“Raphael has been raised from birth to take the throne. The desire for the crown ingrained in his very being—it’s who Jethro made him to be. It’s who he is. And Raphael knew this whole time that it might come to this. He must have known, because his father certainly knew—that one day, you could take from him what he’s been raised to want all his life, at all costs.”
Images of my first duel with Raph rush into my mind. The way he’d seemed so closed off when I questioned him as to why I’d ever need to know how to fight in a duel. We’d trained together almost every day since. My powers are as familiar to him as his own. He knows every move I make before I make it.
Maybe that was the point. Something in my mind whispers, but I can’t bring myself to hear it.
I’m shaking my head, backing away from the spot where I’d been standing frozen. I can’t listen to these words, I can’t hear them, I can’t think about what they mean. Every fiber in my being is telling me that they can’t possibly be true. Not when every time I close my eyes, I can only see the way that Raph looks at me when we’re lying together, as if I’m the only thing that matters in this entire universe. Not his throne, not his Dynasty, not his betrothal. But me.
The troubled look in Magnus’s eyes deepens as he regards me.
“Don’t lie to yourself, Jazmine. You’re stronger than that.”
His words feel like a stab to the chest, and all I can do is turn away from those truths threatening to swallow me whole, and run.
I hear Magnus calling after me, but I don’t stop. I keep running until the cool night air hits my burning lungs.
I’ve never driven on Eden, but I don’t even think twice as I get into one of the waiting cars in the palace courtyard and it isn’t any different from my limited experience of driving on Earth.
I tell myself to calm down as I drive the short distance to the St. Tristan palace. I don’t know anything for sure. Raph will explain. He’ll tell me that it’s not true. He’ll tell me that Magnus is wrong—wrong about the Crown Trials or at the very least, wrong about Raph’s intentions.
I play Raph’s words over in my mind in an attempt to stop myself from breaking down entirely.
I’m certain that from the first moment I saw you on that beach, I’ve belonged to you.
You’re mine now, Jaz and … I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.
I hold onto those words, because they’re all I have left.
35
The St. Tristan palace is still as a tomb when I arrive. The doorman doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash at my arrival and I get the impression that girls visiting Raph at all times of night is far from an unusual occurrence. I try to remind myself that it’s no longer the case. Raph hasn’t so much as looked at another girl since this thing between us started. But the sickening feeling in my gut only deepens.
I follow the doorman’s directions to the west wing of the first floor, through the seemingly never ending marble corridor, my steps echoing ominously through the darkness. I finally reach the large double doors at the end of the hallway. One of the doors is open a crack, but for a moment I can’t make myself go through it.
Get it together, I tell myself.
I raise my hand to knock, but then I catch a glimpse of something through the crack of the door which stills every fiber in my being. I can barely make it out at first—a flash of skin, a gasp, a breathy moan.
Terror washes over me and my mind is screaming at me not to open that door. But I don’t listen.
The door swings open and for what seems like an eternity, I just stare … and stare … and stare.
Shimmering ice blue material lying discarded on the marble floor. A dress.
My eyes follow the trail to a thin scrap of white lace on the floor, then another.
When I raise my eyes to the large silk-sheeted bed, for a moment my mind can’t comprehend what I’m seeing. That traitorous muscle in my chest refuses to accept it.
I close my eyes and open them again, thinking that the image will disappear, that it’s not real. But it doesn’t disappear.
Layla’s naked body straddling Raph’s is real. So real, that I think I feel my heart stop at the sight of it and I want to scratch my own eyes out to stop myself from seeing any more of it. Everything about this nightmare is real—from the sight of Raph’s naked torso leaning back against the wide headboard, to the sight of Layla’s naked breasts pressed up against his chest.
His hands are gripping her forearms and his eyes are locked onto hers. I can’t see the look in them, but I don’t need to. I know only too well how those midnight blue eyes look when they’re dark with desire, with need, with passion, and I’ve been a fool to think that any of that was real when those eyes looked at me.
For a moment, I can feel the ghost of his touch, those hands on my skin, touching my body and I let out a tortured cry which sounds pathetic, even in my own ears.
They turn to me and the sick realization dawns on me that they must have been so caught up in each other, that they hadn’t even realized I was standing here.
They see me now, though. Shock flares in Raph’s eyes. But I tear my gaze away from his face after a split second. I can’t bear to look at him. I can’t even bear to breathe the same air as him.
My gaze lands on Layla, and the gleam of triumph in those cruel eyes makes me gag on reflex, as bile rises in my throat.
We stand there frozen, like pillars of salt, for what seems like an eternity and the universe feels like it has narrowed, so that we’re the only three people to exist in it. I was a fool to let Raph make me feel in those intimate moments like we were the only two people in the vastness of time and space. It has never been just the two of us. Layla has been there all along, and those moments—they were all lies.
I hear Keller’s words repeating themselves in my head.
I’ve just never known Raph to go without.
I know now that he hasn’t been going without. Not at all. It becomes clear to me, why he never took that step with me—because he didn’t need to. Didn’t want to. He had Layla for that, and she is all that matters. It’s always been her.
Raph and I have never used the word love. I’d always been too much of a coward to voice just how fierce my feelings for him had become, and I realize that perhaps it was also because some part of me knew that love was too weak a word for what I felt for him. I’d hoped that it was the same for him, too, and the words that he has spoken to me, well, they went far and above just love.
But I was wrong—about his words at least. Those words were lies and it’s clear now why he has never used the word love with me. As simple as that word is, it holds a meaning that could never be faked the way he was faking with me. He told me once that he didn’t love Layla. But it’s clear now that I’ve been a fool to believe him.
I feel the realization like a knife to the chest, but I force myself to accept it, even if it kills a part of me.