A distinct grr sound from his mate. “I can’t just not turn up,” she snapped. “You know what archangels are like—they might fight amongst themselves, but they won’t support rebellion within each other’s families.”
“Things have changed.” Naasir braced himself on his forearms. “Raphael hates Charisemnon for causing the Falling. He’ll accept you into his protection.” Because she was Naasir’s, and Raphael backed his Seven.
Andromeda shook her head. “It may cost him the allegiance of those like Astaad who are more traditional.”
Naasir growled, but he didn’t argue—they both knew she was right. Astaad considered Charisemnon an enemy, but if Raphael broke such a deep angelic prohibition, it could fracture their alliance. And any infighting or serious disagreement between the allies would give Lijuan a weakness to exploit. But— “Jason took Mahiya away from Neha.”
“Our situations are very different below the surface.” Andromeda had hoped when she’d heard about the union, dug up everything she could about the princess. “The service requirement is specific to my grandfather’s court.”
“I hate vows,” Naasir muttered. “Now that we’re mated, you can’t make any more.”
“How about if I vow to love you forever?” A soft question.
“That one is allowed.” He nipped at her nose. “I love you, too, even if you keep taking stupid vows I have to break.”
She bared her teeth at him. “I didn’t choose this one.” Anger made her voice rough. “I don’t want to go, but if I don’t, Charisemnon will declare me an outcast with a price on my head. Even if Raphael doesn’t care about the blood vow, someone will—or they’ll just want the bounty. I’ll be hunted the rest of my life.” And Naasir would be hunted with her. “That’s no kind of life.”
“What about your father?”
“Cato would never go against his archangel.”
Naasir’s silver eyes locked with her own. “You know Cato isn’t your father in blood. Why are you pretending otherwise? Even had Dahariel not given you an uncommon amount of attention, your wings bear markings a step removed from his.”
Andromeda looked away, but Naasir gripped her jaw, made her meet his gaze again. Surrendering, she admitted the truth. “I was so happy when I realized,” she confessed. “I thought he was brave and strong and intelligent—and he is, but he’s also capable of gross cruelty.”
She took a ragged breath. “Ten years before I left for the Refuge, I walked into a room in my parents’ home and saw him torturing a mortal boy who was barely of age.” It had shattered Andromeda, left her heart in pieces on the floor, the hope inside her snuffed out. “He meant for me to know,” she whispered. “He could see the stars in my eyes and he wanted to erase them, to show me his true colors.” To teach her that though he wasn’t lost in a compulsive search for sensation like her parents, he was as pitilessly jaded.
Andromeda had begged him to let the mortal go. The man who was her father in blood had simply raised an eyebrow and flicked the whip once more on the boy’s back, making him whimper as blood trickled down his ravaged skin.
A soft heart can be a fatal weakness in the immortal world, a lure for the predators. If you want to survive, you’d do well to learn from my example.
Andromeda had thrown up instead.
“Dahariel is a bastard,” Naasir agreed. “But he is also Astaad’s second and can request sanctuary for you. No one will interfere as you are his child.”
Andromeda knew he was right; the archangels and old angels would deem it a private family matter since Dahariel—and thus Astaad—had as much right to her as Charisemnon. “I asked him,” she admitted in a small voice. “Fifty years ago.” She’d been desperate enough to chance the humiliation, knowing that though Dahariel was cruel, Astaad’s court was nothing like Charisemnon’s.