Decade | | Azriel

18

Kyla had honestly expected Rhys to stay away when she said she didn't plan on ever speaking to Azriel again, but he was back at her door the next day.

She let him in, more aware than she had been the day before. She needed to bathe. She had fallen so deeply in this this hole that she couldn't even remember when the last time she had bathed was. She probably smelled as bad as she looked, but Rhys showed no sign of noticing any stench. There was no way he didn't notice, but he didn't make any comment on it. She hadn't had the energy to take care of herself in so long. She was only just now becoming aware of how filthy she had gotten as she realized how bad it had gotten. It was humiliating.

"Have you eaten today?" Rhys asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Why are you here?" Kyla blurted out, immediately regretting it. She could feel her face heating up with embarrassment.

"Do you want me to leave?" he offered, though he really didn't want to leave. He sometimes had to pretend to be a monster to keep his family and his people safe, but he truly did hate to see any innocent suffering.

"No, I just...I won't change my mind about Azriel," she murmured, unable to meet his eyes.

"I know," he replied, "I'm not here because of Azriel."

"Then why?" she hated the desperation in her own voice.

"I promised you that you would be safe here," he said, and she could almost swear there was a hint of guilt in his tone, "all those years ago when I brought you here from Spring. I promised you that no harm could come to you within the wards of my city."

"It's not your fault," Kyla muttered, "it's..." she trailed off because she didn't really know who to blame. She hadn't slept much lately because she couldn't stand the darkness when she closed her eyes, or the nightmares that plagued any sleep she did get. In those small bits of sleep, she would think it was all Azriel's fault, that he had been the one who attacked her. But Rhys said that wasn't true. So, really, she didn't have a name to pin blame to. There was no name she could curse in the brief moment where the anger outdid the pain and the sadness and the grief. The anger didn't usually come to life like the grief did, but those brief moments when it did were the only times she felt alive lately.

"I'm sorry," Rhys apologized despite what she had said, "it will never happen again."

"You said that once before," she muttered, her voice lacking the biting accusation and blame he expected. It wasn't blame. She wasn't saying it to rub some failure in his face. She was only saying it because it was true. He had said those words to her before, and they had turned out to be untrue. "I'm beginning to think that males are mostly all the same. They just take. Whatever they want, no matter what it costs others. Not you, but...the rest, I suppose."

"I wish there was a way I could bring you peace," he spoke softly, "I'm sorry."

The anger crested, a wave of fury for everything that had been done to her and stolen from her. And she realized she did not want to heal through peace.

"I don't want peace," she told Rhys as soon as the realization hit her, everything about her suddenly so calm, "I want to be violent. I want to strike back and make them hurt too. I want Hal to hurt. I want whoever attacked me this time to hurt."

"Azriel killed your attacker," Rhys began, slow and careful, "but Hal lives on. Say the word and I'll take you to the Spring Court and you can have your vengeance."

Rhys had been wanting to kill Hal for a long time now. He had been waiting on the day Kyla gave him permission to do it even after decades passed without a word shared between them. He was happy to give up that kill and let her have it though.

"I want to be clean," she decided, eyebrows furrowed, "I want to be as he remembers me."

She wanted to be clean and pretty and remind him of what he lost before she took everything from him. She almost let herself feel a tinge of regret for the fact that she ever loved him, but the regret died under the weight of her fury. She wanted to show up there, clean and pretty looking just like the wife he bought for himself, remind him of everything that could have been, and then she wanted to rip him to shreds. She wanted to feel his blood on her like he felt hers so many times.

"Take your time," Rhys replied with a nod, "I'll wait."

Kyla left him and went to her bathing room. She took her time scrubbing every inch of herself. She still didn't feel clean by the end of it, but she looked better. She had lost some weight, but this was honestly closer to what she looked like when she was with Hal anyway—so thin a breeze could probably topple her. He liked her that way, small and weak, breakable. Breakable, but still pretty. Always pretty. But only for him and only the way in which he liked it.

She didn't have many clothes that were to his liking anymore. He didn't ever like her wearing anything that allowed anyone who wasn't him to see her. It was all high necklines and long sleeves with him. She always fucking hated those high necklines. She found one dress that was close enough to his tastes, annoyingly modest. He wanted her like that even in the house for the most part since he had so many male employees on his staff.

The dress fit her better than most of the others would considering the weight loss. It was one of the first bits of clothing she got when she moved to Velaris, before she strayed much from Hal's personal style for her as if she was worried he'd show up and hurt her for not dressing the way he wanted. She almost smiled as she wondered what he would think of her if he knew what she had chosen to do with her freedom from him, if he knew that she had sex for money and often thoroughly enjoyed it. He'd be disgusted, and she liked that. She loved that, honestly.

She did her hair in the way he liked it, pinned up away from her face. If not for the shine of anger in her eyes, she'd think she looked just like that girl Rhys rescued so many years ago. Soft, obedient, and easy to control. But that violence in her eyes gave her away. She was not the soft obedient girl Hal had wanted her to be, and she was ready to watch him bleed all over this dress that he would like so much.

She strode out of her room and back to Rhys. If he was surprised by any of this, he didn't show it. He nodded towards the table in front of him where a pretty silver dagger encrusted with dazzling jewels lay. She absently wondered if the fact that he wasn't holding it was intentional. If he had been holding it to hand it to her, she might have panicked at the sight of him with a weapon. There was little doubt in her mind that he was well aware of that fact.

"For you," he said simply, "unless you'd have another weapon you'd prefer to use."

"This is perfect," she murmured, picking up the dagger as if it was something delicate. For a moment, her fears came rushing back as she thought of the shadow dagger that had been stabbed into her. She pushed that away and focused on the anger again, focused on the idea of this dagger drawing blood from Hal instead of her.

She was going to burn this dress when she was done, when it was thoroughly soaked in Hal's blood. She would leave his body to rot and then she'd burn the dress and maybe she'd want peace after that. Or maybe not. But he was the only person she really that the justification to go out and murder, so she would have to find a way to let go after this.

"If you plan to take your time with him," Rhys spoke up as she stared at the dagger, "it would be best to bring him back to the dungeons in the Hewn City so there's not risk of interruption."

"I'll be quick enough," Kyla responded idly, her tone impossible to read, "I want him to die in his home. It's where he was going to let me die. It's only fair."

Rhys nodded, and then he waited for her to tell him it was time to go. A few moments passed and he wondered what she was thinking, but he didn't ask. After those moments, she finally looked to him and there was finally some life back in her eyes.

"I'd like to go now," she requested, "please."