19. MY WOMAN. MY BELOVED.
Chapter nineteen
MY WOMAN. MY BELOVED.
"If you knew that, why would you still keep someone like him by your side?" Emeriel asked, puzzled.
King Daemonikai shrugged. "The Dragaxlov family has always seen the Naelzharoth as rivals, competitors. For millennia, even before Zaiper assumed the throne after his father, it has been that way. They want to be Nil'nhile ."
Emeriel was intrigued. "What does that mean?"
"First. They wish to be first in everything," he stated. "First ruler. First clan. Urekai has four clans and, thus, four rulers. Greyrock holds the headquarters for all northern Urekai, just as Frostfall holds all southern Urekai… my clan. But as First Ruler, I oversee all. The Dragaxlovs have no right to encroach on my territory, but I can enter theirs. That—” he smiled faintly “—is why they despise being second.”
Emeriel’s head bobbed as she absorbed the information.
Unrolling another scroll, King Daemonikai picked up his quill. "This rivalry didn't start with Zaiper, and it probably won't end with him."
"It can’t be easy ruling alongside them."
"It's not difficult." King Daemonikai scribbled on the parchment, his tone light. "Everyone is entitled to their opinions and ambition, as long as they don't act on them."
He sighed. "Actions are what breed consequences. Actions are what we prosecute." A shoulder lifted and fell. "Zaiper might hunger for power, but he wouldn't dare act on them."
I think he might have played a part in what happened five hundred years ago.
Emeriel kept her suspicions to herself. She was beginning to understand how Urekai society worked.
An accusation of this magnitude, even in casual conversation, could have serious repercussions.
“Did he… lose anyone on the night of the eclipse moon?" she asked cautiously.
Daemonikai stiffened, his hand pausing. He looked up at her, his face unreadable.
There it was–the shutting down.
Emeriel had almost forgotten how sensitive the subject was. "I apologize for overstepping—"
“No.” he squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “No, it’s alright. Yes, he lost Kristof, his elder brother.”
“Elder?” she echoed, surprised. “I thought every kingdom chose heirs by birth order. How did Zaiper become grand lord if he had an elder brother?”
“Kristof was never interested in the throne.” A hint of a smile crossed King Daemonikai’s face again. “Even as younglings, it never appealed to him. His dream was to be a high-ranking soldier—the best. And that was what he became. He was different from the rest of the Dragaxlovs.”
Emeriel saw the fondness in King Daemonikai's voice. "You sound close."
“We were, once.” His voice softened with nostalgia. “We fought side by side in countless battles. He was the general commander of all our clan’s armies.”
"Wow," Emeriel breathed, impressed.
The grand king nodded. “Kristof was a force to be reckoned with. It’s a shame he never wanted the throne. He could have made a strong ruler… But his loyalty was to the battlefield, not the court. Because of his stance on ruling, the throne passed to the second son, Zaiper.”
King Daemonikai's quill paused, and a shadow fell over his eyes. “Kristof fought beside me on that night, knowing the danger of using strength without the Chalice. He helped many of our people escape even when his own strength began to drain. He fought with everything he had. Kristoff was found dead in an alley near Greyrock…” His voice faltered for a moment. “Whether he dropped dead from exhaustion or was slain by humans, no one knows.”
"I'm sorry to hear that," Emeriel said softly. "He sounds like he was a remarkable man.”
“Perhaps that’s why I can’t judge Zaiper too harshly.” King Daemonikai resumed writing, scratching against the parchment. “He lost someone too, and everyone grieves in their own way. Zaiper held it together, unlike Vladya and I, who completely fell apart.”
King Daemonikai inhaled deeply. “Maybe he cries himself to sleep at night, or spaces out for hours like Ottai does. No one knows. But he held it together. He may be a lousy ruler, but he kept our people grounded when the rest of us couldn’t.”
In a way, Emeriel understood.
“I envy him at times, how well he coped. He and Kristof were close." King Daemonikai's eyes rose, meeting hers. "I was supposed to be the strongest, yet I was the one who crumbled the most.”
She hated seeing that flicker of shame in his eyes.
"Don't punish yourself for how you grieved your loved ones, Your Grace," she stated firmly. “You said it yourself just now… everyone grieves differently. When it comes to grief, every feeling is valid. Never beat yourself up for that. Ever.”
He stopped writing again, something fierce appearing in his eyes.
Her cheeks warmed under that stare. It made her feel seen .
Suddenly self-conscious and breathless, she buried her eyes on the ledger before her.
A moment passed. Tensed.
“So,” King Daemonikai cleared his throat. "Ignore his records and work on the others. What right do I have to confront Zaiper about missing figures when I abandoned my own duties?”
Clearing her own throat, Emeriel said sincerely, “I understand.”
