The Rise of Deragon (The Deragon Duology #2)

22

Kit

P andora Deragon snagged a knitted sling bag from the hook in her armoire and wasted no time gathering her meager choice of belongings.

First, she shuffled into her bathroom and fished out a handful of feminine cycle necessities, an embroidered handkerchief, and a canister of unmarked medications. I didn’t care to ask what kind, but the red rings around her otherwise doe eyes suggested it might be something to help her sleep through the night. She returned soon after, swiping her hairbrush off her nightstand before combing through her drawers. Wordlessly, Pandora stuffed lightweight shirts and linen shorts into her bag, and while I was inclined to tell the princess that she won’t be allowed to keep it where we’re headed, I decided not to deny her what will likely be the last of her simple luxuries.

I previously arranged for a speedboat to be waiting along the eastern coast of the Isle. But with Andromeda House stationed on the westernmost edge—Pandora’s room in particular looking out towards the wide-open Damocles, towards her faraway, unreachable home—that meant I’d have to drive the two of us to port.

I expected Pandora to go out kicking and screaming, given she likely remembered what day her scheduled tribunal was to occur. And yet, when I barged into her rooms, Pandora looked me over as if I had just outrun unspeakable trouble. She looked restless . . . like she was worried about me.

An hour into our drive, almost an hour past midnight, the memory of that look on her face still threatens to disorient me.

That, and her dark hair catching in the wind as we drive. She’d tied it back before we took off, but in an effort to cut down the drive time, the speed in which I sent us flying down the paved streets worked against the temporary strength of her ribbon. A sick, twisted part of me doesn’t seem to mind it, though. Pandora doesn’t fuss with it and tips her head back, counting the stars to herself. All the while, the scent of her curls drift into my nose—freshly washed, but not with product. No, her hair smells like the sea.

She looks so at peace with the world, even as we drive towards what is sure to be her ruin.

“Kit,” she sighs, eyes closed now.

“Yes, princess.”

I don’t know what to prepare myself for. Sobbing? Groveling? Hatred? A mix of all three?

Instead, Pandora says, “Do you remember the day you came into my room looking for your copy of that book I’d stolen?”

The surprise of not being verbally assaulted after enough pent-up silence draws an unexpected laugh from deep in my stomach. “Yes.”

Never mind that most of my memory surrounding that day pertained to the uncanny thrill I felt holding her—the feel of our bodies fused together .

“What about it?” I ask.

Her returning smile is tinged with defeat. “It was my birthday . . . and I was too scared to tell you.”

I’m not sure what to offer her in response, mainly because I feel pretty terrible that I hadn’t done enough basic research on her to know that. But before I get the chance to form even a half-hearted apology, Pandora opens her eyes again and readjusts herself to a normal posture. “I don’t say that to garner any pity, I just mean that . . . I know what day it is, Kit.” Neither disdain nor dread lie in her voice. Only acceptance. “So you don’t have to find ways to avoid telling me the truth. That we’re heading for the coast and riding in your car to reach the court on time. You can be honest with me.”

Damn her.

Damn her for saying what she does and then looking away from me like she’s hiding tears of bitter recognition. Damn her for exiting the car and approaching the speedboat with no signs of resentment. Damn her for being nothing like her hellish bloodline, and for always approaching me in whatever way removes any burden from my conscience.

Gods, if only she knew. Knew that I had been waiting for Venus and Jericho to prove themselves noble enough to trade their lives for hers. Knew that, when no word was sent regarding Pandora’s ransom note, I was enduring the torture of readying the arrangements for her trial. Knew that I had been fighting the fire in my blood that sparked to life thinking about how I touched her that day, how she had let me . . . and how I craved more .

Pandora looks at me expectantly, and I try to shake myself awake. “What’s that?”

“I said is there anywhere I can lay down and get some sleep?”

“Oh, right,” I sputter, only slightly hating myself for sounding so taken off guard. I look around the boat, which is a meager, curved line of a sitting bench and a mat-lined floorboard. And then, I catch myself saying, “Lie down. You can rest your head in my lap.”

Her surprise matches that of my own beneath the surface. “Are you sure?”

“The waves will throw you around if you’re sitting upright, and you deserve a full night’s rest. Yes, I’m sure.”

