Page 44 of Of Realms and Chaos

I shoved past Henry, taking several steps forward to ensure the mortal could see me. It was time I finally let the world know who I really was.

“I am Asher Daniox, The Manipulator. The rightful ruler of Betovere”—debatable—“and I come to seek an audience with your queen.”

With that, I bowed low at the waist, my eyes trained on the overgrown grass below my feet.

For a few moments, I was met with only the sounds of the insects that invaded these lands, the man’s silence both terrifying and enraging. My breaths halted, holding in that fury.

Something deep inside of my chest seemed to stir, encouraging me to simply end him and storm my way through the castle. I desperately wanted to. Failure was not an option—at least, not for me.

“Queen Shah will see you. Follow me.” The moment I heard his steps begin to retreat, I straightened, blowing out that breath I had been holding.

“Took him long enough,” I grumbled, much to Henry’s delight.

The Sun beside me shoved both hands into the pockets of his trousers, the scrunching of his shoulders causing the lapels on his jacket to go askew once more. A groan left my lips as he flashed me a smile and started walking forward, a skip to his step that was far too nonchalant for how dire the situation was.

Begrudgingly, I followed behind him rather than stepping up to his side. Tiny gray hairs still littered my red dress, woven in so deeply that I had to pick them out as we walked. With my attention focused downwards, I did not realize how drastically the scenery changed until Henry’s shocked gasp cut through the silence.

My head flew up, the haunting imagery stopping me in my tracks. The archway opened up to a desolate courtyard, the gray stones—cracked and stained with what appeared to be blood—towered above us on the left and right. It seemed to be a long, rectangular-shaped entrance to the castle ahead. Less foliage had taken up residence here, but there were more than enough burned flags and broken weapons to clutter the space.

It looks like a graveyard.

Henry’s mental voice was loud, a startled shout. His outer demeanor was much the same. His wide eyes and faintly parted lips told anyone watching everything they needed to know about him.

I forced my expression to be the opposite, to hold in every fear and horrible thought. To not let the images of bodies crumpling onto wooden stages and younglings covered in blood in front of white cottages affect me. Every rusted sword and burnt piece of cloth threatened to drag me into the sea of despair that I had been fighting against for two hundred years.

Not today.

I would not let it win.

The man ahead of us, who had not bothered to slow down or even introduce himself, continued walking on as if nothing were amiss. Perhaps it was not. None of this looked new, nor did it appear that Queen Shah had her sights set on cleaning it up any time soon.

I reached out to Henry, grabbing his hand and tugging him forward at a faster pace. Gone was the childlike charm that had him smiling moments ago, but I would not let him stumble.

Keep your eyes forward. Think of nothing. Do not let yourself be vulnerable here. Not yet. Walk.

His hand tightened within mine, the grip almost painful. I did not care though, not if it meant he had heard and would heed my warning. With every ounce of strength I possessed, I forced myself to stare straight ahead at the true entrance to the castle.

Similar to the gate behind us, the double doors ahead were a faded and splintered wood, entirely plain and bleak—a lifeless rendering of the hollowness that can come with royalty.

It was quite the opposite of the ostentatious castle that Xavier and Mia resided in at this very moment. What a tragedy, to bear witness to the beauty given to the cruel and the pain given to the kind.

If there were any gods out there, then they were no friends of mine.

The man stopped at the doors, pulling them open with a strained heave. His breath caught, the rise and fall of his shoulders speeding up. Mortals were weaker. I knew that much.

Unless they were in a violent rage and their future wife was nearby, prepared to provoke them.

No. Not the right time to think of something like that.

A faint golden glow could be seen from the entryway as we grew near. When the man finally had the doors open fully, a slight sheen of sweat adorning his face, Henry and I got our first real glimpse of what life for Shah was like.

In comparison to the exterior, the inside of the castle was far more grand. Not the same extravagance most royals would deem necessary for their residence, but also not an eerie shrine to war and loss either.

The floors were a bold green that reminded me of Winona’s hair, though the shade was not nearly as beautiful as hers had been.

The walls, on the other hand, were a dreadful yellow. Not the shade of the sun or the center of a daisy. Nothing alluring like that. This was far more vibrant; so bright that it stung my eyes to look at for too long.

Color notwithstanding, the shine and life of the inside was spectacular. Oil paintings sporting an assortment of sceneries graced the yellow walls and red roses in purple vases sat atop pristine wooden tables barely big enough to hold them. The ceiling stretched up to the top floor. A staircase hugged the wall to our right, wrapping up to the very top—landings on each level allowing for access to whatever rooms residents lived within.

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