Chapter 17
My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark (Light Em Up) [Fall Out Boy]
Mother’s maid waits outside her door again. It’s as if she lives here, awake day and night to monitor the door for anyone who might disturb the Queen in her chambers. Narrowing my eyes, I dare her to stand there. I dare her to keep me from my mother when I want to see how she’s faring.
I’m also bored and need some inkling of realisation that my thoughts are raw and realistic instead of itching for a hunt on an innocent woman.
“Leave,” I say.
“No,” she replies in a stubborn, childish manner.
Arching my chin higher, I glare down at her. Like a vulture finding its prey, I watch her squirm with undeniable panic over a gaze that can flay flesh until she’s nothing but skin and bones. A mouse in a cornfield, aware of my intent but unable to flee from the talons of a hawk latching onto her.
I step forward as the door cracks open, revealing Mother with an exhausted expression. “Come back in a few hours, Reen. I’m fatigued.” She flicks her green eyes at me and then away. “The slaughtering drains me.”
I sigh, filled with understanding, guilt, and anger—anger at King Ragan and his careless thoughts toward his tether.
If I knew more about tethering to someone beyond just knowing it’s a double-edged sword, I wouldn’t have stormed up here.
I would have been more understanding and let her ease the tension and anger King Ragan must be feeling right now.
Yet, here I am, likely draining her energy further because, yes, I can be a bit of a dick.
“Noon. I’ll be back at noon with some herbal tea.”
She smiles, but it never reaches her eyes. Has it ever? When was the last time I witnessed a glimmer in her gaze, the sparkle on her cherry lips, or laughter that felt genuine? When did I last see Mother leave her quarters or spend time with Walkyer and Emmerton?
In fact, I can’t recall her ever sharing an affectionate moment with her youngest son since he was born, and he doesn’t seem eager to connect with a mother who appears to have withdrawn from everything.
She isolates herself from those around her—a woman from a free city, now merely a shell after attracting King Ragan’s attention.
I dial Alad’s number and press it against my ear as I leave her tower. It takes one ring before he answers, readily available when I need him. “Yes, Prince Reen?” he says in a formal tone.
“Where’s King Ragan?”
“He’s at Ebon Hall. Where are you?” There’s a frightened tone in his voice. King Ragan may have already threatened him.
“I’m at the castle. I’ll be leaving in five.”
“Okay,” he says. I like how he doesn’t question further.
Walking down the stone steps to the foyer, I ask, “How did Walkyer go with finding the woman he saw once…in passing…from a fucking distance?”
“I gave him the coordinates. They were easy to follow, considering the girl was with a friend who is awakening this weekend.”
I stop walking at the bottom of the stairs. Overlooking the charred, dead garden, I furrow my brows as I ask, “Male or female?”
“Male?” he says, yet he’s questioning my question.
“Thank you for the information, Alad. I will be there shortly.”
I hang up.
What are the odds that Walkyer is talking to the woman I suspect may be part of an organisation of smugglers? It couldn’t be real…unless Walkyer had withheld information from me.
Did he meet her by chance, or did she convince him to tell me because she knows I’m monitoring her?
Did she approach Walkyer because she knows it’s easy to persuade that foolish brother of mine to fall for a woman if she’s cute, shy, and innocent?
Is she trying to sneak up on me to kill me with no one noticing?
I laugh at the prospect.
If that’s what she desires, I’ll wait with utter excitement. Yet, it makes little sense—unless she knows about my awareness.
No, it’s doubtful. I’m meticulous whenever it comes to a suspected hunt. There must be another reason for her presence here.
The chauffeur waits outside the black, slim sedan and opens the door for me as I leave the castle grounds. Slipping inside, my thoughts still linger about what Alad told me while the driver departs from the castle estate.
Walkyer must be lying to me—but how? He’s a helpless liar who wears his heart on his sleeve. Unless the girl knows ways to conceal, or he told me the truth, but only half of it.
A cruel, unfriendly, salivating smile reaches my lips at the thought of a hunt. This is becoming the most entertaining game yet, and it hasn’t started.
Will Walkyer bring this woman back to the castle to sway her?
I breathe a laugh. Who am I kidding? He’ll bring her back because he usually does.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Emmerton were home, catching wind of Walkyer finding love again, and bedding her to annoy his older brother.
It’s usually how it goes whenever Walkyer finds a girl he likes.
