His childhood had ended that day.
“I wonder what your last thoughts were,” Warrehn said quietly. Unlike the queen-consort, Emyr hadn’t died instantly. He’d been in a coma for a short while, with only Dalatteya beside him as he died in a hospital bed. “Did you even realize that she betrayed you? The woman you loved?”
The woman whose son Warrehn was in love with.
The thought was as maddening as it had been the first time it had occurred to him.
He couldn’t love Samir.
But he did.
He couldn’t trust Samir.
But he did. Regardless of his doubts, deep down, his besotted self refused to believe Samir was as treacherous as his mother. He might be freaking out because of Samir, but paradoxically, he wanted to hold him in his arms to feel better. His mind was always calm and at peace when he had Samir curled up in his arms.
He wondered if Emyr had felt the same about Dalatteya.
“Damn you, Father,” Warrehn said with a hoarse chuckle. “I swore I wouldn’t repeat your mistakes, but here I am.”
He sat up straighter as he suddenly recalled the fleeting thought that had crossed his mind: Dalatteya had been at Emyr’s bedside as he died. They had been alone.
Warrehn’s heart started beating faster. Fuck, why hadn’t he thought of it before? Emyr had been in a coma, allegedly dying, but what’s to say it wasn’t another lie and Dalatteya hadn’t killed him while they were alone?
He would have to look up the hospital’s security feeds. Hospitals never deleted security footage, archiving the videos in case they were needed in medical malpractice lawsuits—they could only be deleted by a special decree of the Council.
Which meant he might finally find proof of Dalatteya’s crimes.
***
Getting access to the security footage from twenty years ago wasn’t easy even for a king. Warrehn had to personally go to the hospital Emyr had died in, to intimidate them into granting him access.
Finally, after two frustrating hours of security checks, he had been allowed into the archives.
“You will be able to view only the footage that concerns your immediate family, Your Majesty,” the technician reminded him timidly. “The videos are protected, and you will not be able to delete any of them without a special decree of the Council. You can copy some files—the system will automatically detect if you’re authorized to do so.”
Warrehn gave a curt nod. “I’m aware,” he said. “You may go.”
Once he was alone in the archives, Warrehn walked to the holoterminal and entered the date of his father’s death.
Since there was a filter preventing him from viewing videos of other people, it didn’t take him long to find the security footage from Emyr’s hospital room.
His father had been cremated, as was custom. Warrehn hadn’t seen his body at all—the doctors had advised against it, saying that the sight wasn’t suitable for a ten-year-old child.
Now he understood what they had meant.
Warrehn bit the inside of his cheek, looking at the body in the hospital bed. He could barely see his father under the bloody bandages. His right arm was missing entirely. His face had fared better than the rest of him, but even his face had nasty burns and cuts. The doctors left the room one by one, shaking their heads and speaking in low voices, saying that there was no chance of recovery and the king’s death was a matter of time now.
It nearly made him turn off the video. It was clear that Dalatteya was unlikely to have done anything to Emyr in the hospital: the man lying on that bed didn’t need any additional help to die.
But as Warrehn reached to turn it off, Dalatteya entered the hospital room.
“My lady, you shouldn’t be here,” the doctor who had stayed in the room said.
She didn’t even glance at him, her eyes on the man in the hospital bed. “Is he…?” she whispered.
The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry, my lady. We did everything we could. But His Majesty’s injuries were too severe when he was brought here. There wasn’t a single organ that wasn’t severely damaged, half of his organs had already failed. It’s frankly amazing he’s still alive. It’s just a matter of time now. I’m sorry.”
“Leave me alone with him.”
The doctor opened his mouth and closed it before nodding and leaving.
Dalatteya walked to the bed, her pale face devoid of any expression as her eyes roamed over the king’s mutilated body. She wrapped her arms around herself, and Warrehn noticed that her hands were shaking. Maybe she was nervous that someone would guess that she was the one behind the terrorist attack.
She whispered something, barely audibly. Warrehn frowned and, raising the volume, listened again.
“Look at you,” she whispered. “Look how pathetic you look. Emyr’ngh’zaver. How the mighty have fallen. You’re nothing but bones and blood. You lost. You—you—You never thought I had it in me, did you? But I won. I’m free. I’m—I’m—”