Page 104 of Of Realms and Chaos

A king sat inside his castle, oblivious to the magic that coursed through the beautiful creature’s veins. All he could see was her startling exquisiteness. Her hair—pale as the moon—cascaded down her back in rings, flaring out and sparkling in the light of nearby Sun magic.

I thought back to Bellamy’s painting of Asta, her hair dark rather than light. It seemed like such an odd discrepancy. With a shrug of my shoulders, I read on.

It is said that when Asta’s eyes met Zohar’s, their souls bonded, a great merging that stole their autonomy. For they were not two but one. The mortals of Eoforhild would name the seventh day of the seventh month Star Festival, for it was the day when their queen came to them—a star from the heavens.

If Zohar had known his life would be ripped from him, would he still have gone to Asta? And if Asta had known she would be meeting the love of her life only to have him stolen from her later, would she still have come to Alemthian?

On my lap, Wrath nuzzled his head into my hand, eager for pets.

“What were you doing in here anyway?” My hand absently scratched under his chin as I looked down at him, his long tail swishing back and forth.

“Waiting for you, obviously.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Asher

The first five days consisted mostly of reading. I found myself skipping through books, desperately seeking any information. Nearly all the books had a sort of personal tone to them, as if they were written by those who experienced the events. It made everything sound skewed and unreliable, which proved true when I found two books that told the same story differently.

Only once did I explore, the temptation of the single door across from the library proving too much. I had made the decision to take a small peek while Wrath napped in our chambers, and I slid the door into the wall with the hopes of remaining unseen. When I had entered the room, I was graced with what almost appeared to be an office. There was glass everywhere, just as there seemed to be throughout the palace from what I had seen. A glass desk sat in front of a wall with glass shelving—books and rocks and glass symbols of the sky littering them.

The teal sun was setting, casting its bright rays upon the room and lighting it up with a haunting glow. To the left sat four enormous pillow-like spheres, the thick cushions set in a make-shift circle atop a white and black rug that depicted the night sky on one half and the light of day on the other. One was silver, one purple, one white, and one pink. A glass mug sat in front of each, clean by the looks of them. I walked over, not taking in the rest of the room as I honed in on the purple one. When I reached it, I bent my knees and brushed my fingers across what had to be velvet. Adding a bit more pressure, I found myself dipping forward.

My hand had sunk into the odd cushion, the inside beneath the velvet almost feeling like beads. Standing up, I straightened my long-sleeve cream dress before finally looking up to take in the rest of the room. There on the far wall, above a tall panel of glass that seemed to be protecting a pile of logs prepped for a fire, were four paintings. They were stunning, the portraits so life-like it almost felt as if the beings were watching me.

On the left was a male, his ebony skin standing out in stark contrast to his short gilded curls and vibrant golden eyes. He smiled brightly, a sort of wonder in his gaze that made him seem ever curious. His square jaw and high cheekbones were sharp in the way his slanted shoulders and full lips were not. He wore clothes the color of his hair, the shade of the sleek silk making my teeth grind.

To the right of that portrait was a female. Her skin was just slightly darker than mine, an earthy brown that appeared youthful despite the hardness in her siren eyes that made her look weathered. I gasped, noting that one of her irises was black while the other was white, matching the way her hair split in color down the middle with sleek black strands on the left and equally silky white locks on the right. Her face was nearly round, though the fullness of it could not stop her delicate chin from coming out to a point. She was imposing, her regal dress showing her shoulders and splitting down the center in color as well.

Next was a beautiful female with mischief in her slightly squinted bright green eyes, like perhaps she had been mid-laugh when the artist captured that stare. She had blonde hair as straight as the previous female’s, though her skin was ivory in all but her rosy cheeks. Her smile flashed brilliantly white teeth framed by petal-pink lips. She wore a dress that seemed to be a more modest version of the other female’s, the black on the left looking as if it had sucked the color from the white on the right at the spot where the fabric wrapped around her neck and met.

Last was a female with skin nearly identical to the first female’s, her cheeks stained pink as she beamed with joy. Her boisterous curls were too full to be captured, the silver coils disappearing into the glass frame on the sides. Her heart-shaped face and full lips made way for her hypnotic silver eyes, which matched the dress that came to pointed edges on her shoulders and dipped low between her breasts. She was beautiful, and she smiled like someone who never knew sorrow.

And though I had no proof, no reason to believe such a thing, my heart lurched at the idea that this female was the exact one who would one day sire the Ayad family line.

I left the room and never looked back.

On the sixth day, I still had not discovered any information that would help me. Wrath was quite pessimistic, though he was also eating something called caviar and lounging by fires daily, so it was safe to say that the little vermin was enjoying himself. If I were being honest, I would likely have explored other rooms and taken the time to relax if I was not absolutely positive that Bellamy was surely threatening to burn the world to the ground in my absence. The male was predictable that way.

I woke up in a particularly foul mood that morning. At least, that was what Wrath said when I swatted his paw away. Sitting up in my overly extravagant four-poster bed, I threw open the gray netted curtains with unnecessary force. My night clothes so far consisted of long-sleeved tops that buttoned up the center and trousers to match. They were soft and annoyingly comfortable.

Placing my feet into the fur-lined slippers beside my bed, I quickly padded across the lush gray rug, stopping in front of a thin door. With a soft tug, the door slid open, disappearing into the wall just as most of the doors did here. Inside, a far-too-large room was filled to the brim with clothing. All conveniently in my size.

The first dress that caught my eye today was one in a baby pink. The layers upon layers of gauzy fabric were cinched close to the torso but had been left loose for the skirts, allowing them to flare out. The straps were thin where they connected to the bodice and gradually grew thicker as they reached the shoulder, forming a sort of upside-down triangle. But the most extraordinary part of the dress were the pink rosebuds that had been sewn onto it. It reminded me of Mia.

With a sigh, I freed it from the hanger.

As I was getting dressed to go spend yet another day drowning in books with no rhyme or reason to their shelving, I realized that the clasp for the dress was strange. It was a sort of metal that had to be pulled upwards rather than fastened together, the metal teeth on either side joining as it slid. Knowing Wrath was without opposable thumbs meant I would be forced to find help or do it myself.

During my time walking between the library and my rooms, I had yet to see another creature roaming the halls. I was convinced that Padon had made sure of that, despite explicitly saying that Wrath had been ordering around servants. When I asked the dalistori about it, he merely shrugged and said that he had not seen the servants again either. Only Padon was ever around, bringing us food and bothering me endlessly.

I would not ask him to close my dress. I just would not. So, instead, I got creative.

Reaching up, I pulled down the wire hanger that had once held the dress. Then I began bending and unwinding it, creating a sort of hook. After securing the curved end to the metal piece on my dress, I grabbed onto the opposite end and tugged upwards.

As usual, I made a mess of the situation.

The closure flew upwards, stilling the wire. Unfortunately, it was slippery, so the momentum of my hands forced them to keep moving even without the wire within my grasp. My arms swung, sending my upper half careening forward. I smacked into the shelf that I had been storing my dagger and sheath upon, hitting my elbow against the weapon. Both the sheathed dagger and I fell to the ground with a loud thud, shaking shoes loose from the other shelves. A heel landed on my cheek, stabbing into me with bruising force.

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