Chapter 50
***
The throne room was cold—far colder than the late spring should have allowed. It was as if it had been Commanded to remember winter and forget warmth.
Just like him.
The Issaraeth breezed in, his dark clothing perfectly tailored to his brutal frame.
He knew not why he’d been summoned to appear before his sister and her husband in this room, but from prior experience, nothing good awaited.
Fear wanted to twist in his gut, but he shoved the emotion away. Feelings were a weakness, a lesson carved into his flesh not long after his first kill.
To his surprise, he was alone with the two rulers of the Angel Realm upon entry.
“Brother,” the Korona cooed, rising to her feet and descending from the dais upon which her crystal chair perched.
He kissed her on either cheek, noting the fervor in her eyes as he backed away and swept into a deep bow to greet the Koron. “Your Grace.”
“Rise, Vaeron. We have much to discuss before our other guests arrive.”
“Of course,” he replied, his tone even and measured while his mind worked over every possibility. He kept his expression neutral as he straightened, hands clasping behind his lower back.
His sister returned to her throne, draping an elegant silk gown so that it fell over her long legs. An array of rings flashed in the daylight as she drummed her fingers against the stone arm.
The Koron studied his brother-by-law for a long moment, waiting for him to squirm.
As always, he never did.
“Herr Elyriane has been causing trouble,” he finally spoke, expecting his finest hunter to understand without needing the filth of explanation.
“What would you like me to do?” the Issaraeth asked, ever the obedient soldier. This, he could do. The Herr had irritated him endlessly for decades. In fact, he was the Issaraeth’s least liked counterpart on the noble council.
“I’m glad you’re so willing to aid us, Vaeron,” his sister grinned, but her voice tipped into an almost caustic territory. Like she’d already decided how much his help would hurt.
A stone settled in his gut. That tone was far too familiar for his liking. He flinched internally at the memory of what he’d had to do the last time she spoke to him with saccharine sweetness.
“To appease Herr Elyriane and secure peace within our realm so that we may continue to exterminate the Demons,” the Koron paused, his regard like a noose tightening around his hunter’s neck, “you will marry his daughter, Dasha, at the end of the summer under the Goddess Moon.”
Shock jolted through every nerve. It took all of the Issaraeth’s self control not to react, to keep that placid calm, that refined control, in place. Surreptitiously, he expanded his nostrils and exhaled.
“I will not.”
The words emerged steadier than he’d anticipated and ringing with finality.
The monarchs’ expressions darkened.
“You have a duty to this realm. Need I remind you what that is?” the Koron threatened, red tinging his cheeks.
The Issaraeth took a step forward, posture impeccable and coiled tight. “I know exactly what my obligations are, Stadiel. I round up Seers. I kill Elessarum. I Command whomever you need to do exactly what you want. Why not let me do the same to Zarethiel Elyriane?”
It would have been that simple, truly. He gritted his teeth as he waited for an explanation as to why that wasn’t enough.
“Because you are the most sought after bachelor in the entire realm, and we wish for you to marry Dasha,” his sister spit, her nails digging into the stone.
“For centuries,” he paused, forcing himself to speak slowly when all he wanted to do was scream. “I have done everything you asked, without question. Can I not refuse this one thing?”
“No,” the Koron snapped, legs parting as he leaned forward, casting his imposing might over his wife’s unruly brother. “This is your most important mission yet. Nothing will get in the way of that. If you have another, cast her aside.”
His sister laughed, sharp and condescending. “He has no one else. Never has. He’s too busy drowning in his bloodlust rather than allowing himself to care. Isn’t that right, brother? After all, because of that, you let our mother die. Had you gone to get help, she would still be alive.”
She stabbed the Issaraeth directly in his deepest wound with a smile on her lips. Without hesitation. Without remorse. It wasn’t the first time.
His nails bit into his palms as the scent of autumn apples rose from a long-buried memory.
