tyrant chapter 8

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Last night, Fiogen couldn’t sleep. Or rather, she didn’t want to sleep. She was desperate to die, and the tyrant’s inaction was driving her mad. She waved her hand in front of his face, testing him.

“Asleep?” Her restless movements caused him to stir slightly. He was the prince of the Empire; he’d never known peaceful sleep. So, when her slender fingers brushed against his eyelids, every nerve in his body was attuned to her.

Fiogen carefully climbed out of bed and straddled him. Karta’s ears flushed with surprise, but the darkness hid his reaction. She wrapped her hands around his throat. As she began to apply pressure, Karta raised his hands and grasped her wrists. He didn’t exert any force, but it was a warning. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep.

“At least moan if it hurts.” Fiogen said, tightening her grip. She didn’t actually intend to kill him. She wanted him to kill her.

“Are you going to keep enduring this?” At her soft voice, Karta’s grip tightened, but he didn’t gasp for air. His expression remained calm. He applied the slightest pressure to her wrists, as if snapping a rose stem.

“Ugh.” Fiogen moaned and released her hold. Freed from her grasp, Karta gently pushed her back onto the bed, reversing their positions. He now loomed over her, her tangled golden hair fanned out like a crescent moon. He swallowed involuntarily. Her red eyes, gleaming in the moonlight, strangely pierced his heart.

Knock, knock, knock. A knock came from outside the bedroom door. When no answer came, the door swung open. As usual, the movements were swift and practiced. The knights stationed outside had come searching for Karta.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” Dawn was always a dangerous time for the Emperor’s children. The crown prince was the most vulnerable, but recently, Karta’s mornings had become even more precarious. As his power grew, both the Emperor and the crown prince viewed him with increasing suspicion. Of course, even when he was weaker, his life had always been in danger.

Karta coughed, as if trying to clear his throat. He looked down at Fiogen, his gaze steady. “It’s nothing. Return to your posts.” He gestured for the knight to leave. As he did so, Karta’s silk nightclothes shifted, revealing his bare chest. The knights, startled by the sight of them together, quickly closed the door and retreated.

Fiogen was equally flustered. His physique was as beautiful, no, as breathtaking, as his handsome face. Such sculpted muscles on a human body… Speechless, she stared at him, mesmerized.

“Is this more to your liking?” Karta asked, glancing down at himself. Fiogen blushed, shook her head, and squeezed her eyes shut. He chuckled, gazing at her flushed face.

“You said if I burned down the prince’s bedroom, I’d be executed, right? Well, I just touched your throat. I deserve to die.” Karta chuckled at her demand, delivered with her eyes tightly shut. Her slender wrists seemed impossibly fragile. No matter how hard she squeezed, she couldn’t kill him; she could barely leave a mark.

“Fiogen.”

“Yes?”

“You weren’t trying to kill me. You wanted me to kill you.”

Fiogen’s eyes flickered open. Karta’s eyes, the color of the sun, burned intensely. She quickly shook her head.

“I really was trying to kill you. Just kill me already.”

Karta’s laughter died at her unconvincing reply. Her behavior felt strangely familiar, mirroring someone he knew. He finally understood why he was so desperate to keep her alive.

“Fiogen, I don’t want to kill you.”

“You’re a tyrant. Your job is to kill me.”

A flicker of hurt crossed Karta’s face at her defiant words, too subtle for Fiogen to notice.

“I refuse.” He released her and sat up. Fiogen sat up as well, glaring at him with an indignant expression.

“Don’t tell me… you’ve never killed anyone before?” Karta laughed aloud at her question. Fiogen had seen it with her own eyes. She’d watched from her bedroom window as her kingdom crumbled, awash in blood.

“You talk as if you’ve killed someone.”

“Well, do you have to actually kill someone to know what it’s like?” Fiogen laid back down, feigning nonchalance. Karta watched her, then asked, “How would you know if you haven’t done it?”

Fiogen hesitated, then closed her eyes. Her face was devoid of expression, and she didn’t cry, yet she seemed strangely forlorn.

“I once… hated someone enough to want them dead.”

Karta chuckled. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never hated anyone that much.”

He lied. There was one person he had hated with all his being: his mother, who had died before his eyes. He had hated the consort, who had begged for death. From the moment Fiogen had lunged at him with his own sword, demanding he kill her, she had reminded him of his mother. He hadn’t understood his mother’s pleas before, but watching Fiogen, he finally did. From the moment he first saw her, he hadn’t wanted to see her die.

“You asked why I won’t kill you.” Karta said. Fiogen slowly nodded, her red eyes fixed on him. As she stared, he saw his dead mother’s face superimposed on hers.

“Fiogen, your eyes… they look like my mother’s eyes.”