“But I’m back now, everything will return to order.” Authority dripped from his tone. “The kingdom has been unstable for five centuries. No more. It ends now.” He picked the quill up again. “And if Zaiper oversteps from now on, there will be accountability. If he acts against the law, he will face the consequences.”
Emeriel felt the weight in his words. The finality.
Moments like this reminded her who this man sitting across the desk really was.
The same male whose stories were told across human lands under the moonlight as horror tales. In legends, some even named him The Backbone of Urekai.
Now, after truly knowing him, Emeriel could finally admit, legends do not lie, after all.
***
By the time Grand King Daemonikai had finished with the market and guild records, the last light of day had faded, and the cool cloak of night spilled through the open window. Glancing over at his helper, he paused.
Emeriel was fast asleep. Her head lay on the desk, arms tucked beneath like makeshift pillows.
A rush of tenderness washed over him. When had she drifted off? He had been so engrossed in his work he hadn't noticed.
She was a wonderful coworker, asking insightful questions when needed, yet comfortable with companionable silence. Daemonikai enjoyed working with her. A lot.
Picking up the ledger she’d been handling, he thumbed through it.
Every figure was well tallied, and recorded in a clear and organized manner that would make even the most experienced scribes envious.
He looked back at her, his chest swelling with pride. Good with arrows, tending gardens, caring for the sick, hunting, and taking records . His woman was a female of many skills. A treasure trove of fine abilities.
What other hidden skills did he not know about?
Rising, he moved quietly around the desk to crouch beside her. His eyes roamed over her relaxed face. Truly a vision, even in sleep.
“I can’t believe I once thought you were a cruel joke from Ukrae. A mocking laughter at my expense.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “When I look at you now all I see is… a gift? A rare, astounding gift.”
The gentle rise and fall of her back lulled him, her breathing was deep and steady as he watched her.
“I was dead inside. Empty.” His fingers traced a line along her delicate cheek. “Who would have thought I’d feel my heart race again? That I could ever look at you without guilt? Who would have thought I could see you, and not someone sent to replace Evie?"
A gentle sigh escaped her.
His hand stilled. But she didn’t wake.
“I suppose it took nearly dying to realize these things. It took journeying to the spirit world to find myself.” He leaned closer, brushing a ghost kiss on her nose. “I’m sorry it took losing you to find you.”
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Wegai entered, his expression apologetic. "Your Grace, about the—"
Daemonikai pressed a finger to his lips, and his head guard snapped his mouth shut instantly.
“She rests. Let’s not wake her.”
Wegai inclined his head, his voice no more than a murmur. “My apologies, Your Grace.”
Daemonikai waved him off.
Pausing at the door, his head guard turned, hesitant. "Would you like me to take her to her room? I won't wake her."
“No need.” Daemonikai lifted his woman into his arms and straightened. “You may bring the report later.”
Carrying Emeriel out of his study, he turned right—toward his chambers. He crossed the room in silence and lowered her onto his bed. She looked perfect there.
She stirred slightly, shifting, nestling deeper into his covers. Like she belonged there.
Mine.
***
Much later, after he had bathed and changed into his nightclothes, Daemonikai took his place at the desk across the room, quietly resuming his work.
There she lay, sprawled in his bed, as he worked through the night, his gaze flickering up to her every so often.
A sense of peace filled his being. He could get used to this.
Time moved by as he lost himself in his duties, the comfort of her presence making the long night easier.
But then he heard a soft sound. A moan.
His head snapped up.
Emeriel moved slowly in her sleep, rolling from side to side, moaning.
She was having a dream.
Leaning back, he observed the way her body responded to whatever played out in her mind.
Her fingers curled, lips parting with a delicate sigh.
"Beloved," she moaned, arching up.
Daemonikai's brows arched, even as heat pooled low in his stomach. She’s dreaming… of me?
Arousal flared, dick going hard as stone in record time.
He forced himself to breathe evenly. Not now, fella. Now’s not the time.
Rising from the desk, he walked to her side, settling beside her on the bed. Her sleep was fitful, her body restless.
“Hey.” He brushed a hand over her arm. “Wake up, dearling. You’re dreaming.”
She calmed. Blue eyes opened slowly, glazed and unfocused as they settled on him. “My Beloved.”
He stifled a sigh. If only he could get her to call him that fully awake.
"I like this dream," Emeriel said in a low tone. "Touch me, Beloved."
Touch, his beast urged.
No, I will not.
“Wake up, darling,” Daemonikai coaxed gently.
"I don’t want to,” she protested, a dreamy smile on her lips.
Her hands drifted over her body, cupping her breasts. She flicked her nipples, letting out a soft whine.
A bolt of desire shot straight to his dick, his arousal back with a vengeance .
“Gods of the Grail,” he swore.
“I really like this dream a lot,” she cried with bliss, pinching her engorged nipples.
Daemonikai closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then, counted backward from ten.
