Faust took a deep breath. Lathil was smart to place Nik so far west—if Nik ran, the Kingdom of Windilum would be Nik’s only destination. Nik would have to pass Elyon, Panos Acker’s city. Panos would strike Nik before he crossed the border, and there was little chance that Nik would make it all the way to the Kingdom of Roltan.
“I either kill him now, or you agree to be our pawn, Faust. You have the skills to make the kingdoms bend to your will. I plan to make use of the things Konrad so graciously bestowed upon you to make this happen. I will make you our perfect puppet king. Something we couldn’t force Konrad to do.”
Faust didn’t really have a choice, but Lathil seemed to forget just how much Konrad had taught him. He would have to bide his time even if it took years to ensure he and Nik survived this. Konrad worked on his plans for a long time, and he could do the same. “I accept.”
“And here I thought you had more fight in you,” Lathil said. “You are a fraction of your brother.” Lathil motioned for the Volant to take Nik away. “Send him to Shar immediately.”
Faust clenched his jaw as they dragged Nik out, not bothering to be careful of his new wounds. “And what of me?”
Lathil moved in the blink of an eye and yanked Faust’s head back with a snarl. “First, you will learn to listen to me, Faust.”
Faust swallowed a hiss, not looking away from Lathil.
A grin slowly worked over Lathil’s face. “One day, you will do as I ask.”
Faust bit back a retort, pushing back the lump forming in his throat. The wild spark in Lathil’s eyes sent a chill of ice down his back. Bide his time. He had to do that no matter what Lathil did to him. Nik’s life depended on it.
Lathil pulled back with a look Faust could only describe as longing in the deity’s eyes, his fingers caressing along Faust’s cheek in a far too affectionate gesture. Faust wanted to hurl.
Lathil snapped his fingers. The walls returned to flat surfaces, and the deity walked behind Faust to undo his bindings. “We have a ceremony to prepare for. Your lines will be practiced, and if you get them wrong or try to gather help, I will order the death of Nik. Understood?”
“Yes.” Faust rubbed at his sore wrists.
Lathil grabbed Faust’s hair and jerked Faust’s head back to stare up at him. “‘Yes, Your Excellency.’”
“Yes—Your Excellency,” Faust exhaled with a hiss of pain.
The deity let go and walked to the door. “Come.”
Faust staggered to the door. It shut behind him with a bang.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Faust tugged his short tunic into place. If Ignas were here, he would have jumped his bones. It had been a few weeks—possibly a few months—since he had last seen Ignas, and his heart ached for him. He’d lost count of the days long ago, and with each day that passed, Lathil carved away at his desire to fight. His recovery had been trying with the lessons Lathil bore into him in the form of various beatings with different weapons, leaving scars along his once flawless skin. The deity pushed him until he collapsed but would give him days upon end to recover. He didn’t understand why Lathil did that, but that ended today, or so Lathil had said. Today was his last day of rest before he would become the new King of Alios.
His outfit, various shades of green with white to accent it, had been handpicked by Lathil. The sleeves were exchanged with thinner, nearly see-through material that connected to golden cuffs at his wrists. Embroidery lined the seams of his collar and fell over his shoulders, back, and torso. At least his pants were black, but he felt like a dressed-up doll.
A golden choker hugged his neck, and golden chains cascaded over his shoulders and back. Emeralds dazzled his ears, and his hair was pinned back with an elegant pair of golden wings. The getup only accented his beauty, it was not that of a warrior. Though Ignas would have liked it either way, Ignas knew what he was capable of, beautiful or not.
Faust tied his sash and attached yet even more jewelry to his hips. He sighed. Ceremonies were far more tedious than they needed to be, and it was all because of the traditional dress requirements. He even had to wear makeup on his eyes and give his lips a light shine. It took longer than expected since Lathil didn’t let him have servants. The deity said it was improper for anyone else to look upon his skin. It was a strange rule considering he had a servant for years.
A hard rap came from the door.
“I am ready.” Faust slipped his low boots on, unamused at how the tighter pants made his legs appear small. The boots were wider than the usual riding boots he preferred to wear.
The door opened, and a knight walked in with a black cape in his hands. That, too, was covered in an embroidered crest for Lathil and Emoris instead of the Kingsley family crest he used to don. He did not want to wear it.
Faust stared at the knight and raised an eyebrow, surprised to see a familiar face. The man had a similar build to Daren, but his shoulders weren’t as wide. He was able-bodied and nice to look at, with his short brown hair and blue eyes. Faust knew this knight well—the Commander of the Castle Guard, Mika Frei. Mika would often report to Konrad if he had skipped his duties or gave his knights too much trouble. Faust’d grown accustomed to Mika always interrupting his fun in his adolescent days, but now he welcomed the sight of him.
“Your Highness.” Mika bowed.
“Commander Frei,” Faust greeted and eyed Mika curiously. Everyone else in the castle had either an emerald or light green color aura, and yet Mika held a dark purple aura around him like he used to. His own aura had since turned sky blue and showed no signs of returning to its dark purple coloring.
“I have brought your cape,” Mika said. “Once you put it on, I am to escort you to the arena.” He presented the cape by the elaborate winged clips. “Allow me to help you, Your Highness.”
Faust turned and moved his arms out. The cape clipped to his sleeves and draped near his shoulder blades. Mika moved the golden chains over the cape, and Faust tested his movements, surprised the cape only fell to his knees. “Lead the way.”
Mika knelt to Faust instead.
Faust raised an eyebrow in question.
“I pledge my loyalty to you, just as I did to King Konrad,” Mika said, his head bowed. “Please know that my help will be limited, but I shall assist you.”
A twitch of a smile appeared on Faust’s lips. He placed a hand on Mika’s head. “I am honored to still have your loyalty.” He stood there for several minutes, his heart pounding. One ally. He had one ally. He would do his best to ensure Mika didn’t lose his life for him. When he escaped this misery, Mika was coming, too.
Faust took a step back.
Mika rose to his feet. “This way, Your Highness.”
Faust followed the commander through the long hallways, aware of the way the Kingsley Knights watched his every move. They showed him little respect and always expected him to slip up. The tunnel to the arena was even more unkind, with it’s dark, chilly, and foreboding atmosphere. If it weren’t for the aura Mika gave off, Faust would have felt trapped.
The noise grew louder as he came to the dusty arena floor. Faust winced at the harsh light of the sun but kept his posture regal. The chatter over his appearance stirred over his people as Lathil stood in the middle of a massive wooden platform. Emoris sat upon his throne in the center, and a second throne sat lower than his, just below Emoris’s feet. Yet another sign that the King of Alios was subordinate to the false sovereign deities.