Chapter Two #2
Auntie Nychelle held up a hand. “What it is time for you to do is cease being a whore. You’re growing too old for such behavior, and you’re king now, for Celestials’ sake.
The nobles want a sovereign they can place faith in without worry.
They want someone they can be sure will lead our people, protect our people, and ensure the longevity of the Apollyon Court.
We may not be at formal war for the moment, but we both know our enemies only tolerate our existence.
They’ve tried to eradicate our kind from Nimani before.
They’ll start that agenda up again eventually. ”
Malachi’s mood darkened. “Not while I wear the mantle of king. I’d love to see the Six Kingdoms try.
” Especially given the fact that he had a score to settle with every monarch that ruled an elemental court and that prick Hyperion king himself: namely, that the seeds of the coup that had claimed his parents’ lives had been planted by those very sovereigns.
“Are you so confident about your position of strength?” Nychelle challenged, giving no quarter.
“Because a king who does not have the utter allegiance, respect, and backing of his own nobles is a king who rules from a severely weak position.” Nychelle’s bald statement was like a dagger she’d thrust between his ribs.
They don’t want you. You’re not enough.
That’s what Nychelle’s words really meant.
Nothing Nychelle spoke out loud—or tastefully left unspoken but was plain to discern—was untrue.
It was a matter he needed to wrestle under control, a matter he’d been failing to get a handle on since he was crowned king, and his continued failure fucked with him.
For all his usual arrogance, Malachi had to fight hard not to visibly flinch.
His auntie must’ve detected the severity of the wound she’d inflicted and his thoughts all the same. Nychelle grimaced. “That isn’t it,” she began gently.
“Don’t coddle me now, Auntie,” Malachi returned.
“I’m not,” she maintained. “I’m stating a truth.” She sat primly on the bed near its footboard. “Great Celestials, I’m going to have to burn my favorite robe,” she muttered after she realized where she’d sat. She served Malachi another irked look, like that was his fault too.
If she were anyone else, he would’ve kicked her from his rooms by now. He was a grown male and her sovereign. But he had too much love and respect for Nychelle, and she’d filet the skin off his back. Probably his balls too, just to make a point.
“You cannot blame the nobles for their reservations about you,” she continued.
“I’d have the same reservations if you were not a man I’ve had a hand in raising for as long as you’ve drawn breath.
I know you, Malachi—heart, mind, and soul—and because I do, I know you are the best sovereign for the Apollyon Court.
You’re a strong warrior, determined, ambitious regarding the prosperous future you’d like to bring us, stubborn to a fault about that positive ambition, and you believe in justice, as all monarchs should. ”
Trystin made a choking noise. “I’m sorry, Ma. Did you say Malachi is just? In what realm? Did we forget he had half a dozen folks executed in the central courtyard yesterday? The heads of clerics are still on spikes posted outside the palace gates!”
“They were traitors,” Malachi scoffed, “part of the treasonous cabal that’s been cavorting with the Six Kingdoms for far too long. That was justice, and they deserved their fates.”
Those bastards were part of the wider Cleric’s Rebellion, the insurgent group of zealots who’d helped assassinate his parents.
They had managed to keep their lives intact for the last nineteen years by going to ground after the assassination because Nychelle had been too busy raising two boys, learning to rule a kingdom on an expedited curve, and gathering the adoration of fickle nobles to smoke them out.
But they were one of Malachi’s chief priorities now that he’d taken the reins of the kingdom.
He was letting Nychelle continue to deal with a good bit of the tedious parts of ruling so he could hunt down every individual connected in the past or present to the treacherous Cleric’s Rebellion.
It wasn’t only about vengeance. It was about protecting what remained his too.
If they’d sought to sever Malachi’s family’s rule over the Apollyon Court once, they might find the courage to do it again.
Not on his watch. Not while he held the throne.
He’d be damned if he ended up like his parents, or if he let his auntie or cousin end up like them.
“Sometimes even the most just of monarchs must display brutality to protect their people and territory from threats,” Nychelle said to Trystin.
