The Beginning of Everything by Kristen Ashley Page 0,27

intricate design of mother of pearl that sat before his divan. “Sit.”

I led my mother to her cushions, and as she sunk to them, I let her go.

I then moved to mine and did the same.

“I forgot Your Grace, beautiful Farah,” Mars murmured.

I put my hand to my chest and bent my head. “Your kindness warms me, my king.”

At that, he roared with laughter.

My head shot up, I felt my eyes grow round, and I was too stunned by this response even to turn to my mother to assess hers.

Then again, Mars was always quick to laugh. He had a rousing sense of humor, both making you laugh (and laughing with you when he did) and finding a multitude of things amusing.

He was the easiest male I’d known in my life to be around. That laughter. The seriousness that would fall over his severe, but handsome face when you had something to say and he was listening. The tenderness that would invade his entire mammoth frame if he knew you were hurting.

It had been thus when he’d shared our sentence of exile, almost appearing as if it pained him more than it did us to strip us of all we had and all we knew, leaving us only with our names, before sending us away.

Though he did send us away with only meager belongings, all of those were of import. Heirlooms my mother had from her family’s side, treasures it would wound me to leave behind.

And the modest accommodation he afforded us in our exile was hardly the home of paupers.

It was not a great dwelling the likes of which we were accustomed.

But although very small, very remote and very far away from all we knew, it was safe and snug and comfortable.

I should have known he would not change his mind and summon us to punish us further.

“All right, my little sister,” he said when he’d calmed his hilarity. “Allow me to make this clear.”

Suddenly, my back straightened and my skin tightened.

Because his handsome face turned simply severe as all humor left him.

And a humorless Mars Laches was not just a sight to behold.

It was a sight to fear.

“What your father did was not what you did,” he stated, his deep voice rolling like sarsens toward our cushions. “I lost my sire, I watched my mother lose her husband, these are the only reasons I am more deeply grieved of that event than you. And it is not because you lost your sire or you,” he turned to my mother, “your husband. For we all lost not only a king we loved, a man we loved more, but also much trust and any innocence we might have had left at the machinations of G’Dor.”

I leaned forward. “King Mars—”

“I am Mars to you, Farah,” he growled. “We sat at our cushions at our tables at our studies side by side. You bested me with the paint when I was seven and you were four, something you should be more concerned about at this juncture because I never forgot the humiliation.”

I could not believe this, but I had the most bizarre feeling that I was about to smile.

Mars was not finished.

“The first boy who broke your heart, I broke his nose, and the second, and if memory serves, the third. You gave your heart too freely. It was a nuisance. And you spelled to sleep the first girl to break my loyalty in order that you could shear her hair. My father and mother lost my blood sister to forces they could not control or understand. You took her place.”

I heard my mother’s quiet sob.

I looked that way and my heart squeezed.

“Little mother,” Mars said. “What was done to you had to be done. But truly, you must know your place in my heart.”

“My son,” she whispered.

She knew.

It was just beyond beautiful Mars still knew it too.

I felt like smiling no more.

Instead, I turned my head to hide the tears gathering in my eyes.

“Little mother, dry your eyes,” Mars bid. “Farah, you as well.”

I sniffled, controlled myself and looked to my king.

“Know this,” he said when he caught my gaze. “Your father plotted to assassinate our king. This plot succeeded. He ended the life of the finest ruler this land has ever known. I can’t even begin to understand how it would feel knowing the man who sired me did that. And he, his collaborators, and his warriors walked into the tarpits, my sister. They are gone. The Firenz know peace