My work done and my mood much improved, I straightened the map again. With one more look to the golden palace, I closed my eyes and made a choice.
Chapter Sixteen
Bellamy
Surely this was a dream.
It had to be, because there was no reality in which I should be gifted with a sight as magnificent as Asher descending the stairs in that dress. She was more beautiful than any painting, her red dress fitting to every curve and hollow of her body, her eyes alight with more joy than I had seen in them since our time in The Royal City. Perhaps even before then.
Maybe I was vain for thinking so, but I could not resist the idea that it was the sight of me waiting for her that brought that smile to her red lips. The color was a perfect match to her dress, the kohl that lined her eyelids coming out to a sharp point on the outer edges. She had rouge on her cheeks, the pink tint growing darker with each step she took my way.
Even with it all, I knew the allure was simply her. That biting humor of hers was always quick to remind others to remain humble. The way she demanded attention, authority coating her and dripping at the flick of her wrist or blink of her eye. Every kind and considerate thought she had. The way she seemed to gravitate towards aiding others. Her magic—the pure power of it enough to bring anyone to their knees. She was Eternity incarnate, a goddess walking among us.
Her exceptional temper and hesitancy to trust were endearing as well. No part of her was anything less than immaculate. Nothing other than perfect, for me, for Eoforhild, and for all of Alemthian. Asher was our savior, even if she did not know it.
I only wished she could see her own greatness, could sense that magic inside of her and see it for what it was—the answer.
As she closed the distance between us, her eyes glassy, I considered what I needed to give her to ensure she always had that smile—that joy.
The world. I would give her the world if I could.
But, as soon as it came, it vanished, replaced by a soft downturn of her lips and scrutinizing eyes. The novelty of my appearance had clearly worn off, and now, it was questions that filled her mind.
One moment, she was walking to me like a beacon in the night, and the next, she was right there—a breath away. I reached out my hand, and she placed hers into it without hesitation.
“Hello, Princess,” I whispered.
“Hello, demon,” she offered back through upturned lips.
Perhaps it was the high of being reminded that Asher chose me—that she was mine—which led me to snake my arms around her waist, spinning her around. Her melodic laughs filled the throne room, her head falling back and hair fanning out.
When I stopped, I made sure to tug her body even closer to mine, breathing her in. Asher smelled like vanilla and mint and the sun itself.
She pulled away, those big gray eyes boring into me, searching for answers. So many secrets I have kept from her, all wishing to be shared. I wanted to, so badly. She deserved that much, at least. But I could still hear the haunting way that Pino had warned me not to tell her until I could have the audience I needed, none of whom was more important than Adbeel. If he met her, he would understand. He would finally take action. I knew it.
“Okay, love birds, we do have company,” Henry said from behind us, his drawl casual. I turned, catching a glimpse of the smile that he attempted to hide with a roll of his eyes.
She is not doing well.
That was what Henry had said three days ago in a letter, telling me all about how badly she was suffering. I would help her. We would find allies and win the war. I would leave her with a castle and a throne and a better life.
Together, with aid, we could do this. She could be happy.
“I think it is you that is considered company, seeing as you are in my home.” The accent was quick and rolling, just as all residents of Behman. But the regal way she spoke the common tongue was what made her voice stand out above all others.
I released Asher from my hold, swiping my thumb across her cheek, before I turned to face the queen that we were supposed to be impressing.
She had not been too difficult when I first arrived. Unlike Asher and Henry, I had portaled straight into her castle, causing quite the scene in her throne room. Although in their defense, it had to be fairly scary for smoke-like shadows to appear out of nowhere, a male walking out as if he is death itself.
Shah had ordered her guards to halt, watching as I lifted my hands up, showing I was unarmed. Then, just for the flair of it, I had lit every wall sconce in the throne room, the hideous yellows and greens of the staircase nauseating under the firelight. Screams had rent the air, reminding me of the sweet sound of the fae at Asher’s so-called wedding. Oh, how I reveled in the fear that my parents had held in their eyes as well as the sound of my dagger cutting into that heinous mortal boy.
“Queen Shah,” I said, turning to face her as I bowed low.
She was wearing a gown made of purple silk, the fabric hugging every wide curve of her body and showing off what had once been sold away to a man three times her age. Despite being a couple of inches shorter than me, Shah held herself with the sort of confidence that made it seem as if she were towering over us all. Her liberation seemed to remind her of her worth, and she showed that now with her proud stance and commanding aura. As if she were screaming to us all that she was a ruler who deserved the crown atop her head.
Red bangles clinked together—at least ten bracelets stacked on each of her wrists. Her crown was gold, the intricate twists and curls of it reaching up towards the ceiling, meeting in a single point at the center.
None of that was what truly made her eye-catching though. No, it was Shah’s tattoos that drew attention. Her dark skin was covered in Behman tongue and images and seemingly random line work. None of it was unintentional. I had learned of the tradition of tattooing within this kingdom. Their desire to collect their victories, losses, and everything in between upon their skin, like memories that could not be forgotten.
