Chapter 6 6

PARIS POV

Slowly, Vincent's head turned in Mason's direction. He had lost the calm that had been on his face. The coldness in his eyes caused the hair on my arms to stand on end.

"You should learn when to hold your tongue, Mason," he said in a low voice. The room's atmosphere shifted. Everyone became still. The guards froze, too. Vincent began to approach him. One by one, his shoes sounded louder than the last as they struck the ground.

With a tone like a steel rubbing stone, he declared, "I don't take kindly to being questioned." "It wasn't for nothing that I was called the Mad King."

Mason didn't move back. His face was red, his chest rising fast. "Oh, really?" he shot back. "What's next then? You're going to sleep with your niece? Is that what you meant by..."

Vincent's hand moved so quickly that I didn't notice it until it landed before he could finish. The crack echoed throughout the room. Mason's face and shirt were covered in blood as he flew back and hit the ground.

With a deep moan, he rolled onto his side and gripped his nose. He poured blood between his fingers. I rushed to him after screaming. "Mason!" I reached for him, my knees slamming into the floor.

He had a twisted, swollen nose. "Oh God, Mason, stop moving; you're bleeding."

He hissed in pain, muttering a curse under his breath.

Vincent towered over him, his eyes still hard as he said, "you better know who you're speaking to. I will not let it go easy next time."

He looked at his guards. "Throw him outside the gates."

My head snapped up. "What? No! He's bleeding!"

Before I had a chance to react, Liam charged. "Vincent!" he yelled. "That's your son! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Vincent turned his head, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "You're asking me what's wrong with me?"

Liam paused but didn't relent. "No, not like that," he said slowly. "But can't you see? He's just a boy. He's angry. He just said something stupid, that's all."

Vincent's expression didn't change. "A boy who insults a king?" he said. "Do you actually think that's something I'll just let go?"

"Vincent, stop this," Liam said again. "He's your blood."

Vincent's voice turned sharp. "He may share my blood, but that doesn't make him my equal. He earned what he got."

I couldn't take it anymore. I shouted, tears burning my eyes. "Why are you so heartless? Can't you see he's hurt? Look at him!"

Vincent's gaze shifted to me. His eyes locked on mine now. Then he walked closer, slow, steady steps until he was standing right in front of me.

My heart hammered so loud I thought he could hear it. He bent down until his face was inches from mine. His voice came out low and quiet, but every word was sharp. "I do not care."

The world seemed to stop. My throat felt tight.

He stood straight again. "Now, Paris," he said coldly, "my room. I won't repeat myself."

I looked up at him, this man who had just broken his own son's face without a flicker of regret and my stomach turned. His eyes were empty, his face unreadable.

There was nothing human left in him.

He was alive, but he had no soul.

A dead man wearing a crown.

The order hung between us, but my feet refused to obey. My eyes flicked once more to Mason on the floor, blood soaking into the stone beneath him.

"I'm not leaving him like this," I said, my voice shaking. "He needs help."

Vincent watched me the way one watches something that has already made its last mistake.

I took a step back instead of forward. That was enough.

In one swift movement, Vincent closed the distance between us. His hand wrapped around my arm, strong and unforgiving, and before I could pull away, he bent and lifted me from the ground.

The breath tore from my lungs as my feet left the floor.

"Put me down!" I shouted, striking his shoulder in panic and rage. "Vincent, let go of me!"

He did not slow down. His arm locked around my back, holding me firmly against his chest as he turned toward the doors. I twisted in his grip, my fists pressing uselessly against him, but it was like struggling against stone.

The hall blurred past me.

I heard the scrape of boots as guards stepped aside. I felt eyes on me, watching, judging, understanding exactly what this meant.

Shame burned hotter than fear.

"This isn't right," I said through clenched teeth. "You don't get to do this."

His voice was low and steady near my ear. "You forfeited the right to walk away the moment you defied me."

The doors opened. I went still in his arms, my body tight, my heart pounding hard enough to hurt.

The door shut behind us with a loud thud that made me jump. My heart was still racing from what had just happened. The sound of Mason's nose breaking was still ringing in my head.

Vincent didn't say a word. He walked straight to the table, picked up a bottle of wine, and poured himself a drink like nothing had happened. His movements were too calm.

I stood by the door, shaking. "You didn't have to hit him like that," I said as my voice cracked a little and carrying me out wasn't necessary."

He took a slow sip and turned slightly, his cold eyes landing on me. "And yet, I did," he said simply.

I clenched my hands. "You act like you don't feel anything at all."

He set the glass down. "Feeling is weakness."

I took a step forward even though my knees felt weak. "No. It's what makes you human."

He looked at me for a long moment, and I could see something flicker in his eyes. Then he said, "Then maybe I stopped being human a long time ago."

My breath caught. He started to move quietly, circling me like a predator. I could feel him behind me before I even turned. Every step he took made the air heavier.

When he stopped, his voice was right by my ear. "Are you afraid, Paris?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Of you? No." I took a shaky breath. "Of what you might make me feel? Maybe."

For a second, he froze. His eyes softened just a little, but it was gone as fast as it came. He turned away, grabbed his glass again, and said, "Sit."

I crossed my arms. "No."

He raised an eyebrow, his tone calm but dangerous. "You really want to test me tonight?"

"You already proved your strength," I said.

He took a step toward me, and I could feel the heat coming off his body. "You think that was strength?" he said slowly. "That was mercy."

I laughed bitterly. "You call that mercy?"

He leaned down until our faces were only inches apart. His eyes were dark. "You wouldn't survive my cruelty."

The words made my skin prickle. I hated that my body reacted to him, that I couldn't look away. I wanted to hate him completely, but something in his voice pulled at me.

He suddenly turned away and walked to the closet. Without saying a word, he pulled something out and threw it toward me. I caught it clumsily. It was a robe, smooth and soft in my hands.

"You look like you've been dragged through hell," he said. "Clean up."

I stared at him, my chest tight. "Why? So you can control that too?"

"No. Because I hate untidy things."

"You're untidy on the inside," I muttered under my breath.

That made him pause. His lips twitched, almost a smile but not quite. "Careful, Paris. You're starting to sound like me."

I glared at him, but I could feel my face getting warm. I hated that he noticed.

He leaned back against the table, eyes locked on me. "If you're going to stand up to me," he said slowly, "do it properly. Keep your head high. Weakness doesn't suit you."

For a moment, he looked away, and I saw his hand shake slightly as he lifted the glass again. He tried to hide it, but I saw. That tiny tremble didn't fit the man everyone feared.

I held the robe tighter in my hands. I didn't know if I wanted to throw it at him or wear it.

He looked back at me. "Go. Clean up. I'm not repeating myself again."

I stared at him one last time before walking past him. The scent of alcohol clung to the air. He didn't move, but I could feel his eyes on my back until I disappeared into the bath chamber.