Page 16 of Of Realms and Chaos

I smiled at that, the idea of such peace existing. This world took so often and with little regard for those it stole from. Younglings deserved joy, as we all did, and it was nice to know that someone had that somewhere.

When the door swung open, I was met with a pair of wide brown eyes. The female stood before us, her long brown skirt and loose white top billowing in the wind that pushed through the open doorway. Her hair was also brown, cropped short to her head. She had high cheekbones and thin lips, her eyes taking up so much of her face that she looked eternally youthful—like a child or a youngling.

“Bronagh, I am so glad we caught you before you left,” Bellamy said.

He leaned down to pull the small female into him. The embrace was tender, almost familial. Her lips spread into one of the widest smiles I had ever seen, bordering on unsettling in its appearance. A chill snaked up my back causing the hairs on my arms to rise. Something was not right, clearly, but Bellamy seemed more than comfortable in her presence. So when her melodic voice, soft and enchanting, welcomed us both inside, I followed him through the doorway.

Bronagh’s home was warm and inviting, the mismatched furniture and woodsy smell creating a comforting atmosphere. The soft, yellow glow of the candles was unexpected, as I had yet to see any area lit by anything other than demon light. Yet she had them everywhere, wax coating the counters and tables and even the floor in some places.

One thing was noticeably absent: toys. There was no sign of a youngling’s presence other than the shoes on the doorstep.

“What brings you here today, Bell?” she asked, her tone affectionate in the way a mother’s was to their child. I looked between the two, suddenly realizing that I was not aware of how they knew one another.

In that moment, it was hard not to wonder who Bellamy’s mother was. I had never asked before. Not because I was not curious, but because I had not thought it was my place seeing as he had not brought it up in conversation—had not even hinted at a mother at all. But now, with so much between us and an uncertain future, was Bellamy introducing me to her?

With impressive speed, my palms began to sweat.

“There is news on Betovere that I figured you would be interested in hearing,” he said, lifting his shoulders as if the topic were no more than small talk.

Neither Bronagh nor I were fooled.

“Well, how considerate of you. And I am sure this beautiful female beside you has absolutely nothing to do with your visit today?” she said, eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

I could not stop the laugh that slipped from my lips at her sarcasm. Bronagh practically lit up at my amusement, flashing that same too-large grin and winking at me. Bellamy smiled too, his own chuckles echoing through the home.

“You got me. I was being honest about Betovere though, things are not well. I believe you will be called back to base sooner rather than later,” he said.

No one could deny the way that the air seemed to charge, a furious and sorrowful mood settling in between us all. They scared me, the emotions pouring off of the female. Every instinct told me to run, to cower—to get as far from her as I possibly could. Without thought, I stepped closer to Bellamy, our hands touching ever so gently.

“This is Asher. She is my—”

And then Bellamy hit the floor. His hand gripping his chest, and his scream piercing in its volume.

Bronagh and I both dropped to our knees, clutching at him and begging him to speak. To say anything. To tell us how to help.

Ten agonizing seconds passed before Bellamy’s wide eyes met mine. I knew then what had happened. Pino had told us, and we were foolish to think we could be prepared. More than that, it would explain the horror on his face and the pain in his eyes.

Bellamy could feel his wards shattering.

“They are attacking.”

Chapter Five

Asher

Chaos. That was the only word that came to mind as we portaled into Haven.

We landed in the middle of the town square, a beautiful stone fountain in the center pouring bloody water like whimsical gore. My heart lurched at the sight of the white houses that now bore streaks of red, hundreds of previously unsuspecting fae leaving those homes behind to fight or run for their lives. With The Mist to the north and the warded Forest of Tragedies to the south, the inhabitants of Haven would have nowhere to run.

A fierce rage built inside of me as the Golden Guard—the formal title for the fae forces—tore through unarmed males, females, and even younglings.

I would kill them all. I would torture and maim them. I would rip them apart limb from limb.

My feet moved before my brain had fully processed the scene in front of me. My flimsy dress was catching in the wind, slowing me down as it wrapped around my legs. But there had been no time to change, no time to do anything other than grab our weapons. Now I was running at a nearby guard that had a female on her knees in front of him, smirking at her ripped dress and exposed breasts. She cried, begging for mercy, and he laughed.

I swung my sword, cutting through flesh and bone—shattering his skull and slicing his eye in half. He fell, screaming on the ground before lying limp seconds later.

To my left, a guard was using her power to shove seawater down the throat of a fae who had been darting for the forest. He writhed on the ground, his body convulsing as he struggled to resist the water that was being forced into his lungs. I grabbed onto her mind, shattering it quickly before moving on.

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