Chapter 27 Less of a God
LESS OF A GOD
THE TENEbrAE
At the large windows overlooking the dips of the moon-touched mountain range of Lunaria, home to the castle of the kingdom of Luna, the conqueror King stood.
He watched.
And he waited.
Moonlight streaked the cliffs in bands of white and blue, highlighting their harsh edges.
Grey mountains stretched upward, their tips dusted with snow.
Beyond, the rocks gave way to lush valleys, fields of flowers, and rippling lakes.
Further still, at the southern point of the kingdom, the land gave way to the sea. And beyond that…
He smiled.
Nowhere was safe from him.
"I’m coming for them all," the Tenebrae whispered as his shadowed green eyes stared out at his stolen lands. Stolen, with the promise of her in mind—the Princess of these lands, whom he had stolen away and given to another to hide.
Memories flashed by as the Tenebrae sifted through his vessel’s mind. Resistance rose to the surface, and the Tenebrae slammed it back down, tightening the noose of shadows that was kept wrapped around the vessel’s neck.
Caliban.
The one whose body the Tenebrae inhabited.
It had been easy. Too easy.
The one named Caliban had been desperate and sad, used and abused. Flashes of what Caliban had been forced to endure…
Roving hands and lips he did not want, taking his own. Fingers glided down his pale stomach, gripping him beneath his trousers, stroking until he was forced to harden against his wishes. Females with painted lips, dripping jewels—tasting, touching, teasing. Taking.
Males who came with violence. Hurting, hitting, harming. Harrowing.
And so, so haunting.
The only moment of relief Caliban had found had been in the arms of the human girl named Enora. Hair like brown silk, turning golden in the sunlight.
As the memories rose, the Tenebrae’s vessel calmed, peace bubbling as memories soothed centuries of rageful acceptance—trapped, as the Tenebrae rode his body and bent his will, using him as a vessel.
To the Tenebrae, the memories of the girl were something he viewed with only detached curiosity.
Her smiles stirred nothing, nor did the sound of her voice imbue him with warmth.
But what did elicit a reaction was the memories of them, entwined.
Always on the shore of that lake. The lake where it had all ended.
When the Tenebrae had forced his vessel to end her.
At the beginning, Caliban fought so hard that the Tenebrae thought him not worth it.
It had been hard for the Tenebrae to wrest control, but after that day at the lake, when Enora had been forced under the water, bubbles popping to the surface as her body had floated atop, it had all changed. Caliban no longer fought him as valiantly, as if his strength had been drowned with her.
As soft, pale skin and brown eyes half-lidded in pleasure streamed in the Tenebrae’s mind, making him thicken with desire, he thought of what he must do next with glee.
His vessel’s half-brother was stupid for loving.
And the Tenebrae knew that his half-brother did love.
He had always been foolish that way, quick to jump and beholden to his heart, even if he did not want to admit it.
The King of Serpentis was ruled by his inner beast, commanded by the whims of what his dragon wanted.
The Tenebrae would show them, show them all. Females were nothing but disappointments. Everyone was. You could not depend on anyone but yourself.
And sometimes even then…
Resistance pushed to the surface, once more.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pained, as more memories flashed over him, as if without his doing.
A soft laugh, distorted by time.
The vessel’s thoughts surfaced—they came rarely, but each time always set the Tenebrae on edge. Years had blurred. Vessel and god entwined—like the lovers on the lake—until he wondered which thoughts were his and which were Caliban’s.
I had forgotten what Enora’s laughter sounded like.
"You don’t need her," he hissed aloud, feeling some treacherous, tainted part of his soul rise in fury.
I do, whispered his vessel. I did.
"I don’t." The Tenebrae spoke through Caliban, twisting the words into life.
But still, he could not help but feel the pull toward her. That brown-haired beauty, who haunted him, just as the roving hands, red lips, rageful eyes haunted Caliban.
A ghostly sob filled him as his vessel cried invisible tears, shaking against his bars, begging to be let free.
