CHAPTER 166: KILLIAN

Aelin

The drawing room was quiet when I entered—sunlight slanting in from the tall windows, casting patterned shadows across the marble floor. The scent of citrus and fresh linen hung in the air, and the gentle clinking of porcelain announced the only other presence in the room.

Killian was already there.

The second prince of the human kingdom sat with the kind of effortless grace that came naturally to him. Long-limbed and sharply dressed, he lounged in the velvet armchair as if it had been made for him—ankle crossed over knee, tea in hand, his posture a perfect picture of restrained royalty. The maids had brought out an array of delicate fruit tarts and sugared almonds, untouched save for one half-bitten peach pastry resting on the rim of his plate.

He looked up when he heard me approach, blue eyes meeting mine with that unreadable calm of his.

I said nothing as I crossed the room and settled on the couch across from him, folding my hands in my lap, spine straight but not tense. A part of me—an older, duller part—waited for discomfort to creep in.

But it didn’t. Not this time.

"Aelin," he greeted, voice like silk with a subtle edge. "You look well."

Killian, my older brother who was only a year younger than Reagen.

The second prince. The one who never stayed at court long enough to become a part of the whispering walls. The one who never abused me, never defended me either—not out of malice, but because he’d never been there at all. A shadow on the edges of royal life. Too distant to harm, too distant to help.

One who never blamed me or ignored me—solely because he never got the chance.

"Killian," I replied smoothly. "What are you doing here?"

He set down his tea, fingers brushing the fine handle with care. "I’ve been tasked with transporting a few of the afflicted back to HavenMoore."

Afflicted. Right.

The human lost causes.

Of course there would be more. It wasn’t just demons who’d fallen to the black milk. The sickness had spread wider than anyone wanted to admit.

But there was a wide difference between the ratio of demons and humans. The human lost causes were quite less compared to the massive amounts of demons.

He continued, "I was returning from Cindralith, and the High Council issued orders to stop here. To make the transfer. And to see the cage, of course." His voice dropped just slightly. "Set an example."

I nodded once. It made sense.

"Then why ask to meet me?" I asked, watching him over the rim of my gaze.

He looked at me directly, his silver eyes softened with something unspoken. "To see how you were doing."

I blinked.

Then scoffed lightly. "You’ve never bothered to do that before." I felt a little annoyed at his words. Why would he do that all of the sudden?

Killian smiled faintly, tilting his head. "You’ve changed."

He said it simply. No fanfare, no hidden meaning. Just truth.

"Changed?" I frowned at him

He smiled as he nodded, "Yes, I see a lot of change. Good change." I blinked at him, "You’re confident now... And there’s no hint of fear in your eyes or expressions anymore."

!!!

His words caught me offguard

But

He was right. I wasn’t like this before. I was weird and timid and plain.

I held his gaze for a moment, then leaned back into the cushions, "I’m doing better than ever."

My fingers brushed the back of my hair, where the wingpin nestled just above the nape of my neck—mithril and sapphire, glinting when the light touched it. My thumb ran over it gently. I smiled again, softer this time.

"I’m happier here," I added. "More than I’ve ever been in your kingdom."

Killian looked at me for a long moment, something flickering behind his eyes—approval, perhaps. Or simply realization. But he didn’t argue.

He simply nodded once, slow and sincere.

"I’m glad," he said. "Truly."

"Why would you be glad I’m happy now? None of our family ever was."

Killian’s gaze faltered. His eyes shifted to the floor, then to the untouched pastry on his plate. "You’re right," he murmured. "They weren’t."

He didn’t have an answer. That silence said enough.

And somehow, it made my chest ache.

I barely touched my tea that the maid had already set for me, letting the warmth slip from the cup, untouched. The soft breeze outside carried the scent of flowers through the open windows, but none of it reached me.

My voice was quiet when I finally asked, "Was it because of Mother? Because she died because of me?"

Killian’s brow lifted slightly. I could see the hesitation in his eyes. But he didn’t lie.

"You didn’t kill her, Aelin," he said. "But... the blame fell on you. Her health was already fragile, which had dropped with your birth." He let out a soft sigh, "You can’t really blame a baby for that but I guess they did." We stared at each other, "and you took her out that day. To the abandoned garden."

The image of the day flashed before my mind.

I hadn’t forgotten it

I had come across the abandoned garden recently, many wild flowers were blooming there and I wanted to show mom. Because it was so pretty there.

I forced her to come out that day because it was a lovely sunny day. I thought she’d like it, and that maybe it would make her feel better.

I swallowed. The guilt curled in my chest, just like it always did. "I know," I whispered. "I was the one who insisted we go. I wanted to show her the butterflies that were abundant in the garden. I didn’t think... I didn’t think it would be the last thing I ever showed her."

I could never have imagined a demon would attack us there. The security was lax in that part and a demon came flying in out of nowhere.

It had arrows plunged in his body, it seemed like it was already being hunted and tried to escape here. The moment it landed in the garden my mother noticed it was in rage and pushed me behind her. The winged buffalo like demon with its red skin began smashing anything in its path

And then he saw us, which somehow made him go further into his rage.

"You were a child," Killian said gently. "You didn’t know any better."

I looked down at my hands, at the tiny ridges in my nails where I’d clenched my fists too tightly for too many years. "Maybe Raya and Reagen hated me because of that. Because I lived, and she didn’t. Maybe that was their excuse for treating me the way they did." Three other people lost their mother that day

So maybe I can understand their grief...

I raised my gaze to his. "But what about Father?"

Killian tensed, ever so slightly.

"If they were cruel because they were kids—grieving kids—then what about him? Why did he hate me like that? Like I was never his to begin with?" I asked him something that had bothered me for years,

He didn’t answer.

But I saw it then. The flicker in his eyes. The shift of his shoulders.

He knew.

I sat up straighter, heart slowly pounding. "Killian."

Still, he hesitated.

"Tell me." I asked softly, "You know, don’t you?" Father was distant even when mother was alive.

Why?

He exhaled, the weight of the breath thick in the air between us. "I-," he said, voice low, "It’s just that, when you were born... there was a mark on your forehead."

"What?"

"A symbol." He said, "The symbol of the sun."

My stomach dropped.

"And your eyes—when you first opened them, they weren’t blue." He looked at me carefully. "They were golden. Father saw it himself." He said softly, "And I did too. I was there."

Everything inside me stilled. My breath. My heartbeat.

"So," I said, barely able to form the words, "Father thinks I’m not really his."

Killian looked away. But then he nodded. "Perhaps. I heard he accused Mother of... cheating."

I blinked. My mouth opened, but no words came at first. Then finally—I reached up and pointed at my face. "But I look like the rest of you. I look like him. I have blue eyes. Blonde hair, Like all of you."

Killian nodded again. "The fact remained... when you were born, they were golden. Unnatural. And the sun mark..." He swallowed. "He believed Mother used magic. That she changed your eyes. That she tried to cover it up."

"That doesn’t make any sense," I whispered. "None of it makes any sense."

But Killian wasn’t finished. "He never let it go. He believed she did something to hide your ’filthy’ bloodline. And after she died... there was no one left to defend you."

I stared past him, at the bright sunlight pouring across the marble floor. "Then why didn’t he cast me out?"