The Empress' Descent

Chapter 40 - The Knight's Betrayal

[Elian]

The Prince of Solaria had returned to the palace once more. But unlike the previous ones, this return wasn't pleasant.

He stared at the boy by the window. The boy stared back, his hair like wisps of desert sand that turn darker at the ends of each strand. His eyes were pools of honey, though they lacked any kind of sweetness. His mouth was set in a grim line.

"Theon, say it again," Elian demanded. His own eyes, once lush as the forests in the West, were now the greens of a swamp—darkened by betrayal. "I want you to say that shit one more time."

Truth was, Elian had heard clearly. Oh, he did. The words, vivid as the clear skies. The shapes of his mouth as he uttered the sentences, glued at the back of his mind. Stuck permanently.

Yet Elian hoped that perhaps he had merely misinterpreted it. That perhaps the revelation came out wrong. Maybe if Theon would rephrase it, the night would simply go on normally.

Beneath these piles of what-ifs, however, was the foreboding acceptance. The what-ifs that fueled his false hopes, to be smothered by Theon's upcoming confirmation.

At first, Elian thought Theon would deny him of his request. Underneath the moonlight, the knight was incandescent—the bluish glows swirling onto his shoulders.

But then, Theon replied, "You heard me just right...Your Highness. You've been made to believe that I am Western but I am not. I am of Northern blood. My real assignment is to act as a spy while pretending to be your personal guard."

Elian wanted to hack out a laugh. Of all the times he could have addressed him formally, it was when he'd finally revealed his true agenda.

They had become comfortable with calling each other by their names almost two years ago. It took months for Theon to soften to Elian. Though it did not happen so easily. Elian had to pry him open like the cork of a wine. And when he did, the Prince saw the burst of colors within the knight—some bright and fuzzy like fireworks, some gray and pale but heartwarming all the same.

The fact that he was the only one who saw Theon in a specific way that others did not made Elian happy. He kept this like a secret at the bottom of his heart, tucked in a blanket of warmth and affection.

He hoped Theon felt the same. But hope, like every other burning emotion in the universe, was fickle as it was unyielding. In a single flash of betrayal, the flames would be doused into smoke.

"Why?" Elian did everything he could to prevent his voice from wavering. "Why tell me this now?"

Theon's jaw went taut, his knuckles white against his balled fists. "Because every second I spend lying to you is a knife to the gut."

This time, laughter broke out from Elian. Mocking and empty and without humor.

"Two years. Two years, Theon. Yet you seem to be doing well and alive. I see no stab wounds, either."

"This is not a joke, Elian." Theon's voice was hoarse.

He shouldn't have the gall to sound like that. As though he was the one hurting. As though he was the one who got betrayed. He shouldn't.

Because right now, Elian was numb save for the painful throbbing in his wrist where his pulse was beating—if it was still beating, that is.

"Of course it isn't." Elian said. "So, how much information did you get from spying on me? No, that's not it. The things I told you myself, how much were they worth?"

Theon should have been an actor. Elian knew he was a great listener, but how could he have known that he was actually listening to keep notes on whatever he was saying? Just so that he could have something to write in his reports to whatever scums sent him.