The Tenebrae hissed aloud:
"She tricked you. She gave her heart and body to another. She’s long gone. Dead, dead, dead. Floating beneath the weeds underwater."
The Tenebrae was so skilled at crafting lies, feeding them, and forcing one to believe them. All it had taken was a few droplets of suspicion, and Caliban had believed it. Already weak, already feeling unworthy of her love, and it was easy to make him believe the girl was secretly seeing another.
"Don’t be weak. You’re better than them; we’re better than them. Better than them all," the Tenebrae said.
I’m… better than them? his vessel whispered.
"I’m better than them," he said.
Louder.
"I’m better than them."
Louder. Mean it.
He threw his fists against the windows, and cracks spiderwebbed out. "I’m better than them!" he roared, and the windows shook, shadows curling around his arms like a lover’s caress.
The Tenebrae heaved a breath.
Good.
Very good.
He was good. Right?
"Am I good?" he whispered the question against the glass, his breath fogging along the cracks.
Did that belong to the Tenebrae, or Caliban? Somehow, the Tenebrae thought it to be both. Confined in this cage of skin and bone, his thoughts were less of a god and more of a male.
One thought pressed above them all, definitely not belonging to his vessel, for the fury that coated it like black, dripping shadows belonged to him, alone:
I think they’ve had long enough to live in peace.
The Tenebrae opened his eyes and stared out at Luna, thinking of nearly two decades ago when he had first come to this kingdom.
When he stood over a cradle in the dark, watching the sleeping Princess.
Her eyes were of vibrant blue, shining up at him as he had so gently picked her up and held her to his chest, her tiny hands curling in locks of his hair as she cooed.
He could have killed her at that moment. But he didn’t.
Instead, he had placed her back down upon her swaths of blankets and kissed his fingertips, pressing them to her brow.
Then, he had turned away from her and stalked through the halls of the moonlit castle with one thing in mind: death.
Her mother had gone easily, curled in bed, barely able to scream as his dagger slashed across her throat, white hair and white wings drenched in crimson.
Her father had been harder to kill…
The King of Luna was awake in his study. In one hand, a glass of liquor, in the other, a scroll.
The Tenebrae snuck up behind him, silent as a wraith, and held the dagger red with his wife’s blood against his neck. But he didn’t want to end him there—not without looking into his eyes.
Above all, the Tenebrae wanted to be remembered. Worshipped as a god should, never content to work behind the veil as the Lux did.
So, he ordered the male to stand and face his killer.
The King fought, and he fought hard. But when the Tenebrae spoke of his wife’s demise, the light left the fae male’s eyes slowly; his struggling ceased, except for one vivid moment of clarity that proved his grief:
"My daughter. Does she live?" the King asked, gripping the blade of the blood-slicked dagger as the Tenebrae held it to his throat.
He lied. "No," the Tenebrae hissed into the male’s ear, "I killed her before I slit her mother’s throat." Drops of blood clung to his black hair and coated his palms. Proof.
And the King of Luna fought no more. His eyes fell closed as he bared his neck. "Then, I have nothing to live for."
The Tenebrae scoffed, desiring the urge to share what he was planning—to steal his daughter away and hide her in another kingdom until she came of age, until she could be used as a weapon.
"That’s where we’re the same, but different. You see," the Tenebrae whispered harshly, "I have nothing to live for either, but where it makes you resigned, it makes me so very angry."
The Tenebrae played his part well, after all. No one knew he was a god living in a male’s skin. They thought him to be an errant, reckless creature, consumed by rage and grief, finding comfort in the gods and stealing one’s name…
He moved his vessel’s hand. Blood spurted over his face as the blade cut a jagged line across the King’s throat.
The King gurgled, hands growing slack before he fell to the ground with a hollow thump.
Dead.
He was dead.
And that meant the Tenebrae could now step into the role as the conqueror King of Luna.
He was just aware enough of the fear and disgust that rose inside his vessel’s mind.
