Page 33 of Of Realms and Chaos

They both stared up at me as I towered over them, a looming presence that promised only pain and death. The things I had to do to be heard were utterly absurd.

“A day. That is how long you have been bickering. A full day of me listening to your pointless fights when we should have been deciding where to go next.”

Pressing further, my power hummed, enthusiastic about this new experience. I had never gone so deeply into a creature’s mind, burrowed myself into the very core of something in such a way. The darker side of myself, The Manipulator I kept hidden away, urged me to kill them for their insolence and end my suffering. Despite my love for Henry and my quickly growing affection for Wrath, I had to fight back against those urges.

“Now, I would never dare tell you that you are not allowed to disagree. Honestly, you can rip each other apart if you would like, but do it when we have successfully formed alliances with these mortal kingdoms and—ideally—found a horrifying and deadly creature or two.”

With that, I released them, listening as they gasped for air. Had I been halting their breathing? If so, it was not intentional. I considered saying that, but their gazes left me and moved to each other, the silent jabs vexing enough to stop me from apologizing.

How had I surrounded myself with imbeciles again?

Ignoring the demon and the dalistori the best I could, I reached over and snatched the rolled map off the bed, making my way to the table.

Our room at this inn was far nicer than the others we had chosen. It had a bed large enough for both Wrath and I to sleep in, though the scratchy, dingy yellow quilt and the stained pillows were not the best. The lighting was dull, only a single small window and one nearly spent candle offering sanctuary from the darkness.

Unless you were a Sun, then you would probably juggle balls of light for the fun of annoying a sleeping dalistori.

A sofa that barely held three-quarters of Henry’s body sat in the far-right corner, sporting violently red cushions with what looked to be burn marks atop worn wood. Henry had been particularly floored when Wrath claimed the bed alongside me, which meant that he now had to resort to curling up on the sofa. I offered him the bed with the dalistori, but that led to him nearly ripping my head off too.

Opposite of it was the table, wood also worn but more of a yellow hue rather than the cherry color of the sofa. The ground below our feet creaked, chunks missing from the planks. I had tripped twice already, nearly shattering my ankle the second time.

A long, long night and day it had been. Sighing, I contemplated our next move.

Behman was the smallest of the six kingdoms, sitting at the northern tip of the continent. Each kingdom had a capital city at the very center, home of the royal family that sat atop the throne. In Behman, that city was called Jore.

Unrolling the map, I grabbed onto four small rocks, using them to hold down the corners. The mortals had an affinity for detail, that much was clear. Though they lacked the level of wealth and resources that the demons and fae had in abundance, they made up for it in innovation. Every aspect of the map in front of us showed that.

Villages and cities were surrounded by dirt roads, connecting them for better accessibility. Brothels, markets, inns, and all types of businesses littered the map, marked with what I assumed was immaculate precision. If we had the desire, we could very easily get from this small coastal village of Takort to the overly large city of Jore without magic.

Time was limited, though. Sightseeing and gallivanting about was not ideal or even realistic. We needed to convince Queen Shah that we were a worthy investment and a reasonable risk. I would be staking my claim as the rightful ruler of Betovere—preparing to end the tyranny of the Mounbetton’s.

Every word we said, every move we made, every promise we gave would need to be tirelessly calculated and flawlessly executed. There was no room for mistakes anymore. Our only hope of minimizing casualties was having enough support to force the fae royals to pause.

Yet how could we convince foreign kingdoms to stand by our side? To possibly fight in a revolution that had nothing to do with them? This would not be a simple conversation. It would be us begging them to potentially send their people to the slaughter.

We were out of our depth, dreadfully unprepared, and only seconds away from the palace gates if we portaled there.

I tried to think of all the training I had gone through, the hours upon hours spent at that table listening to the royal court argue and bicker.

Xavier’s voice resonated in my mind, telling me to remember my strengths—to assess what I did and did not know, to listen and learn.

The fae king was brilliant at that. He would ascertain a solution simply by bearing witness to the situation. Not a day had gone by without him etching the makings of a monarch into my mind—my soul. Mia, too, had prepared me for a future of sitting on a throne and ruling an entire realm. They might not have loved me, but they had made sure I would be a great leader.

No matter my failings, I had been raised to be a queen. It was my destiny.

Henry and Wrath had remained silent, taking up my flanks as I stared down at the map, my fists bunched and mind reeling. After another minute passed in silence, Wrath jumped atop the table, his head cocked to the side as he, too, took in the sight of Jore to the north of Takort.

“What do we know about Shah?” I asked, my eyes still trained on the city.

Henry’s low timbre sounded from my left, “She is twenty-nine years of age, widowed two years ago when her king consort died of a mortal disease that attacks the lungs, a dedicated philanthropist, and loved dearly by her people. Nothing that I can think of would be valuable when we go to see her.”

I nodded, remembering all of that from when we first planned out our route through the Mortal Realm.

“Oh, one interesting fact I learned yesterday: she changed her family crest when she came into power about seven years ago. What used to be a green and yellow snake wrapped around a sword is now a crowned raven in red and purple. I thought that was strange,” Henry added nonchalantly.

His words pulled me out of my trance, my head jerking towards him. A young widow, an even younger queen. She had come into power early on, likely married not long after. Following the death of the monarchs before her, she changed her family crest. Those were sacred symbols to the fae, and seemingly the demons as well.

That was the important part. If the mortals cared even half as much as we did about sigils, then what she did was likely unheard of.

---