Chapter Twenty-Five

"You're gonna kill me, woman," Axel groans while I cuddle up to him.

"What better way to die?" I purr, kissing his shoulder.

"But I don't want to die on my birthday," he say playfully. I trail my kisses up his shoulder and onto his neck.

"Well this is your fault. You said you wanted to stay in bed all day for your birthday. I'm just giving you what you wanted," I whisper against his skin while trailing my fingers back down his abdomen. I circle them on his hipbones and his breath catches. He groans loudly.

"Can't I even have a break?" he asks, but I know he doesn't really mind based on the tent he's pitching with the sheets. I run my nose along his jaw and pretend to ponder the question as my fingers trace up and down his arousal lightly.

"Hmm…maybe after this round," I say with a smile.

"Happy birthday to me," he sighs before flipping on top of me.

Despite my…er…gift to Axel for his birthday, I've been a bit withdrawn. Don't get me wrong; we're as close as ever. I'm just cranky now. Ever since that party we went to, I've been getting moodier and moodier each day. The ghostly slaves are still visiting my dreams every night, but they're growing in numbers, and their words are getting louder. I've been trying to just not sleep, but that's not helping very much either.

I lay awake at night, looking at Axel's sleeping face. He's so peaceful, so calm, so…uncaring. It's like he can't see the world around him. Or…maybe he does, but doesn't care. He's above it; it doesn't directly affect him any, so why should he care? And why does it bother me so much that he doesn't? I've known from the beginning that the slave market doesn't make him bat an eye; people don't just go buy servants if they're against the business. So why do I find his apathy so upsetting?

I keep replaying the fall of my family while I'm awake, too. Could it have been different? Could I have fought back? What if I had brought my bow and quiver of arrows into my brother's room that night? What if Lars had been there to help us? Could I have changed anything? Could any of this have been prevented? Is it really my fault like the ghosts are telling me?

I think it is.

"You look tired," Axel says over breakfast one day while looking at me over the top of his folded newspaper. I know he's right. I have dark circles under my bloodshot eyes and my skin has gone pasty. I narrow my eyes at him. He's just now noticing?

"Thank you, Sherlock," I mumble. His eyebrows shoot up.

"Well someone's moody," he replies. I grit my teeth in annoyance. "Are you not sleeping well?" he asks. There's a note of concern in his voice, so I breathe out a sigh.

"No, I'm not. I'm having bad dreams," I answer. He furrows his brow.

"I'll talk to Zexion. See if he can give you something for dreamless sleep or something like that."

"I need heavy narcotics," I say bitterly. He grins, thinking I'm joking. I scowl. I'm so tired right now I could breathe fire. I want to wipe that stupid grin off his face. At my expression, he ducks back behind his newspaper and allows it to unfold, revealing a page I hadn't originally seen.

I start and drop my spoon into my bowl with a clatter. The page has a large picture of a man's face on it…a face that greatly resembles mine. I launch myself across the table and snatch the paper from Axel's unsuspecting hands.

"What the-" he says in shock.

"Shh," I shush him, my tired eyes frantically scanning the page.

King Weatherly, a short two months away from his second anniversary at the throne, has finally made a decision regarding the economic state of his kingdom. His majesty says…

I don't read past that first sentence, instead focusing on the first two words. King Weatherly. King Weatherly? King Weatherly? My mind is reeling, and my temper is reaching a dangerous level. I look up from the picture and face it towards Axel.

"What the hell is this?" I whisper lowly. He glances at the page and pales. I'm enraged when he doesn't say anything. "Axel. What the hell is this?" I nearly shout.

"Iris, I know this looks bad, but-"

"Bad? Bad, Axel? That's the adjective you go for? Bad describes my hair right now. This isn't bad, Axel. This is disastrous!"

"I know, but-"

"You knew, didn't you?" I glare at him. He doesn't answer and looks away. "You did, didn't you? My brother has taken the throne, and you didn't say anything? You listened to me talk and cry about him, and you never once thought to say anything? You let me believe he was dead! Did you just think I wouldn't find out eventually?" I'm standing, my hands on the table. My eyes are shooting daggers into Axel's guilty face.

"I…I hoped you wouldn't," he mutters. I stare at him in shock, unable to compute what I'm hearing. Words don't come to me immediately, but when they finally do, it's as though all hell has broken loose.

"You bastard!" I shriek. I grab the bowl in front of me and throw it hard across the room. It shatters against the wall in a satisfying crash. I grab his plate and repeat the process. "You absolute bastard!" The fruit bowl smashes in an explosion of bright colors, but all I'm seeing is red. "You disgusting, vile, pathetic excuse of a man!" I scream as a few more dishes break. Axel is up now and coming around the table at me. The look in his eyes is a mixture of fear and anger, and I suddenly can't stand him. My palm makes contact with his cheek with a sickening smacking sound, but it's the most glorious thing I've ever heard at the moment. He steps back, shock all over his reddening face.

"Iris, I-" he starts, reaching for me. I hit him across the other cheek.

"No! Don't you dare touch me. You don't get to do this! You can't know something like this for so long and expect to just gloss over it when it's unveiled. You disgust me, Axel!" I shout in his face before running from the room. I'm halfway up the stairs when I hear his voice behind me.

"Iris, wait!" he shouts, and I can't tell if he's desperate or finally angry. I don't care. In the hallway, I knock down an elaborate vase and smile as it breaks into a million pieces. "Iris!" Axel shouts again, and I know this time; he's definitely angry. I'm breaking a number of his rules, after all.

I hurry into my bedroom and slam the door as he steps over the pieces of the vase. His hands slam against my door just as I lock it, and he growls at his denied entry.

"Iris, open the fucking door!"

"Go away!" I shout from the other side.

"Open this damn door now!" His fist is slamming against the wood, but I know he won't go so far as to break it down. I slam my fist against the door too, imitating him.

"Go. To. Hell!" I scream, enunciating each word with hits to the door.

"Only if you go first!" He shouts in response, and I hear him turn and start walking away. Hot, angry tears cascade down my face.

"I'm already there!"