Nope, his hard-on declared a coup, raging full mast in his pants.
His beast, too, was one hundred percent on board… all too aware of her.
Emeriel took his hand, parting her thighs, guiding it between her open legs.
“Touch me, please,” she murmured, rolling her hips desperately. “I’ve been hungry… so starved for you.”
“Darling, you don’t know—”
“I need you.”
Younglings crying for food.
An elder falling from a horse.
Another bloody war with the vamps.
The images didn’t work. His restraint was slipping with each passing second, her dreamlike touches tugging him further under her spell.
“Emeriel, you need to wake up,” he growled.
She rose from the bed, sitting up, drawing closer. "Come here," Leaning in, she kissed him.
His control snapped. He returned the kiss, unrestrained, his hand cupping her cheeks as he deepened it. Tongue sliding desperately against hers, his chest pressed against her soft bosoms.
Daemonikai kissed her with all the hunger he’d kept buried for so long. One growing since the very moment he’d opened his eyes on his deathbed and saw her lying naked beside him. From that moment, he’d wanted to hold her down and devour her.
Climbing fully onto the bed, he moved her backward until her back pressed against the headboard. The kiss turned ravenous, wild, as he let the lustful beast inside him out to play. Not his literal beast, of course, but the one aching and straining in his pants.
She clutched at his robes, her lips as hungry as his. Sweet, breathless little moans spilled from her, driving him absolutely crazy.
Never breaking their kiss, he reached for her garment. Need to feel more. Need to lay her down and––
She wrenched her lips away from his. "This isn’t a dream?" came the wide-eyed squeak.
“You could pretend it’s one.” He reached for those sexy lips again.
But she drew back, horror replaced lust as she scrambled off the bed as though the sheets had caught fire. “No.” Shaking her head violently, she retreated several steps before stopping. "No, we can’t. We can’t."
His fists clenched to keep from grabbing her, from pulling her back into his arms where he knew she belonged.
Desire beat at him, hunger clawed all over him, demanding to be sated. But that panic in her eyes…
“Emeriel,” he extended a hand.
She flinched. Shaking her head again, she took another step back. "No… I can’t."
Then she turned and fled, footsteps echoing as she disappeared through the doorway.
Daemonikai didn’t follow. He couldn’t.
He sat there, motionless, something heavy settling in his chest. Sadness.
This was the first time he’d ever seen true fear in her eyes, and it was because of their passion. She wanted him as much as he did her; he had seen it, felt it. But it scared the living daylights out of her.
Something was truly broken between them.
And I don’t know how to fix it.
***
Emeriel avoided him like the plague.
For the next two days, Emeriel kept herself far from anywhere her beloved might look for her.
She hadn’t been to the gardens, her Frostfall bedchambers, or even her quarters in Blackstone. Instead, she busied herself with errands. Tasks that kept her moving, distracting her.
She hunted game and delivered the meat to the homes of the sick, picked herbs, and made medicinal poultices. Trained hard on the sparring grounds, spent her nights in Aekeira’s chambers in Blackstone.
After giving her youngling friend Bekka some food, she returned to the fortress gates, exhaustion settling in her bones.
Her guards weren’t with her. Their presence was good, also felt stifling at times. Tonight, she’d insisted they leave early.
As she passed by one of the garden pathways, she paused. Her plants needed tending, and it had bothered her all day.
"The workers are taking care of it,” she muttered to herself. "Stop worrying."
But it was no use.
Besides, what else was there to do but lie in bed and torment herself with memories of his sweet kisses all night?
With a sigh, Emeriel detoured into the garden, picked up a watering can, and set to work. The world fell away as the quiet rustle of leaves and the familiar scents soothed her.
She was so lost in her routine she sensed the disturbance too late.
A sharp whizzing sound split the air.
The watering can clattered to the ground, and with lightning-fast moves, she caught two of the incoming arrows, snatching them from the air.
But there had been three .
The third arrow struck her stomach.
Emeriel let out a choked gasp as a searing pain ripped through her. Son of a bitch.
Bringing one of the arrows to her nose, she sniffed. Poison.
Reacting quickly, she hurled the two captured arrows back towards her unseen attacker, hoping they found their mark, before turning and fleeing.
Her vision was already blurring.
Pain spread like wildfire, consuming her senses, but she fought to stay on her feet.
I can’t fall here.
This secluded garden would be her grave if she gave in. Her attacker would find her, helpless, and finish the job.
Must reach safety. Must… make… it… out…
But her body grew heavier.
Her limbs no longer felt like her own, unresponsive, her strength fading.
Is this the end?
If it was, Emeriel had one regret. Only one.
I should have stayed that night.
The memory of his touch burned in her mind, bittersweet and achingly vivid. I should have let myself feel his touch, just one last time.
Her strength gave out, and she fell to the ground, the world going black.