Page 88 of Of Realms and Chaos

Neither of us moved, our faces a mere foot away from one another.

“You are mistaken; my son is dead. You may go.” His words were laced with venom, spit from between clenched teeth. He was furious, but I was intimately aware of that type of fury, and I would not bow down to it.

“Did you ever see a body? Had anyone ever found him or been told he was dead? The fae never said anything other than sending you Zaib’s—”

“Stop!” Magic erupted from him, sending me careening back as light blinded me. I hit the wall that held the portraits so hard they rattled, the one of Malcolm that sat in the center falling and striking my head. Despite the pain, I dove to the side, catching the enormous piece before it could be damaged.

Adbeel portaled to my side, panic in his wide eyes. I went to reassure him, to say that it had not been ruined, but Adbeel was faster. He took the painting, lightly tossed it to the side, and grabbed my shoulders. With a firm hand, he began inspecting the gash on my forehead, which was leaking blood down my temple.

“That was inexcusable. I should never lay a hand on you, let alone use my magic to harm you. I am so, so sorry.” His pleading made me pause my attempt to stand. I looked at him, his sullen and worried expression so odd when paired with the problem at hand.

“It is fine. I am fine.” I stood, wiping at the blood with my sleeve and staining the cream shirt crimson. He watched me, his eyes glassy. Despite how much I wished I could help him, there was no changing this situation in a way that would do so.

“Did he look…okay?” Adbeel asked, clearing his throat and walking over to the blue chairs—sitting in the one on the left. I followed, slightly dizzy, and sat in the other. What Adbeel was not asking was obvious—did he seem as if he were there against his will?

“He appeared to be healthy. Honestly, Adbeel, he seemed more than willing to be there. There was a strange feel to the air around him—a wicked and cruel chill that made me uneasy.” Though he did not let the tears fall, the king had a troubled look to him, face grim and devoid of the color that signaled life. The sort of expression that I imagined only a father facing betrayal could conjure.

“Zaib used to argue with him about the fae. She would claim that they deserved a chance at peace, just as the demons did. Malcolm disagreed vehemently. His view was much like my own, destroy and eradicate them all before the war got out of hand.” He paused, unease momentarily taking over his face as he admitted to a rather hateful and bigoted way of thinking. “I just cannot imagine why he would want to help them.”

With a shake of my head, I tried to find the words to express what I thought. To explain that opportunities offered by an enemy were still opportunities. That to hold a broken crown and sit atop a bloody throne was just as pleasing to some as it was revolting to others. But how could I say something like that to a father who had grieved for centuries? To a father who had said goodbye, only to be forced to now raise his sword against his dead son?

“Do you think she is alive, too?” The broken and raspy question sounded more like an attempt at begging, as if he were asking the universe to let her still be breathing. Which was not possible seeing as Adbeel had received pieces of her.

It was an even more difficult question—one I could not properly answer without admitting that I had witnessed her death in the waters of a lake. That I had been shown visions of her dead body and witnessed what my mother would do after. Instead, I shook my head.

A few tears fell then, breaking through his will and running down his cheeks like water sneaking through a cracked dam. I feared what would happen when the dam broke and all of those built-up emotions came crashing through. Who would Adbeel be after?

“You remind me so much of her, you know.”

With a scoff, I settled into the chair, allowing my head to lean back and my eyes to fall closed. “I believe that some might consider that an insult to her memory, so I would refrain from saying such a thing in public.”

“You have this innate desire to dream, just like she did. I wonder what you could create, what you could accomplish, if given the chance.” I remained silent, contemplating what he said. I had never seen myself that way, someone who could finish what Zaib started. She was a beautiful soul based on the stories I had heard. No one would ever tell stories like that about me. “You thought I would be more concerned about the painting than you. Why?”

Laughing, I opened my eyes and looked at the king, his gaze on me. Though we were both relaxed against our chairs, the conversation was anything but tranquil.

“Interesting change of subject.” He did not share in my amusement, staring at me with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Clearing my throat, I tried to say aloud what I had always believed in my heart, even if I knew it did not apply to my own situation. “I guess I know how much those three portraits mean to you. No matter what your son did or does, he is still your blood. That portrait holds thousands of memories. Seeing it ruined would be devastating, I imagine.”

His frown deepened, creasing his face. I readjusted, feeling the need to move so the discomfort could not settle within me.

“I do not love Malcolm more than you, Bell. You are not my blood, but you are not any less my family than he was—is. That painting is an object. Irreplaceable in some ways, but infinitely less precious than you are.” He stared, likely waiting for me to acknowledge his words, but how could I? It was far from true. I was no more precious than a lump of rock. “It will be you who sits atop the throne of Eoforhild one day.”

I was not sure how one was supposed to act when finding out that their son had come back from the grave. However, there was not a single scenario in which I imagined the conversation turning to me and my future rule. I was not deserving of that throne, no matter how hard I tried to be.

“I know that is your plan, but I do not particularly desire to rule.” Not alone, that was.

“That is exactly why you are the best option, why you will do so well. It is why you deserve it.”

Hearing him say that brought back the memories of our last argument, the one in which he said I deserved nothing. Strange how I now agreed with the statement.

“We need to meet with the war council, Adbeel. Knowing that Malcolm is the one aiding the fae changes things. I have heard the stories of his magic, just as you are personally aware of his strength. I know this must be a lot to process, and I cannot begin to imagine what you are feeling, but taking an offensive approach has become a priority if we are going to survive this.” While it had to be said, I could not prevent the guilt from consuming me at the way he flinched.

He looked more than simply hurt or scared. He looked tired. Broken.

“Okay. Schedule a meeting, and I will come.” With that, he stood, making his way to the double doors behind us. I followed, so stunned by his concession that I had no words. Together, we exited his office, heading down the hallway towards his chambers. Did he want me to follow him? Was I being dense? “And after that, I want to meet my future queen.”

The request stopped me in my tracks, my heart racing. I knew what he meant, yet still, I feigned ignorance. “Who might that be?”

Adbeel stopped too, his eyes red from the tears shed but clearer than they had been mere minutes ago. “Oh, please. You know exactly who I mean. The reason I tried so hard to convince you to marry Revanche was not just for the strength of unity, but also because I am ready to get this fucking crown off my head. I want to move on. I want to know peace in this realm before my soul returns to the Above—before I reunite with my Solei.”

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