Dark Heir (Dark Rise, #2)

by C.S. Pacat

“I’m yours,”

“My King.” It was like the whole world shifted around him. His mind splintering, Will staggered back from what he saw. The Collar encircled James’s neck in opulent red and gold.

James’s hair was mussed, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted in surrender that was almost unbearably erotic, except that the gleaming rubies of the Collar looked like a slit throat. “My King?” said James. Nausea rose in Will violently. He flung his hand out and clasped on to the trunk of the nearest tree. His stomach clenched, then heaved, spasming as he vomited onto the earth. Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes on it, only to see an image of Anharion lying dead on the ground as the executioner sawed at his throat. He vomited again, bent in half, then pressed the back of his hand to his open mouth.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?” Everything was wrong. Everything was broken.

“I’m yours,” said James. “I know who you are. I don’t hate you.” A rapt prayer from a supplicant handpicked for his beauty. James looked achingly genuine.

James looked like himself, but he wasn’t James. He was no more than a mirror of Will’s desires, and it was terrible to see them so starkly reflected. No one would ever join you by choice, not if they knew what you were.

“Are you telling me what I want to hear?” “Yes,” said James.

“That’s his dream. Not mine.” “You are him.”

“You remember,” said Will. James looked back at him with the past in his eyes. “Sarcean. I remember everything.”