For a while, it was fine. Things had been smooth, and we really did all get along well enough. There were many good memories from those early years. So many that I had struggled with the idea of not being his friend when I realized he no longer even liked me. Not only was I a rather angry and hateful thing, but by the time I reached half a century, I had grown in power immensely. I was a force of nature, someone most feared but many still revered. At the center of attention in every circumstance, was me.
Engle did not like that.
“Move,” I said between clenched teeth, trying to remain calm while my magic and power fought to escape me.
Killing him would be so easy, like smearing an insect across the ground or wiping a spill from a table. He was a pest—a poisonous one. Like his father and sister, Engle was power-hungry and manipulative, which was a danger to any monarch.
I wanted to smash his face into a rock.
“Oh, the big bad Bellamy told me to move. I am shaking in my boots. Please, My Prince, do not harm me.” His tone was mocking, both hands reaching up to rest on his cheeks in false fear.
For a moment, I wondered what life would have been like if Engle had not been so competitive. Would he be one of my captains too? Would he be at my side instead of in my way, prepared to yell at our superiors—our fathers? Perhaps I could still appeal to that side of him.
“Engle, this is ridiculous. We have the same desire—to keep the demons safe from the enemy. I need to get into that room so that I can protect Eoforhild. Please, let me pass,” I said, my tone soft and friendly.
Long gone was the violent and uncontrolled Bellamy. I was different now. Not only for myself and my realm but for Asher. She deserved better than a maniac with a taste for blood. Today was a misstep, but a reasonable one. We needed to fight back, and I had. Even so, I could be civil with this demon, my once comrade.
“You know what? You are right. We should all be putting feuds and discomfort aside to rid ourselves of the enemy,” Engle said, a small smile lifting his cheeks.
I nodded with a smile of my own, eager to simply move on from the petty rivalry. When I breathed a sigh of relief and attempted to step forward, Engle moved with me, that smile morphing into a wicked thing. He reached out, grabbing onto my arm and digging his fingers into my flesh. I froze, forcing myself not to move. If I did, all I would do was kill the fucker.
Engle leaned in, his lips nearly grazing my pointed ears, the very things that marked me as so clearly other.
“You are the enemy, fae filth. Do not for a moment believe that we accept you—that we want you—as our prince. Do not for a moment believe that we will not revolt the instant Adbeel puts his obsidian crown upon your wretched head. One day, you will get what is coming to you. When that day comes, know that it will be me who rips your heart from your chest.”
Breathe in. Breathe out.
It meant nothing. He meant nothing. They had accepted me. Most of them, that was. I was enough. I had to be enough.
“And Revanche told me about that fae princess of yours. She sounded quite ravishing. Fear not, I will take good care of her when you return to the gods, My Prince.”
What happened next was a blur. One second Engle was beside me, his foul breath in my ear and fingers wrapped around my arm. Then the next, the Moon was on the ground, my fists pounding into his face over and over and over again.
The thuds of my knuckles connecting to his skull and then his skull smashing into the marble below rang through the violet hall—the beat of war.
“Come for me. Just try it. I will burn every last one of you to dust,” I said between punches, Engle’s blood staining the velvet purple tunic he wore. It splashed up, hitting my cheeks and my obsidian armor and mixing with the filthy fae blood he so despised.
I paused, wanting to make sure that he heard every word I said. Wanting to relish in the way they tasted coming from my lips. Engle did not open his eyes, both of them bloody and swollen, but I knew that he was listening. I ran my finger across one of his ears, slowly tracing the curve of it, then I leaned in, letting my breath hit his skin in the same way his had hit mine.
“Know this. If you touch a single hair on Asher’s head, I will peel off your nails and feed them to you. After, I will cut your limbs off one by one with a rusted and dull knife. When you are begging for death and the loss of blood is slowly driving you mad, I will have my filthy fae Healer seal your wounds and nail you to your hideous violet door. Then, just to remind you which of us is stronger—which of us matters more—I will place that obsidian crown atop my head and carve her name into your fucking chest.”
Just as I finished my threat, the doors behind us swung open. I turned, glaring up at King Adbeel and Lord Judson and taking in their faces full of stunned horror. With all the grace of a crowned prince, I stood, dusting off the bloody shoulders of my armor.
“Remember who you are, Engle, for there are many who would kill to remind you.” At that, I pivoted and marched into the meeting room.
So much for no longer being violent and uncontrolled.
Behind me, I heard Judson’s voice raise to a shout, his dramatics exhausting.
“Are you going to let that psychopath get away with this, Adbeel? He is out of control, a danger to the realm! Look at my son’s face!”
With very little care for Judson or Engle’s feelings, I dropped myself into one of the violet seats, the relief of the heavily cushioned chair pulling a groan from my lips. At least Judson’s tackiness did not prevent comfort.
“The male is fine. He should not start what he cannot finish,” Adbeel said with a sigh. I laughed, loud and unencumbered, knowing it would help little. “Now, take him to see a medic.”
I heard the loud huff of anger that came from Judson then the sound of Adbeel reentering the meeting room. Looking over my shoulder, I watched Adbeel begin to close the door, stopping just before it clicked shut.
He leaned out, his voice quiet and lethal, the younger version of the demon king coming out to play. “You too ought to remember your place, Lord Judson. That tongue better recall how to say My King or, perhaps, it should be removed.”