Trystin shrugged, being an ass again. He knew as well as Malachi and Nychelle did that such actions were unavoidable, even necessary, under certain circumstances. His cousin simply liked to rankle him.
Nychelle collected the flowy bottom of her robe tighter around her legs. She scooted up nearer to where Malachi sat on the bed. “I am aware you’ll hate what I’m about to say next, but … it is time to marry,” she told Malachi.
He snorted inside his head. Nychelle had let the subject drop for a solid month this time before circling back to that tiresome argument between the two of them; they’d been having it in some variation since before he took the throne.
Nychelle continued. “I’ve let you put it off for years beyond the age a crown prince would be expected to select a mate as his future queen.
After you took the throne, I convinced the nobles to give you more time to find the perfect queen that is right for yourself and this court and to produce an heir with.
However, we cannot stall them out much longer beyond the first year of your formal reign.
If what happened with your parents comes to pass again … ”
“That won’t happen. I’m not my father.” Malachi worked hard not to growl as those words came out.
“I didn’t say you were,” Nychelle responded neutrally.
“But the cardinal bloodlines need to be assured that the stability of this court is secure. We cannot descend into civil war, and we cannot allow the Six Kingdoms to use what remains of the Cleric’s Rebellion to their advantage and gain dominion over us in any capacity. ”
When Malachi stubbornly said nothing, she sighed.
“Fine. Let me spell the importance of this matter out to you in harsher terms: If the nobles who are loyal to your reign for now continue to be made to fear for this court’s stability, then how easy do you think it will be for the likes of the Cleric’s Rebellion to start to sway very powerful individuals among the cardinal bloodlines to support their fanaticism?
At present, it is based on nothing beyond murky omens and some absurd prophecy.
But if you make the nobles more uneasy about your ability to rule and thus the future strength of this court, then some may start to believe in the drivel that the Celestials have ordained a future where the Apollyon Court becomes one of the dominion kingdoms under a Hyperion king’s banner once more. ”
“Why does that matter if such fools can simply be executed alongside the clerics they’re stupid enough to follow?” Malachi did growl this time.
“That is not the answer to all conflicts,” his auntie snapped.
“If you kill every noble who displeases you in any manner, foregoing more diplomatic routes each time, what happens at the end of it? What court will you have to rule if you massacre most of it? Further, you’d prove what the corrupt clergy claim they’ve portended about you correct. ”
Malachi gnashed his teeth. The heir to the Apollyon Court will wreak ruin and great upheaval upon the court.
He will destroy the court that our ancestors built when he is cloaked in the mantle of king.
That was the gibberish—one part of some supposed prophecy—that had led to his parents’ assassinations.
The court’s former high cleric, an advisor and close friend to his father, who’d ultimately betrayed him by founding the Cleric’s Rebellion and leading the bloody coup attempt, had uttered the words at Malachi’s birth—during the blessing of a new babe that he should’ve been speaking, no less.
Malachi’s father hadn’t seen it for what it truly was—one conniving worm trying to seize greater power—until it was too late.
Malachi cursed. He refused to repeat the mistakes his father had made by being blind and shortsighted. As chafing as his auntie sometimes was, the old woman, unfortunately, had a knack for making extremely valid points.
“I’ll do it.” The words tasted like ash in Malachi’s mouth.
It wasn’t that he was against the idea of marriage itself.
On the surface, he projected the very shallow image that the desire to keep fucking his way across the Apollyon Court was exactly why he resisted marrying so adamantly.
But a deep-rooted part of him that he didn’t like to acknowledge much—though this conversation with his auntie was forcing him to—resisted marriage so ferociously because he knew as king, no matter how much fear he struck in his enemies’ hearts, there’d always be schemes against him.
It was the nature of wearing the crown and a very fundamental reality of belonging to a race of powerful immortals that made ruthless plays for more power a way of life.
That meant one misstep, one instance of not catching and quashing a scheme swift enough, could end in the carnage that befell his parents.
He could end up a king who failed his own queen and child, whose inability to keep them safe got them slaughtered.