He never wanted to marry—after all, he was a monster, even to his own people. Monsters didn’t love. Couldn’t. It was far too dangerous; it made them too easy to destroy. Even if his mother’s final words about his good heart echoed in his ears in the lonely darkness.
“So you wish to tie Dasha to me, so unfeeling as you stated, so she can be miserable? How will that in any way appease Zarethiel?” he argued, cursing himself for allowing a hint of fury leaking through.
“You will be obliged to make her happy. Does that make sense?” His sister cocked her head to the side, studying him in a way that gave the impression she thought him stupid.
“Like Stadiel does to you?” The moment the words left his lips, he knew they were the wrong ones to say.
The Koron rose to his full height and stomped toward the Issaraeth.
He merely held his ground and lifted his chin in defiance. He’d done so much for them, and he couldn’t believe they wouldn’t let him refuse the one thing he never wanted.
“Your sister is plenty pleased,” the Koron hissed in his ear.
The Issaraeth didn’t flinch, merely shouldered past, headed toward the exit doors. “I do not need to know how you fuck my sister, Stadiel.” Why they always flaunted their sex life in front of him, he would never understand.
The Korona was on her feet and racing after her brother a moment later. Her nails dug into his arm as she tried and failed to stop his retreat. “If you don’t marry her, I will take away all memories of our mother.”
Still, he stalked away, dragging her with him.
“Except for the final one where you watched her die.”
The Issaraeth froze, crimson tinting his vision while his stomach plummeted. “You wouldn’t.”
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect our realm from those beasts,” she snarled. “Unlike you.”
He whirled on his sister, large frame vibrating with barely contained violence. “You have no idea the sacrifices I have made, Iaoth. How about a fucking thank you every once in a while?”
“I’ll say thank you when House R?viel’s sigil ring sits on Dasha’s finger,” she hissed under her breath. “Stadiel is certain of this path. I tried to dissuade him. But my position is fragile at the moment. He’ll blame me if you disobey. And you know what he does to those who disappoint him.”
The Issaraeth raked his hands through his hair, messing up the perfect knot. He had a duty to protect his family. And his sister was all he had left.
She looked up at him with eyes like a doe’s—fearful and pleading.
“I’m sorry I threatened your memories.”
The Issaraeth knew she wasn’t sorry. In fact, her words were pure manipulation.
The words branded over his heart burned with a phantom pain.
“Herr Elyriane and his daughter, Dasha, to see the Koron and Korona,” a male servant spoke in the distance.
“Please, Vaeron,” his sister begged one last time. But beneath the cruelty she wore like a shield, desperation cracked through.
The doors opened. The Issaraeth dipped his eyes closed and dragged in a long breath. He bowed to no one—not in spirit—but his father had beaten compliance into his bones long ago.
“Fine.”
The word tasted like ash from a funeral pyre. He agreed, even though he knew it was a silver cage closing over him.
Brother and sister broke apart just as the clicking of heels echoed across the marble floor.
The Korona returned to her throne, her husband already seated and waiting, not a hair out of place and no frustration decorating his cheeks.
Father and daughter approached while the Issaraeth waited off to the side, taking in the female that was to be his wife.
The Herr, his robes fine and dripping in silver thread, knelt at the feet of his monarchs. Beside him, his daughter did the same. Her gown—a white so pure it signaled only one thing—pooled around her. Even her skin seemed to shimmer as the midday sun peaked through the clouds and fell over her.
He felt nothing at the sight of her striking beauty. No spark. No pull. Only the weight of inescapable inevitably. Of shackles clicking into place.
“Herr Elyriane, I am pleased to offer you an exciting match for your daughter,” the Koron said.
The two rose in tandem, though the Herr’s twitching lips told the Issaraeth that he already knew what offer awaited them. “It is my greatest honor that you have personally handled a betrothal for Dasha. Who is the lucky male?”
The Koron gestured to his brother-by-law, who stepped forward like an obedient hound. His stoic expression betrayed nothing of the fury storming inside him.
“My wife’s brother, Herr R?viel, the Issaraeth.”
A weapon. A monster.
And now, an offering.