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“I do have the authority. Over you. Over everyone here and every mortal in and outside of this realm, but that is not why I have these conditions,” he said as I came to the end of the shelves, near the portraits. “They are in place to help keep you safe.”
“I don’t need that kind of help,” I said, my gaze lifting to the portraits. One was a man. The other a woman.
“One of the bravest things to do is to accept the aid of others.”
“Do you do that?” I asked, staring at the woman. She was beautiful. Deep red-wine hair, almost the same as Aios’s, framed an oval-shaped face, the skin painted a rosy pink. Her brows were strong, her silver-eyed gaze piercing. The cheekbones were high, and her mouth was full. “Do you often accept the aid of others?”
“Not as often as I should.” His voice was closer.
“Then maybe you don’t know if that is brave or not.” My attention shifted to the male, and even though I suspected I already knew who these people were, I still wasn’t prepared for how much he looked like the Primal standing behind me. Hair shoulder-length and black—a bit darker than Ash’s hair—he had the same bronzed tone of skin as Ash. The same features, really. Strong jaw and broad cheekbones. Straight nose and wide mouth. It was like looking at an older, less defined version of Ash, courtesy of the woman’s softer features. “These are your parents, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” He was directly behind me now. “That is my father. His name was Eythos,” he said, and I silently repeated the name. “And that is my mother.” He came to stand beside me, and a long moment passed. “I remember my father. His voice. The memories of it have faded over the years, but I can still see him in my mind. This is how I know what my mother looked like.”
Fighting the burn in the back of my throat, I folded my arms over my waist once more. “It’s hard to see her…in your mind, isn’t it? When you’re not standing directly in front of this painting.”
“Yes.”
I could feel his gaze on me. “There is a portrait of my father in my mother’s private chambers. The only one that still remains. It’s strange because all the other Kings’ portraits line the banquet hall.” I took a deep breath, hoping to ease the burn in my throat. “I think it…pained my mother too much to see him. She loved him. Was in love with him. When he died, I think…I think he took part of her with him.”
“I imagine it did.” Ash was quiet for a moment. “Love is an u
Heart turning over heavily, I looked at him. “You really think that?” I thought of Ezra and Marisol and what came out of my mouth was the truth—just not our truth. “I think love is beautiful.”
“I know that.” Ash stared up at his parents. “My mother died because she loved my father, struck dead while I was still in her womb.”
Every part of me froze upon hearing his words. Even my heart.
“That is why I am called the Blessed One. No one knows how I survived that kind of birth,” he said, and pressure clamped down on my chest. “Love caused their deaths long before either had taken their final breaths. Before my father even met my mother. Love is a beautiful weapon, often wielded as a means to control another. It shouldn’t be a weakness, but that is what it becomes. And those most i
“You. You came from love.”
“And do you truly believe I am something good? You have no knowledge of the things I’ve done. The things that are done to others because of me.” Ash turned his head to me. His eyes were a steely, sheltered shade of iron. “My father loved my mother more than anything in these realms. More than he should have. And still, he could not keep her safe. That is why I have these conditions. These rules as you like to call them. It’s not about me attempting to exert authority over you or control you. It’s about trying to do what my father failed at. It’s about making sure you do not meet the same fate as my mother.”