I’m surprised at just how agreeable the words sound out loud, and mercifully, Pandora doesn’t argue further. Instead, she tucks her sling bag into one of the side compartments, twisting the lock shut once it’s completely concealed, and waits for me to secure my desired seat.

I pick the spot furthest from the side of the boat, knowing one rogue wave could drench us both. Once I’m settled in, Pandora crawls into position. She drops her knees along the cushion, her back mirroring the curve of the bench until her head nuzzles against my lower torso, the tops of my thighs.

I wonder if Pandora can sense every nerve in my body going haywire with simultaneous confusion and delight.

After a deep sigh, she mutters the words, “I’m sorry,”

My throat tightens. “For what?”

Her eyes glide shut, exhaustion quickly getting the best of her. She yawns, shoulders slumping. “That your assassin brought me instead of my aunt, and that it had to come to this since they wouldn’t come for me. Such a shame . . .”

I almost assume she’s fallen asleep until she adds, the words gutting me, “That I likely matter more to you more than I do to my own blood.”

+

It’s torture. Pure and utter torture .

Pandora’s head draped over my lap. Her full lips parted in sleep, gently pressed against the exposed skin of my thigh. Her hair spilling onto the leather seat at my side, conveniently where my hand rests. Her brokenhearted words replaying in my head like a harrowing echo.

“Such a shame . . . that I likely matter more to you more than I do to my own blood.”

It’s been like this for hours, and while I expected to drift off into sleep eventually, I’m anything but relaxed. Or tired. Rather, I’m hyperaware of any movement or dialogue that could wake her, I’ve kept to myself. The captain I hired to navigate us across the southern strip of the Damocles seems to bode well with the silence, at least.

In the end, I’m only able to nod off for a few ten-minute intervals, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll finally rest once Pandora’s out of my custody.

Right?

Gods, I missed her birthday. The one day of the year when someone’s allowed to feel joy, to take pride in themselves. She’d made it another year around the sun, and yet, she dwelled in Andromeda House believing it’d be her last—and it’s my fault.

Pandora is already so young. So full of potential and grace and beauty. But in sleep, innocence becomes her. I look at Pandora like this, and all I see is the little girl she once was. The girl that loved to read to distract herself from growing up in a castle under the instruction of such disgusting people. Being raised as one of them , yet turning out to be so . . . herself.

She doesn’t deserve the fate I’m about to deal her.

A bump against an undercut wave jolts us upward, and Pandora stirs awake. Stretching out her limbs, she lets out a sustained grunt as she works the tiredness out of her bones. She rubs at her eyes. Yawns. Then, Pandora registers where she is, where her head has been resting for the last four and half hours.

My lap is still warm when she scoots away from me, and I choose to ignore her flustered apology. The sunless summer morning will soon give way to the dawn, painting the sky the loveliest shades of orange and pink. Mosacian sunrises always bring me a deep sense of grounding—peace amidst turmoil. But today, I dread the sight of the sun. The minute the atmosphere goldens, I turn her over to the court authorities waiting for us to reach the port.

“How bad is it going to be?” Pandora asks, her voice a gut-wrenching rasp. “Is it quick?”

“The tribunal?”

Pandora goes deathly quiet. “No.”

I twist my head away from hers, unable to stomach that look on her face. The somber preparation in her eyes. I can only imagine the kind of pulse-easing statements she’s having to coax herself into, to keep from hurling herself off this boat and swimming for shelter. Swimming away from me.

Because the truth is, I didn’t ask at all. When I made the deal with the courts to take the payout for her life, it didn’t matter to me then what would happen to her, how it would happen to her. Not when the only remaining traces of Princess Pandora would be the coins I’d receive for her bounty—coins that bore her father’s face. He would get to live with that shame, and so would Venus.

And yet, the guilt I feel now is near debilitating.

“I’m so . . . so sorry.”

“Don’t waste your breath on apologies, Kit. Not when we both knew that we would always end up here.”

Disappointment churns in my gut. “You’re not surprised that I followed through?”

“Not at all,” she says solemnly. “Just because I don’t appreciate what you’re about to do doesn’t mean that your integrity was ever in question. You held true to your word, and frankly, I expected you to be rid of me sooner. To do so in worse manners than this.”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you being so good about this?”

