At Reigns End
T he Seelie King stared out to the ocean that surrounded the kingdom of Dana. His hands were clasped firmly behind his back. The wind rustled against his long, dark hair as he glared at the horizon. There were several tense moments of silence before the king finally turned to Weylyn.
His smile was a cruel, vicious thing. It did not inspire fear in Weylyn, but he wanted to rip his lips from his face. He wanted to lunge across the space that separated them and kill.
Whenever he looked at the Seelie King, all he could see was the blood of his sister, tainting the ground. That cruel smirk. The vicious laugh as he left them for dead.
For years, Weylyn had dragged himself on his knees behind the king. For years, he had become the king’s fucking dog, if only for this single moment in time to occur.
For the king to trust him enough for them to be alone together.
“Two more Elementals,” the king said. “Two more and we will have an advantage over the emperor. Two more and we will be free.”
Weylyn nodded, though remained silent.
“What is this Elemental capable of?” the king asked. “Is she as worthless as the rest of them?”
Weylyn gritted his teeth. “No.”
He’d have his tongue for that comment. This he vowed.
“Good. We need stronger Fae to help us win this fight. The slaves here are building up their strength, but they still make a pathetic display.” He walked his way towards the throne he had claimed as his own and sat down. Tall. Regal. Arrogant. “Now tell me what happened. Spare no detail.” He leaned back and waited impatiently for Weylyn to recount the events.
“Would you prefer I show you, Your Majesty?” he asked, stepping closer.
The king’s brows rose. “Yes.”
“A brief pinch of pain, Your Majesty.” Weylyn lifted his finger as he approached. “And you will see the truth as I have.” And then Weylyn pressed his finger to the king’s forehead.
The Seelie King seized as his mind was assaulted with memory after memory. They invaded every part of him, a consuming force, and Weylyn did not relent. He let the past invade. Every single painful recollection. Slashes of swords. Cruel laughter. The flow of blood.
Death.
Weylyn pulled away and the king slumped on the throne. He looked up almost weakly, staring at Weylyn no longer with confidence, but with fear and anger, as if he were seeing him for the first time.
“Y-you—”
Weylyn smiled. “Yes,” he whispered. “ Me .”
And finally, he lunged for the Seelie King.
All the anger and pain he’d harbored for years pushed him faster. The king had no time to blink. To react. To lash out that mysterious magic of his. He opened his mouth in a silent scream right before Weylyn’s nails dug into his thick neck.
He fought back, ancient years of strength evident in the blows he dealt Weylyn’s body. Those years of life and experience were nothing compared to the anguish Weylyn had swallowed whole and let consume him. But when the king’s mysterious magic lashed out, crashing against him, he was unprepared for how much it would hurt. The impact made his teeth chatter together and his vision blur. The metallic taste of blood coated the inside of his cheeks and he grunted, digging his nails in deeper and refusing to let go.
“Treacherous bastard,” the king managed to spit out. “I will end you.”
His magic fractured something inside of Weylyn. His bones, his vital organs. Weylyn was not so sure, but the pain was a crippling force that brought him slamming down to his knees. His fingers slipped from the king’s neck a fraction and what little advantage he had seemed to have slipped through his fingers...
No! This could not be it. This could not be the end. He vowed over and over he would avenge his sister.
And so he would.
With a growl of savage rage, Weylyn lifted on his knees, lunging with both hands for the Seelie King. They wrapped around his thickly corded throat and the rapid pulse that beat there. He fought through the hold of that dark magic, something akin to death itself, and held on tightly.
Weylyn let loose his own magic just then. His mind reached out, tearing through the barriers of the king’s, and injected him with images far more potent than any venom or violence could ever be. His weapon of choice had always been secrets. His greatest strength was watching from the shadows and collecting images into the darkest pockets of his mind for a time he’d need them most.
That time had come.
A shroud swept over the king’s vision and he screamed, thrashing like a wild man as the same scene took flight over and over again within his cruel mind. He’d been unsure it would truly work on the king. But even the bravest trembled when their nightmares were given form. Even the bravest trembled when they were forced to watch themselves die time and time again.
