The same pearls make up the edges of the hearth, which is the size of my old bedroom. Above it hangs a portrait of the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen. Golden curls surround flawless features that can’t possibly be real. His eyes are vibrant blue and as clear as an ocean in the tropics. A crown rests upon his head.
There’s a smaller portrait to the right of his. One of a woman with hair a darker shade of gold and eyes of burnished copper. She’s smiling as if she knows a secret I do not, more mysterious than the one kept by the Mona Lisa.
On the left of the bigger portrait are one...five...ten...twenty portraits roughly four-by-four in size, so small I can’t make out the faces from this distance.
“Our King and Queen,” Killian says with unmistakable awe.
“The King...he kind of looks like...”
“Archer. Yes.” Bitterness has displaced his awe. “Archer is one of his many sons. One of his biggest disappointments.”
Wait. Stop. Go back. “Archer’s dad is the King of Myriad?”
“A privilege Archer never appreciated.”
Wow! Mind scramble!
I gasp as a small winged dragon lands on the King’s shoulder. “The portrait—”
“Isn’t a portrait but a type of hologram. Like the televisions humans watch.”
Neat! The video zooms into the next room, a dining room as elaborate as the others. The King sits at the head of a long square table, dressed in what looks to be formal military garb. Form-fitting, with medals pinned along the wide expanse of his shoulders. At the sides of the table are nine kids; most look to be under sixteen. Two of the boys—twins—can’t be older than thirteen.
“Meet our Generals. They weren’t ready to ascend to their roles, but after their mentors were slaughtered, they had no choice.”
Nine kids...and I’m to be the tenth. The complete cycle. The beginning of the countdown.
Coincidence? Fate?
“One day, you’ll be seated at this very table.”
I hear awe again... I hear envy. When—if—one day comes, will I hear resentment and bitterness?
The King stands and walks along the sides of the table, patting each kid on the shoulder. “You do your realm—your King—proud. Together there’s nothing we cannot do. No height we cannot reach. No realm we cannot conquer.”
The kids bang their silverware against the table in agreement. Clank, clank.
“He loves us,” Killian says. “Only wants the best for us.”
“And you love him.” I’m certain of it.
He doesn’t try to deny it. “Archer befriended me when we were very young, and he invited me to the royal palace on multiple occasions. Despite the King’s busy schedule, he always made time for me while I was there.”
A puzzle piece clicks into place. Archer rejected the man Killian clearly wishes was his own father.
What drove Archer to give up his parents and his realm? And Killian, his friend?
Just how devastated was Killian when Archer left?
“I’m surprised he, the son of the King, chose Troika when he reached the Age of Accountability,” I say before I start crying.
“Trust me. We all were.”
The words sound as if they’ve been pushed through miles and miles of broken glass.
I take the conversation in a new direction. “Why do you have an accent but the King doesn’t?”
“I spent a lot of time with the director of the Learning Center. What you would call an orphanage.” His thumb brushes over my navel, making me shiver. “James grew up in the orphanage, too.” His tone is hesitant, and I know he’s doing his best to gauge my reaction.
I’m no longer hurt by memories of James, but... “Show him to me.” This is an opportunity I can’t pass up. An opportunity for closure.
“I knew I should have kept my mouth closed,” Killian grumbles as the camera pans out. “Curiosity got the better of me.”
We whisk down a darkened street, finally stopping at a pub...going through the door. Dark wood-paneled walls are illuminated by glow rocks that were made to resemble gas lamps. A glass floor offers a view of multiple bedrooms...beds...and the couples writhing on them. I’m about to look away—really—when I spot James. Handsome James, sitting at a table with two other guys. The three are throwing back cold ones and laughing uproariously.
“Her tits were...” One of the boys kisses pinched fingers, as if he’s praising the taste of spaghetti.
The other two guys—James included—nod in agreement.
“I know she’s signed,” my ex-boyfriend says, “but I may arrange a meeting with her, anyway.”
The third guy slaps his arm. “Leave some for the rest of us. I’m still pissed you stole my blonde.”
