never take Micah from me,” she scoffs from behind her dark sunglasses. “He hates you far more than I do. He’ll kill you before you get within fifty feet of him.”