The vision he’d implanted gripped the king like a vice until he succumbed to his tears. That bit of weakness seemed to make him thrash harder, stronger. Strong enough that Weylyn’s hold on the cretin slipped. Magic blast him backwards and he landed hard against his back, the blood of the king dripping from his fingertips.
The king fought against the images of death. He was strong, and tore through it momentarily. A crazed look pushed past the usually perfect picture of composure he made. He snarled, his lip peeled back, canines flashing like a threat. And he lunged–
But froze as a gust of wind held him in a tight and deadly grip.
Weylyn smiled as he pushed himself up on bloody fingertips and turned to meet his mate and the absolutely lethal expression she wore.
“Do not,” she gritted out, “touch my mate.”
The king’s eyes widened as Bryson stepped deeper into the room. Her hand splayed out in front of her, pointed in the king’s direction, her brown-white eyes wearing an expression of absolute hatred.
“Do it, Weylyn,” she whispered. “The king isn’t going anywhere .” As if to prove her point, her magic wiggled him about in a way that was mostly comical.
Weylyn smirked and prowled close to the king. He floated, his feet dangling close to the floor. From that position, the king overlooked him, but Weylyn felt far taller.
Decades of pent-up rage unleashed. The years Weylyn spent allowing himself to be humiliated by this Fae and his ilk. Years of degrading himself in the most vile of ways, of bending the knee to his sister’s murderer. It had all led to this.
And suddenly, Weylyn could not contain the feral part of him that wanted revenge any longer. He’d wanted him to suffer but now, all he wanted was him dead.
His fingers raked out, slashing across the king’s chest. Over and over again, he screamed his rage and his pain and drew blood from the monarch who had ruined his life so long ago. He scraped past robes and tunic and down to the flesh underneath and even then it wasn’t enough.
Weylyn lifted his bleeding fingers to the king’s neck, finding the grooves he’d left in the king’s skin before, inserting his nails in like pieces of puzzles that had found their way home. The king tried to move. To flinch. Bryson held him tight enough that the air seemed to seep from his lungs.
“I’m going to kill you now,” Weylyn whispered. “And your reign will finally end.”
Weylyn inhaled the fear and relished it. His smile came slowly right before he let out a cry and began hacking viciously through the king’s neck with his bare hands. The squelch of blood and the crack of bone were melodious enough to make him laugh. Once he began, he could not stop the sound from pouring out of his mouth. He laughed and howled as the first layer of flesh slowly peeled from his body.
It was not pleasant.
It was painful.
It was not a quick death.
Every layer Weylyn peeled seemed to heal as quickly as it was shed, only for Weylyn started the process all over again. And the king screamed behind a gag of wind, eyes filled with tears as the pain consumed him, until his energy seemed to wane and his flesh parted open for Weylyn to tear through.
Yet with one last surge of strength, the king unleashed his magic. It reached further than where Weylyn stood.
The king’s shadow magic shook the entire castle of Dana. It groaned and shrieked and threatened to crumble down. But Weylyn was already yanking past flesh and vein and bone, tasting the blood of the king who had killed his younger sister. It sprayed a geyser across his face and he tasted the vengeance on his tongue like a nectar. Weylyn’s smile widened as he wrenched the king’s head from his shoulders. Blood spattered. Bones cracked. It came off with a satisfying pop.
And Weylyn stepped away from the floating body, clutching the Seelie King’s head tightly in his hand. He held it up to his face, relishing in the open-mouthed expression the king wore in death.
And still it was nothing compared to what he and his court had done to his sister.
The castle gave one final groan, like the bones of it were shuddering against the king’s death. Rejoicing, even.
And Weylyn smiled and tasted the blood on his teeth.
He whirled, the king’s head swinging in his hand, and faced his beautiful, terrifying dreadful mate.