“What can I say? She likes ’em big.”
Okay. “I’m done,” I snap, and the vision fades.
A thousand different emotions slam through me. The front-runners? Humiliation—such a stupid girl, falling for his act. Incredulity—so desperate for affection I refused to see the truth. Disappointment—people suck. Fury—I let a two-faced lying jerk hold me.
My taste in boys is seriously screwed up.
“I’m sorry.” Killian’s tone is raw with anger and regret. “I’ll be killing him shortly.”
“Don’t bother. I’d rather James be the author of his own destruction.” I roll to my side. “Archer told me about Dior.”
He stiffens as he rolls to his side. Our gazes meet. We’re so close. If he were human, I’d feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.
“Did you steal her to hurt Archer, win her soul, or because you had feelings for her?”
Resignation darkens his features. “I did it to hurt him and to win her soul. Strike at me, and I strike back twice as hard. But...” He reaches out, smooths a lock of hair from my cheek before lying down again. “I check on her occasionally. She used to laugh. She doesn’t anymore.”
Such a tangled web these boys have woven. “There has to be something you can do to help her. Not on Archer’s behalf, but hers. She’s part of your family.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth. “You could make her freedom a condition of your contract.”
Another manipulation. One so high-handed I’m actually shocked he tried it.
“All right. Cuddle time is over. I’m not changing my plan.”
He grabs my wrist to stop me. “Ten—”
I use one of Archer’s moves, swinging my free arm around, slamming my fist into Killian’s jaw. When his head turns from the impact, I punch a second time, where the Shell is most vulnerable: the small control panel behind the ear, marked only by the tattoo of a square.
He goes still, and I know I have one minute, maybe two, before he’s able to move again. “Disrupting the connection,” Archer called it.
I stand, and Killian is only able to track me with his gaze. “This really is goodbye,” I say, raising my chin.
“Afraid not, lass.” His hand shoots out and latches on to my calf, yanking me off my feet. I tumble backward, landing on a mound of pillows. He’s looming over me a second later. “Sign with Myriad.”
“Go to Many Ends. And get off me!”
There’s a smaller portrait to the right of his. One of a woman with hair a darker shade of gold and eyes of burnished copper. She’s smiling as if she knows a secret I do not, more mysterious than the one kept by the Mona Lisa.
On the left of the bigger portrait are one...five...ten...twenty portraits roughly four-by-four in size, so small I can’t make out the faces from this distance.
“Our King and Queen,” Killian says with unmistakable awe.
“The King...he kind of looks like...”
“Archer. Yes.” Bitterness has displaced his awe. “Archer is one of his many sons. One of his biggest disappointments.”
Wait. Stop. Go back. “Archer’s dad is the King of Myriad?”
“A privilege Archer never appreciated.”
Wow! Mind scramble!
I gasp as a small winged dragon lands on the King’s shoulder. “The portrait—”
“Isn’t a portrait but a type of hologram. Like the televisions humans watch.”
Neat! The video zooms into the next room, a dining room as elaborate as the others. The King sits at the head of a long square table, dressed in what looks to be formal military garb. Form-fitting, with medals pinned along the wide expanse of his shoulders. At the sides of the table are nine kids; most look to be under sixteen. Two of the boys—twins—can’t be older than thirteen.
“Meet our Generals. They weren’t ready to ascend to their roles, but after their mentors were slaughtered, they had no choice.”
Nine kids...and I’m to be the tenth. The complete cycle. The beginning of the countdown.
Coincidence? Fate?
“One day, you’ll be seated at this very table.”
I hear awe again... I hear envy. When—if—one day comes, will I hear resentment and bitterness?
The King stands and walks along the sides of the table, patting each kid on the shoulder. “You do your realm—your King—proud. Together there’s nothing we cannot do. No height we cannot reach. No realm we cannot conquer.”
The kids bang their silverware against the table in agreement. Clank, clank.
“He loves us,” Killian says. “Only wants the best for us.”
