Page 101 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
There was a rose upon the desk, its red petals dark as fresh blood. Hagan lifted it at last and reached for Ylva. She leaned back at once, instinct sharp as a blade.
‘It is to decorate,’ Hagan said, irritation threading his voice.
‘Why?’ Ylva frowned, blue eyes dropping to the hand that clutched the rose as though it might yet be used as a weapon.
‘You will look prettier.’
Her scowl deepened at the word, but after a moment she stilled, grudgingly allowing him to tuck the crimson bloom into her hair. He studied it for a long while, eyes lingering, before giving a slow,satisfied nod.
‘My mother loved wearing red roses in her hair,’ he said suddenly, already returning his attention to the scrolls as if the confession meant nothing at all.
‘Why?’ Ylva asked.
‘The drakonian queen had an odd fascination with roses,’ Hagan replied. ‘She would have them dyed gold, so they might match her ridiculous gowns. Red roses were too ordinary for her, she needed special ones. Golden ones. After all, she was the Golden Queen.’ His mouth twitched. ‘My mother wore the plain red roses simply to spite her.’
Ylva’s brow creased. ‘Your mother was not a witch?’
‘She was,’ he said. ‘But she lived in the drakonian court. She glamoured herself to look drakonian.’
‘Did you grow up there too?’
Hagan glanced towards the window, expression distant, as though the past lingered just beyond the glass. At last, he nodded. ‘Yes. I grew up with Ash Acheron and Alina Acheron.’
‘They were your friends?’ Ylva asked, carefully.
‘I suppose they were.’
‘And yet you tried to slaughter them?’
Ylva waited. She waited for anger, for violence, or for the snap of blood magic tightening around her throat. It never came. Instead, Hagan smiled.
‘Yes,’ he said simply. Then he tilted his head, studying her, the smile sharpening into something dark and feral. ‘Imagine, then, what I am capable of doing to my enemies, if this is what I can do to my friends.’
Ylva did not need to imagine it.
She had already been forced to watch.
‘Do you not wish to have friends?’ Ylva asked softly, the question slipping free before she could stop it. Her voice waslow, cautious, as though even the air might punish her for such curiosity. She did not look at him. She kept her blue eyes anchored to the scroll before her, its words long since blurred.
He watched her for far too long. She felt it like a pressure at the nape of her neck, those purple eyes dissecting her, weighing her. She had the sudden, violent urge to claw them from his skull.
‘Why would I want friends?’ he asked at last.
Ylva shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. ‘Why not?’
‘Friends betray.’
The bluntness of it made her glance up despite herself. ‘Is that what happened to you?’ she asked carefully. ‘A friend betrayed you?’
Hagan’s purple eyes hardened, sharpening into something cold and unyielding. ‘Everyone betrayed me.’
Ylva frowned. ‘Everyone?’ Her voice wavered despite her effort to keep it steady. ‘Surely there must be someone who didn’t. Someone who lo…loved you.’ The word felt strange on her tongue when paired with him.
‘No.’ Hagan shook his head once, final and absolute. ‘They all betrayed me in the end.’
Ylva nodded, glancing back to the scrolls as though they might offer refuge. She could feel the weight of his stare on her skin, hot and invasive, until warmth crept up her neck and stained her cheeks. She wanted him to look anywhere but at her.
‘Then I can understand why you’d hate the world so much.’
