Page 51 of Of Realms and Chaos

Asher

Shah was stunning. Not just because of her bright smile and intricate tattoos, but because of her soul. For so long, I had hated my gifts, thinking them a curse—a plague. But when Shah’s thoughts had screamed out, my power flocking to her like a starving animal seeing food for the first time, I realized how much of a blessing they could be.

While everything went downhill around us, I listened as Shah shared memories and stories of her past. I bore witness to the pain inflicted upon her—both mentally and physically—by her late husband. At a speed that nearly left me lost in her mind, we had sailed through her memories, watching as she grew and matured. Witnessing the increasing panic in her words and thoughts as her parents fell sicker. Feeling the dread weighing heavier and heavier on her heart the days leading up to her wedding.

Shah, as formidable as she seemed beside me at dinner, had been too scared to do anything other than listen. When her parents died days after her wedding to a manipulative and violent lord, she allowed herself to be meek, malleable. Every day for eleven years, she felt more and more of herself being chipped away.

Until one day, she snapped.

I would not tell anyone that Shah had murdered her husband, because she did not deserve to be punished for doling out retribution that was more than deserved. Watching him choke and sputter and whip his hands out as she suffocated him with his own pillow was so satisfying that I nearly pulled out of her mind and jumped with joy.

But then, disaster struck.

The attack started in the middle of the night, nine days after Queen Shah had announced she would not be taking a new consort.

When she awoke to people slaughtering her guards en masse and burning the Behman flag, Shah had been terrified. But she had refused to be weak any longer. Her rabid and desperate screams had rang through the then pristine courtyard as she swung her father’s sword.

The first man she cut down had brought her to tears.

The eighth brought her to her knees.

And when the sun rose the next morning—shining light on the gore-filled courtyard—so did the Queen of Behman.

The next day, with a dislocated shoulder, a sliced thigh, and a vengeful heart, Shah changed the sigil that had represented her home for centuries.

Now, as I walked through her castle, I noted how most of the rooms were still that horrible yellow and green combination. Did it bother her to see signs of what had once been but would never be again? Did she still feel the horrid chill of Lord Starsh, his foul breath and sharp words and heavy hands haunting her as she walked her own halls?

I know I had. I used to think that it was the lack of decoration in the palace of The Capital that made it feel like anything but home. Now though, I wonder if it was my body taking note of something my mind had not—that place would never be anything other than a gilded prison.

Was it the same for Shah?

When we strategized tomorrow, I would have to fight the urge to ask her. The three of us continued through the halls, making our way to the rooms Shah offered us for the night. Bellamy led the way, already having been to the rooms earlier. Wrath would be furious when he realized that we were not coming back tonight.

“You have some serious explaining to do, Daniox,” Henry said from my side. I laughed as he nudged me, the weight that had been on my chest since I first decided we would come here finally lifting.

I did it.

Just as I was about to tell them both to mind their business, seeing as Shah’s story was not mine to tell, a voice that made my nerves skyrocket and my power buzz inside my chest sounded behind us.

“What kind of trickery have you used to sway Shah?” Genevieve was angry by the tone of her words, the volume of her voice slowly increasing as she spoke. “You wretched little monster! First, you steal my brother away from us, and now, you want to attempt to lead the only considerate and honest ruler in the Mortal Realm to her death? Have you not ruined enough of the world yet?”

Her finger was inches from my face, the two of us standing at the same height. Princess Genevieve Windsor was as imposing as she was glamorous. The scowl on her face seemed permanent, though even that did not affect her perfectly painted on cosmetics. Golden curls fanned out from her head, each ringlet silky and soft.

She reminded me so much of Sterling I thought I might be sick. Even the brown of her eyes was that same lovely chocolate color of his. Just looking into them for a moment sent waves of pain through my abdomen, the grimy feel of hands exploring my body making me tense.

Or perhaps it was her words that made my teeth grind and tears prick my eyes. They stung because they were far more accurate than she realized. I had ruined so much, had been the thief of countless lives. The acid in her tone was deserved.

One thing I would not stand for, was her attempting to make her brother out as the victim. I was many things, but Sterling Windsor’s abuser was not one of them.

“Oh, your wonderful, innocent brother. The very one who beat me to near death and threatened to rape me on our wedding night. Truly, what a prize. So glad I stole him.”

Surprise flitted across her face as she stumbled back. Briefly, I wondered what Sterling had been like before he arrived in Betovere last summer. Just as quickly as the curiosity came, it faded away, my anger at the family rising quickly. Genevieve recovered fast too, that scowl pinching her beautiful face once more.

“Yes, you seem to be quite traumatized. Tell me, did my brother’s supposed abuse lead you to the cock of a demon, or had you already been fucking The Elemental before then? What a way to heal, beneath the body of a murderer. Then again, I guess you have killed just as many innocents—”

Henry’s hands lit up, the startling white of his Sun magic burning my eyes. Genevieve squealed as Henry approached her, his anger tangible through his magic.

“How dare you speak to her like that, you inferior mortal! You are lucky to be in her presence, lucky to meet someone as brave as she is!” His shouts drew the attention of four guards clad in the same navy and forest greens as Genevieve. They hastily came our way, unsheathing their swords as they ran.

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