Blood soaked his palms and skin. He dropped the blade to the floor, and it clattered.
Somewhere in the distance, a babe cried out for a mother and a father that would never hear her cry and never come for her. Ever again.
With red-stained hands, the Tenebrae gripped his hair and stayed kneeling over the dead male’s body.
A soft, pleasing laugh echoed throughout the room, and he looked up, in a daze, chasing after the sound.
"Enora? Is that you?"
But as soon as it started, the laughter ceased, and the room was still in the wake of death, clinging to the walls and turning the air heavy, as blood stained the white floor.
"Forget about the whore. She betrayed you." The vessel’s lips were moving as the Tenebrae forced him to speak. "Enora betrayed me. I killed her. We killed her. She’s dead. She will never hurt me again."
Somewhere in the words, in the rage, they blurred into one. Caliban’s pain became the Tenebrae’s, and perhaps, his fury was forced onto his vessel, in turn.
He clenched his bloodied fists, pressing them against the ground as he forced himself to stand.
"Never again."
The Tenebrae was ripped away from the memory by a knock on the door.
He pulled away from the cracks in the window, his shadowed green eyes reflected back at him.
"Come in," he said, donning the mask of Caliban with ease, forcing the darkness in his eyes to abate—never wholly, but just enough to look natural to the unsuspecting eye.
The doors to his study opened with a low whoosh, moonlight slanting across the ground as one of his Umbra entered, a Luna fae with short white hair and blue eyes with soft shadows.
The Umbra slept inside the other male, awaiting the Tenebrae’s command.
He didn’t even know it—most of the Umbra didn’t. Until it was too late.
The male bowed his head, his white robes fluttering around him. "My King, we have received word from our scouts. The castle of Serpentis is being rebuilt. The damage is great, but the overall structure remains."
The Tenebrae nodded. "And the Princess? Luella? Has she been found?"
"No, my King," the male said lowly, with deference, afraid to bring the news to him—they should be afraid. "She has disappeared entirely."
"My brother?"
"Gone, as well, my King."
The Tenebrae growled, low and vengeful. He hated not knowing.
Gods were meant to be omnipresent, omniscient.
See all, know all—but he was no longer unbound and free.
Trapped in flesh, he saw only what his spies saw and heard only what was reported to him.
His Umbra could go far, but not everywhere. Not to her.
In a blink, he found himself before the male, one hand locked around his throat as he spat in his face. "Find them! Or you and everyone you love will die for your inadequacy."
"Y-yes, my King. I swear it to you, we will find the Princess and your brother, and they will tremble in the face of your might," the male stuttered.
"Like you are trembling?" the Tenebrae whispered, fingers tightening around his throat.
The Luna fae nodded furiously.
He snarled, letting him go and wiping his hands on his black coat, feeling the moonstone in the hem catch under his thick onyx rings. "You are weak. You are nothing. Go. Get out of my fucking sight," he demanded. "Find Princess Luella. Send scouts in all directions until she is found."
The male scurried off, leaving the Tenebrae alone, once more. But never truly alone. Not with the errant thoughts of his vessel that slipped through the bars of his cage every so often.
His Umbra would search far and wide for her, but he wanted her found now. He wanted her here with him. Now.
The last time he had seen Luella, she had been resplendent.
He had used his shadows, slipping through them with ease as he cast his shadowed form into the throne room of the castle of Serpentis.
Her wings, so white. And so real. The conquered Princess was either brave or foolish for walking among a den of serpents with wings like those, even under the guise of falsehood.
The others knew the first pieces of the prophecy, but not enough to truly understand what must be done. They didn’t have the pieces he did.
They did not know there could only be one reigning king.
"Power over all, purest wings, of a winter’s snowfall.
There will be one reigning king, and four aligned hearts, with the blooming rose, who will be within death’s throes," he mumbled aloud, turning back to the window and staring out at the expanse of the mountain range. Soon she would be here, with him.