Bryson stood there, staring at the gore and the blood dripping down the throne as it pooled at Weylyn’s feet. He waited for the disgust, the horror, but she just moved her shoulders as she took the breath of relief he felt inside. Her Elemental magic released and behind him, the king’s body dropped like a sack of stones with a wet plop.
The tension he’d been holding in for years eased as he stared at his mate. She seemed to say, ‘It’s okay, I’m here.’
“It is done,” Weylyn whispered. “The Seelie King is dead.”
Valerio sat at a large table with a feast before him. Servers filled his plate, piling it high with vegetables and meats and fish. He didn’t reach for his meal. He stared across the table at his friends. He couldn’t explain why there was an uncomfortable churning in his belly. Why something felt looming, a sense of impending doom that overcame him like a premonition.
He swept another glance around the table. Weylyn was predictably missing as the moment they’d arrived, his father had cornered him and demanded his presence in the throne room, while completely ignoring Valerio’s existence.
The fourth Elemental was nowhere to be seen.
He only wanted to assume that perhaps she’d gone to lay in wait for Weylyn, however he could not help but feel a thorn in his chest in regard to her. There was something about her that Valerio didn’t wholly trust. Not only because she was Weylyn’s mate, but that she’d so readily accepted him. And Valerio did not trust Weylyn, therefore he was sure he could not trust her either.
Sure, she had agreed to help them. She seemed to get along well enough with the other Elementals, but there was still something off about her. Like she did not quite fit into the fold, or at least held herself back from them partly.
It’s not like he expected pure, blind loyalty from everyone who joined them. None of the others had given it to him. But he still had the sense that something was wrong.
“My prince?”
Valerio’s attention drew towards Uric beside him. His friend was staring at him with furrowed brows. “Are you alright?”
Valerio opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly the entire castle began to shake. Like the very bones let out a roar and shattered through the halls. The ground trembled, and Valerio gripped tightly to the edge of the table to hold himself steady as the chair beneath him began wobbling back and forth.
It trembled for a few minutes before it just... stopped.
Once the world was steady again, Valerio pushed himself to his feet, his heart thundering in his chest. He recognized the signature of the magic that had rumbled through the castle.
“Father,” he whispered before he broke out into a run. He was vaguely aware of the others rushing behind him, calling out, wondering what was wrong. But his vision tunneled to a single moment, that feeling of wrongness growing far more prominent by the moment the faster his feet carried him. He ran to the throne room and found the air Elemental at the entrance, staring inside.
Valerio pushed past her unkindly, and the scent of blood assaulted his nostrils.
At first, the scene before him didn’t register. Not right away. It didn’t seem real. It felt more fantasy than reality. His mind did not want to believe what was before him. Not the blood, pooling on the floor, not the body of the king, and most certainly not his father’s head, gripped tightly in Weylyn’s hand or the blood tainting Weylyn’s feral grin.
Valerio stood in shock, staring at the scene before him. His heart thundered faster and faster. Behind him, the others had caught up. The moment they registered the scene, shocked gasps drummed a beat in his ears.
His father. The king.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
“Y-you killed him...” Valerio’s shock expression found Weylyn’s. And the Fae had the audacity to smile. There was no remorse, no sadness. He just... looked at Valerio as though daring him to do something to stop him, though the deed was already done.
“What have you done?!” Valerio’s magic gathered around him like an accumulating storm ready to be unleashed. “You killed my father. You—you killed the king!”
His magic started to lash out for Weylyn. Ready to kill. To extract revenge.
But within one blink and the next, the air Elemental was in front of Weylyn, shoving a gust of air at Valerio and shoving him back. His magic fractured and broke apart.
He blinked away the confusion, staring at the Elemental and her fierce, protective stance.
“Don’t,” she warned, her hands held out like she was holding her magic at the ready.
“You will stand beside this murderer?” Valerio threatened. His blood boiled. He had known there was something about her, but he’d never expected this .
Bryson tilted her chin up. “I will stand beside my mate.”
“Then you will die beside him.”
And Valerio’s magic shot out.
And havoc wreaked through the room.