“Because nothing’s changed , Kit!” she cries out. “Don’t you understand that? I went along with Madman’s offer because I thought it would spare my aunt—my queen—from harm.” I grit my teeth at the sound of that poisonous name on her lips. Madman . I’d heard her say it once before, then banning her from her vocabulary, or so I thought. “And even though no one will be there to bail me out, I will go to that courtroom still protecting them. It’s what our culture does. People die for Venus and Jericho every day.”

But it’s not just a guilty verdict that lies ahead of Pandora Deragon.

No—before the tribunal announces her sentence, she’ll have to face more than just the court. She’ll also endure the crowds , the brutal condemnation from strangers who know her only by her bloodline as opposed to how I’ve begun to recognize her. They will see nothing of the young woman with a thirst for knowledge; who sneaks books like most people her age sneak booze. Nothing of the playful girl with an outrageously painted face, howling in laughter over a drunken game of cards. Nothing of the lonely, regretful soul standing before me now, facing charges that killers deserve when she’s only ever brought me joy, not death.

They will only see her name— Pandora Violet Deragon —on a tribunal ballot. And they will choose to sentence her to death.

“Stop the boat,” I finally say.

“What?” Pandora squeaks at the same time the captain calls out, “Come again?”

“I said, stop the boat.” I stiffen, turning to the captain’s chair. “Kill the engine. You’re dismissed.”

The gentleman’s eyes go wide, assessing our surroundings, estimating how far we are from the shoreline. “Sir? You wish me to—”

“Get the hell off this boat!” I shout, eyes ablaze with clarity and indignation. “Swim to shore, sink to the seafloor, I don’t care. Just go .”

I had paid him prior to embarking across the water, so I don’t feel a shred of remorse when he quickly scrambles to the back of the speedboat and dives into the Damocles. His captain’s hat fills with water before sinking into the depths below, and he’s smart enough not to swim for it.

“Saints, Kit,” Pandora says, rushing forward. “He didn’t do anything—”

And that’s when I decide to be selfish.

I pull Pandora towards me in a swift jerk, one hand splaying across her lower back and the other cradling the nape of her neck, beneath her hair. The curls seem to spool into my grasp on their own accord, and as my eyes descend towards her full mouth, I watch as a softened, startled gasp leaves her lips. Pandora’s eyes pierce through mine, and she stares at me, not with fear, but with a tenderness that is borderline erotic.

Holy gods, I am in so much trouble.

“Tell me that you don’t think about what almost happened between us,” I rasp, laying all my cards on the table. I don’t bother explaining what I’m referring to, not when the glimmer in her brown eyes tells me she already knows.

“That,” she whispers, “would be a lie.”

“Then tell me something true. Something real.”

Pandora gulps, but finds the strength to reach out her hand, resting it along my jaw. Her fingers slide across my face in a delicate caress, fingernails grazing the slope of my ear. Chills scatter across my arms, my neck. She bites her lip, shaking her head.

“Please,” I beg.

Pandora looks to the shore, where the first signs of court authorities begin to assemble at the edge. Then, she meets my gaze again, determination locking into place across her lovely face.

“You touched me that day, and it’s been wreaking havoc on my soul ever since.”

Suddenly, I’m leaning in.

She’s letting me.

“But I thought you hated me,” she whispers, the last of her defenses sneaking out into the open air.

“No, Pandora,” I say weakly. “I hate what you’ve become to me.”

Our kiss is catastrophic. It undermines every move and countermove I’ve made to punish the Deragons. As her body loosens against my own, all remaining instinct to protect herself from danger, from me , crumbles like the fallen cities her parents stole for themselves. My own do the same.

Electricity hums in my blood as I grapple for more of her, her hands digging into my scalp like I’m the only thing keeping her from splintering into a million pieces. Her lips are so soft, even as they scrape over mine, pleading—my control nearly snaps as I swallow a desperate sound from her.

“I’m going to miss you,” she says against my mouth, letting my tongue move in tandem with hers.

I deepen the kiss for a moment, then frame her face with my hands, forcing her to look into the depths of my eyes. My soul.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Her lip quivers. “What?”

Distant shouting from the shoreline echoes through the atmosphere. The sun finally peeks over the horizon line, showering us in its golden rays and warmth. But there’s nothing warm and welcoming about the voices coming from the edge of Mosacia Proper, so despite my longing to keep kissing Pandora until we’re both sweaty and breathless, I tear myself away from her and race for the captain’s seat. I flick on the engine and grip the wheel with whitening knuckles.

“Hold on to something, princess. We’re going rogue.”