Page 39 of Of Realms and Chaos

This time, I stifled my laugh as Adbeel slammed the door shut, rattling the paintings on the walls.

“He started it,” I said, smiling up at the male who raised me.

Adbeel Ayad was not a young male, but he was a formidable one. He stood tall, the two of us about eye-to-eye when next to one another. Where my skin was pale as ivory, his was a deep brown, kissed by the sun and wrinkling softly at his dark eyes and full mouth. His beard was neatly trimmed, sculpted to end an inch or so below his chin. Thick mahogany curls graced the top of his head, just short enough to not touch his shoulders. Built like any warrior and as graceful as any monarch, Adbeel was everything a realm could wish for in a ruler.

Those nearly black eyes were the same color as every member of the Ayad line, the portraits of his late family showing that the color had indeed passed on to the younglings he had hoped would rule. Life had not been kind to this king though, and instead a blue-eyed fae would take over his realm.

It was with that thought at the forefront of my mind that I noticed just how tired Adbeel looked. Which meant little grace for his “psychotic” ward. Bracing myself for the scolding of a lifetime, I straightened my back and squared my shoulders.

“Must we do this again, Bell? For so long, you have found outlets for that fire inside of you, and now after decades of peace, you decide to return to your horrid ways?” he said.

Oh, how I loathed that tone—one of a disappointed father speaking to a son, to a youngling. Despite never once calling me son, he had always treated me like one. Praise and punishment, teaching and guiding, it had all fallen onto Adbeel. Unfortunately for him, I was not a fan of being parented.

“You heard what he said. Whispers do not hide words from demon ears. Was I supposed to simply allow him to say those things about me? About her?” I asked, just as tired as he was.

Adbeel took in my disheveled appearance. I pictured the crusted blood, bruised cheek, and dented armor that he was seeing now. In comparison to his black form-fitting top and light blue vest, I must have looked a mess.

I hoped the velvet below me stained.

The king pulled out the chair beside me, sitting down with stiff limbs. An argument was brewing, and we both knew it. The only question left was who would break first.

After minutes passed in silence, Adbeel decided he would.

“Why her, Bellamy? There are so many females in Eoforhild, Revanche aside. We already deal with the demons dismissing your title, taking a fae bride will not help you any. She does not belong here, and protecting her will bring war to our doorstep.” He reached out, grabbing onto one of my hands and squeezing softly. The words made me tense, but the gesture calmed me, a painful contrast.

“If Solei had been fae, would you let the world tell you that she was unworthy of your hand?” I asked, doing my best to appeal to his emotions rather than allow my own to take over.

He ripped his hand away, standing up so quickly that the table shook. As he began to pace, I thought over what I could say that would convince him to allow us to bring the fight to Betovere when he was so intent on the opposite.

“You know I would have fought tooth and nail to keep her at my side, no matter what blood ran through her veins. Still, you are facing a predicament that is the fault of yourself. I told you that we were to leave her be, yet you went and stole her from our oldest enemies. Then, you bed her and expect the demons of your realm to bow down at her feet? This future you see, one which revolves around a female with something so clearly wicked in her veins, is not realistic. We must think like rulers, not like horny soldiers!”

With each sentence, his voice grew louder, reaching a shout so brash that I could hear the pattering of feet as servants and residents ran from the sound of their angry king. Tragic, the fear that he held over the demons but did not use. Such power with so little desire to utilize it. Monarchs should not rule over their realm without justice and kindness, but too much of such a sweet thing would rot the teeth.

“This visit is not about Asher or her right to be here. I came to talk about Betovere. They attempted to lay siege on Claud. We lost thirty-four civilians and twelve soldiers, as well as the village itself. Ninety-one demons remain wounded, most receiving treatment in the surrounding cities and villages. You have to see that we cannot remain on the defense, Adbeel. It is killing us to do so.”

Adbeel stopped, his shoulders tensing at my words. That was only one attack. The others had left even more wounded, even more dead. So many lost forever because we were not willing to take control of the inevitable war.

“You act as if I am not doing everything I can to protect the realm!” Adbeel’s shouts were punctuated with the raise of his hands, cutting through the air as if to silence any doubts within his own mind. “I have set up wards. I have widened The Mist. I am here in Andreia to make sure the Lords and Ladies are prepared for anything that might come their way. Everything that can be done—that should be done—is occurring as we speak. I am handling it in the only way that I can.”

“No, you are not! We sit back and allow innocents to die for our crimes, Adbeel! An entire village of fae that I promised sanctuary and a good life are gone. Mia rained the Underworld down upon them. My fae, my friends, my family. They bleed and suffer because we are not showing the Mounbetton’s that the demons should be feared rather than spit on.” My jaw strained and my head pounded as I spoke—the words barelling into my mind as if they hoped to end me with brute force. “Let me take my army to The Capital. Let me lay waste to the gold palace that saw the death of your son and daughter. Let me do this, not only for the realm or for you but for me. I deserve vengeance. I deserve their blood!”

“You deserve nothing, foolish male! Those fae who you will slaughter in order to get to the parents who abandoned you are just as innocent as the demons who cower in your presence! This war will not win you the crown you are so desperate to earn nor will it heal your broken soul. Accept that sometimes violence is not the answer. Understand that attacking now means only more death. We will strengthen our defenses, deploy our units across the realm, and remain vigilant. Send Noe to Betovere. Have her find and eliminate the traitor. That I will allow. That we can do. What we will not do is portal into a hostile area and send our subjects to the slaughter so that you can get what you think you are owed!”

Anger vibrated through me, my body shaking so viciously that my teeth chattered and my stomach churned. He would never understand what it meant to be unloved, but what I could not accept was that he did not clearly see how much loss we would suffer if we chose his route. The plan he laid out would buy us time, but only so much. Death would still wash over Eoforhild, and I refused to sit by and let it.

I smacked the table, the purple wood burning beneath my touch. With a finger in his face and fury in my eyes, I looked at the demon king, knowing that my next words would be my last to him for the foreseeable future.

“You will regret this when your lakes run red and your sky rains embers.”

Then, I portaled away, the force of time and space threatening to rip apart my body in the same way Adbeel had shredded my heart.

I appeared in an all-too-familiar room, the walls black and floors red. A bed in the center that was big enough to fit my entire family—the one I had found and formed on my own. On the desk to my right were vials and plants and papers full of healing remedies. To my left sat a vanity, cosmetics, and jewelry neatly organized on top of the shiny black marble. She had always found a way to make even her clutter appear beautiful, decorating the world with her joy and love and life. It seemed so horribly dull now, like her Sun magic had stolen light from us all when it returned to Stella in the Above—or wherever demons truly went to rest.

With trembling fingers, I picked up one of the gold bracelets that I had given her for Star Festival one year. The diamonds on it still sparkled, gleaming in the fading light from the window and casting rainbows onto the ceiling. I saw the tear splash against the black vanity before I realized that I was crying.

As if the first tear had brought the dam crashing down, I fell into a fit of sobs. With a resounding thud, my knees hit the ground, legs giving out. Suddenly I was fully shaking, not from anger but from sorrow. Clinging to the bracelet, I let the rest of my body hit the floor, my forehead against the cold marble.

“I miss you,” I whispered, speaking to no one and nothing but the dust in the air of my dead friend’s chambers. “Ranbir is a mess. He has been hiding away in the infirmary in Pike, not speaking other than when required. He does not eat or sleep, does not smile. You left, and you took him with you. I think you took a small part of all of us.”

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