“And you love him.” I’m certain of it.
He doesn’t try to deny it. “Archer befriended me when we were very young, and he invited me to the royal palace on multiple occasions. Despite the King’s busy schedule, he always made time for me while I was there.”
A puzzle piece clicks into place. Archer rejected the man Killian clearly wishes was his own father.
What drove Archer to give up his parents and his realm? And Killian, his friend?
Just how devastated was Killian when Archer left?
“I’m surprised he, the son of the King, chose Troika when he reached the Age of Accountability,” I say before I start crying.
“Trust me. We all were.”
The words sound as if they’ve been pushed through miles and miles of broken glass.
I take the conversation in a new direction. “Why do you have an accent but the King doesn’t?”
“I spent a lot of time with the director of the Learning Center. What you would call an orphanage.” His thumb brushes over my navel, making me shiver. “James grew up in the orphanage, too.” His tone is hesitant, and I know he’s doing his best to gauge my reaction.
I’m no longer hurt by memories of James, but... “Show him to me.” This is an opportunity I can’t pass up. An opportunity for closure.
“I knew I should have kept my mouth closed,” Killian grumbles as the camera pans out. “Curiosity got the better of me.”
We whisk down a darkened street, finally stopping at a pub...going through the door. Dark wood-paneled walls are illuminated by glow rocks that were made to resemble gas lamps. A glass floor offers a view of multiple bedrooms...beds...and the couples writhing on them. I’m about to look away—really—when I spot James. Handsome James, sitting at a table with two other guys. The three are throwing back cold ones and laughing uproariously.
“Her tits were...” One of the boys kisses pinched fingers, as if he’s praising the taste of spaghetti.
The other two guys—James included—nod in agreement.
“I know she’s signed,” my ex-boyfriend says, “but I may arrange a meeting with her, anyway.”
The third guy slaps his arm. “Leave some for the rest of us. I’m still pissed you stole my blonde.”
“What can I say? She likes ’em big.”
Okay. “I’m done,” I snap, and the vision fades.
A thousand different emotions slam through me. The front-runners? Humiliation—such a stupid girl, falling for his act. Incredulity—so desperate for affection I refused to see the truth. Disappointment—people suck. Fury—I let a two-faced lying jerk hold me.
My taste in boys is seriously screwed up.
“I’m sorry.” Killian’s tone is raw with anger and regret. “I’ll be killing him shortly.”
“Don’t bother. I’d rather James be the author of his own destruction.” I roll to my side. “Archer told me about Dior.”
He stiffens as he rolls to his side. Our gazes meet. We’re so close. If he were human, I’d feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.
“Did you steal her to hurt Archer, win her soul, or because you had feelings for her?”
Resignation darkens his features. “I did it to hurt him and to win her soul. Strike at me, and I strike back twice as hard. But...” He reaches out, smooths a lock of hair from my cheek before lying down again. “I check on her occasionally. She used to laugh. She doesn’t anymore.”
Such a tangled web these boys have woven. “There has to be something you can do to help her. Not on Archer’s behalf, but hers. She’s part of your family.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth. “You could make her freedom a condition of your contract.”
Another manipulation. One so high-handed I’m actually shocked he tried it.
“All right. Cuddle time is over. I’m not changing my plan.”
He grabs my wrist to stop me. “Ten—”
I use one of Archer’s moves, swinging my free arm around, slamming my fist into Killian’s jaw. When his head turns from the impact, I punch a second time, where the Shell is most vulnerable: the small control panel behind the ear, marked only by the tattoo of a square.
He goes still, and I know I have one minute, maybe two, before he’s able to move again. “Disrupting the connection,” Archer called it.
I stand, and Killian is only able to track me with his gaze. “This really is goodbye,” I say, raising my chin.
“Afraid not, lass.” His hand shoots out and latches on to my calf, yanking me off my feet. I tumble backward, landing on a mound of pillows. He’s looming over me a second later. “Sign with Myriad.”
“Go to Many Ends. And get off me!”
