Chapter 78 Seventy-Eight.

Chapter 78 Seventy-Eight.


OLIVIA’S POV.

The whole day passes in a blink of an eye, and I spend most of it thinking about what Eliana had said.

Isadora is a… traitor?

I shake my head, still finding it hard to believe. It’s impossible. The Isadora I know is loyal to King Sven, so what exactly is happening?

Knowing the information is coming from Adrian does not sit right with me. Because I know how much of a conniving bastard he is. He probably is trying to feed King Sven misinformation.

But as the hours bleed into the dead of night, my mind goes back to Maggi’s words about me being King Sven prized possession.

The phrase keeps clawing at the inside of my skull. It makes no sense. I look around my dark, quiet quarters, staring blankly at the glass pane of the window. My only hope of ever knowing King Sven’s true feelings ripped away from it.

But I know, if I am truly his most prized possession, he would never have let me participate in the Dance of the Dead, nor would he approve of Kyle’s kill on sight orders.

Kyle…

The thought of my twin brother makes my chest tighten with a suffocating mix of relief and profound anxiety. I know he is still alive. He is out there, surviving in a cabin in the North under Orion’s protection.

But the lingering question keeps me awake, why hasn’t King Sven captured him yet? He knows where he is, after all.

So why is Kyle still free? Is King Sven playing a cruel game of cat and mouse, waiting for the perfect moment to strike? Or is there something else stopping him?

I roll over onto my side, staring at the empty expanse of the bed. It is well past midnight and sleep is a luxury my racing mind refuses to grant me.

The dull ache in my injured neck and the throbbing in my tightly wrapped ankles are constant reminders of the possibility of death waiting for me in the arena in just two days, well a day now since it’s midnight, and the weight of it all is suffocating. I am a Fae slave, mated to a cruel King, trapped in a battle of blood, and yet…

And yet, my lips still burn with the memory of the kiss we shared.

I close my eyes tightly, a quiet gasp escaping my throat as the humiliating truth settles heavy in my chest.

I love him.

I stupidly, recklessly grew feelings for the devil incarnate. I love the man who used my body, the man who rules through terror, the man who brought down the walls of my home.

But he does not love me.

I think he is incapable of love.

To him, I am nothing more than another body. Maggi is just crazy.

A soft, distinct click from the door breaks the silence of the room.

My eyes snap open instantly. I bolt up into a sitting position, my hands gripping the sheets as the door swings inward.

King Sven steps into my room.

I blink in absolute surprise, my heart leaping into my throat. I haven’t seen him all day. I stare at him, completely paralyzed as he closes the door behind him with a quiet, heavy snap.

He isn’t wearing his formal royal armor or the imposing cloaks he usually wears. He wears only a loose off-white tunic, unbuttoned at the collar, and dark trousers. His dark hair is slightly undone, falling across his forehead, and his shoulders carry a heavy, unusual slouch. I wonder if Maggi had already told him everything.

“Sven?” I whisper, my voice cracking slightly in the dark. “What are you doing here at this hour? What is happening?“

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he walks slowly toward the edge of my bed, his heavy boots making barely a sound against the rug.

When the pale moonlight hits his face, I catch my breath.

The brutal, terrifying King looks entirely drained. His sharp jawline is tight, and his dark green eyes are clouded, surrounded by dark, heavy shadows of exhaustion.

“I had a nightmare,” Sven says. His voice is a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates through the quiet space between us. It sounds almost vulnerable.

I stare up at him, my grip on the blanket loosening just a fraction as a memory surfaces. “A nightmare…” I murmur, looking closely at the weariness etched into his features. “You told me once before... that you suffer from insomnia. That you rarely sleep. And that Katniss, your fiancée, gives you a tonic that helps you sleep every night.”

Sven lets out a dry, bitter breath that sounds almost like a laugh, though there is no humor in it. He stands at the foot of the bed, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. “Is this you being jealous?”

Yes. But I am not stupid enough to say that. “No,” I reply instead. “Just wondering why she isn’t helping you this time.”

“I stopped her from coming to my room.”

Oh. “Why?”

“Just felt like it. Do I need a reason for my actions?”

I shake my head at that. A part of me, the stupidly in love part of me, wants to hope that it’s because of me. “What did you dream about?”

There is a bit of hesitation before King Sven speaks, dark green eyes locked with my honey brown eyes. “If you grew up with Guinevere Yangtze as your mother, you are bound to know no peace.”

The vulnerability in his voice sends a strange, aching thrill straight to my heart. I shouldn’t care.

If anything, I should tell him to leave, to find his solace somewhere else.

But looking at him like this only makes my heart ache.

“I can help with that,” I say softly, the words leaving my lips before I can think to stop them.