They fall for the mischievous, dickhead younger brother who teases them, knowing Emmerton is easier to bed.
They open their legs and hope he falls for them.
In reality, he’s playing a cruel game just to hurt Walkyer’s feelings.
I can’t help but think of the games I will play.
It is easy for me to fall down the rabbit hole whenever I imagine her wide, innocent eyes wavering with unsettling fear.
The shadows around her will move, and the essence of a presence lingering behind her will place the little lamb in flight-or-fight mode until she willingly succumbs to her death.
And then, I will torture her until she breaks further and becomes nothing but a shell.
“We’re nearing the place, Prince Reen.”
Gazing out the window, I grimace. I thought King Ragan would want to display his pieces in the centre of Flesh, but it seems he woke up with another brilliant idea.
He wants to show everyone who enters Flesh not to mess with him.
What better way to do that than to threaten them as they enter Ebon Hall?
The chauffeur stops the car in the middle of the street. Elemny of all colours—yet mainly fire—crowd the streets, clustering around cars. Excitement brims from their faces as they see the king atop the hall in a grand gesture.
Fans are obsessed with or believe the king is a wondrous elemny. They cheer and swoon over him as if he were the god they need to worship.
I sneer at those desperate enough to think they can sleep with him. Sadly, they probably could. He’s a king. He can do whatever he wants without a care in the world. Sex workers are lined up outside his doors to be mistreated and demoralised at his whim.
Fiery red eyes turn to me, and a frothing, cruel grin spreads across his face—King Ragan bellows for the crowd’s attention.
I weave through the crowd and spot Alad off in the corner. With a bemused expression, he observes the whole spectacle. I wouldn’t blame him for thinking the king has finally gone beyond madness and into outright insanity. Anyone witnessing this will feel so, except for his devoted fans.
“How long has he been spouting nonsense?” I ask.
“An hour. He will stop now because he knows you’re here.”
“He loves torturing me,” I agree.
Two elemny who smuggled in elemny from outside stumble forward. The female yelps when she steps too close to the edge, and a high-pitched scream tears through her fragile lungs. Falling forward, she screams and grunts when the chains around her neck snap, and she collapses at King Ragan’s feet.
He’s not ready to kill her yet.
No.
He will do exactly what he taught me. Torment her until she’s at the edge of fear.
“Listen here and listen clearly!” King Ragan shouts.
I dart my focus to the right. Astin crouches on a building, sniper ready, searching the crowd for a target.
If King Ragan weren’t tied to Mother, I wouldn’t care if someone clocked him in the head.
Anything to relieve the tension of constantly protecting a family that sees me as nothing more than an unchained mutt.
“There are conniving, sneaky rats weaselling inside our home and breaking our rules!”
“Burn them!” the crowd taunts, salivating at fresh death through fiery eyes.
Alad is passive, but I can tell he finds this as disgusting as I do.
“They’ve been bringing unworthy, dirty elemny inside where we sleep. Walking among us and seeking jobs elemny birthed here could have!”
“Burn them! Burn them! Burn them!” A constant chant froths out of hungry mouths until it becomes incoherent.
“Oh, they will burn,” King Ragan snarls, saliva dripping from his mouth. “They will burn from the feet up!”
“Do I have to watch this?” I say.
“If you don’t, you know what will happen,” Alad whispers.
I take pleasure in killing. I find joy in torturing elemny, but the King does too—yet we are not the same.
His actions unfold before an audience. He seeks adoration and love through his deeds.
My work entertains me, but it serves a purpose beyond that.
A hunt is my passion, and I relish gathering information.
I enjoy the warmth of crimson flowing from my hand, but I’m not in it for recognition.
King Ragan does it to show his power, while I do it for my own reasons.
He boasts no one can challenge him, basking in praise while elemny suffer, wailing and screaming in his presence.
The screams, cheers, praise, begging, raised hands, and clinging love.
He loves it all while feelings of disgust course through me about what Mother must be feeling now.
This right here is the reason Mother cannot leave her chambers. The wide, vicious grin on his face as he pushes the elemny off the top of the building. Flames curl around their feet, and charred flakes of skin rain down beneath the hungry elemny yearning to feel the embrace of the king’s power.
Their hands reach for the sky. Ashen flesh, smelling of rot, endured through a thousand memories, raining down. The way their eyes glimmer and mouths open in awe at the sight of death, is nothing less than madness spilling from their minds.
“You can leave,” Alad says.