Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Daemon
In the five days since Daemon arrived in Kalmeera, he’d placed wards, had an—albeit unproductive and more argument than anything—conversation with his father, and helped rebuild some of the market.
Out of all the things he knew he’d have to accomplish, having a simple council meeting shouldn’t have been the worst. So why did it feel like it was about to become the most grueling task he’d have to complete?
He escorted his mother into the council chamber, helping her into the chair on his left before meeting the suspicious gazes of the men around the room. They all dipped their heads in reverence to him and the queen, but their expressions remained the same.
“What can we help you with, Your Majesty?” Master Calen—the master at arms—asked as he slowly sank into his chair.
“I’m merely here to support my son, Calen,” Queen Avyanna explained, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in the skirt of her gown before her gaze traveled around the room. “Please, gentlemen. Have a seat.”
“Is the king well?” The question was asked over a cacophony of chairs screeching across the stone floor as people took their places around the table.
When everyone had settled, Daemon slid into his seat, his eyes sharpening as he met every man’s gaze, begging them to challenge him. Then, he lied through his teeth. “He is.”
“If the king is well, why are you leading this meeting, Your Highness?” Lord Cassius questioned, his gaze narrow as it raked down Daemon’s frame.
“Because I am the one who called this meeting. If you have an issue with that, you’re more than welcome to excuse yourself.” Daemon replied blandly, unwilling to give the man the reaction he was undoubtedly looking for.
The man was a snake in the grass, always had been.
There were multiple advisors on the council, but Cassius was the one who was always whispering in King Evander’s ear.
The one who always pushed his own agenda with no regard for how it would affect the rest of the kingdom.
And he would be the first one to go as soon as Daemon took the throne.
When Lord Cassius didn’t move from his seat, his arms crossed over his chest like a disgruntled toddler, Daemon brought the meeting to order. “I’ve asked you here today to discuss the upcoming war between the Court of Emerald and the Court of Garnet.”
“What’s there to discuss?” Cassius’ son, Lord Syrus, sneered, his thick brows drawing together as he rubbed a hand across his jaw.
The apple certainly hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
Syrus was just as bad as his father—if not worse.
He was born into the title, just as Daemon was, but instead of rising to its challenges, he used it for leverage and to undermine those he found beneath him.
His nose always seemed perpetually pointed toward the sky, and despite what Daemon’s—or Syrus’—father had promised, there wasn’t a chance in hell that Syrus was taking Lord Cassius’ place on the council.
“What’s there to—” Daemon scoffed, disbelief filling every pore as he met the gaze of his father’s council.
“Surely you’re not actually asking me that question.
” When stoney gazes met his, he blew out a breath, fingers tightening on the arms of his chair as his shadows threatened to spill from every pore and demolish the men at the table.
His jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as he gritted out, “We are here to decide how many troops we are going to send to Emerald to help—”
“Emerald? Why would we help Emerald? Your father—”
“My father has made a grave error in judgment. We will not be aligning ourselves with Garnet.”
Lord Slater—Aiden’s father and the master of ships—cleared his throat. “I don’t believe that’s your decision to be making, Prince Daemon.”
James Slater was like a second father to Daemon. He taught him everything there was to know about ships and sailing the sea, so to hear him side with the Syrus and Cassius was like a punch to the gut.
Daemon pinched his eyes closed for a moment.
Taking a deep inhale through his nose, he clenched and unclenched his fists to quell his churning anger, then let it out slowly.
“Lord Slater, though I value your input, I did not ask for it. My father made certain promises about my life; I’m sure everyone in this room knows why.
But I will not be subject to his rash decisions and let this realm fall into the wrong hands.
If you disagree with my choices—” he swung his arm out wide, “then there’s the door. Feel free to make use of it.”
Lord Slater’s eyes widened, his mouth popping open before closing once more.
“Now, if there are no more objections to my running this meeting. Can we please get on with it?”
When there were no further protests, Queen Avyanna gently squeezed his wrist below the table, and some of the tension that had begun to settle between his shoulders ebbed away. “I believe you now have their attention,” she whispered, a conspiratorial smile inching across her lips.
The meeting went on for hours. Discussions over what side they should be on—or if they should even be involved at all—escalated into angry arguments that went nowhere.
The majority understood—and backed—Daemon’s stance, but there was still a handful who pushed back and stood with Lord Cassius and Lord Syrus.
“I don’t see why we need to be involved at all.
” Lord Cassius insisted, running his thick hand over his beard.
“If, as you say, you don’t want to be subject to your father’s rash decisions, then why stick your neck out at all?
Let the…women—” he spat the word out, his lips turned down in a grimace, “handle their own issues.”
“Their issues—as you so delicately put it—are concerns for the entire realm,” Queen Avyanna said coolly, though the whites of her knuckles gave away her true feelings.
“My apologies, Your Majesty. This is a delicate matter, and things must be considered from all sides. I’m sure you understand.” Lord Cassius’s smile made Daemon’s shadows thrash beneath the surface, and his mother gave a terse smile in response.
“I don’t see why we don’t just claim the land ourselves,” Lord Syrus chimed in, popping a nut into his mouth.
“It’s not ours to claim, Syrus,” Daemon seethed.
“Or maybe you’re not man enough to take advantage of the situation the Goddess gave you, Prince.” A Cheshire smile stretched across his wretched face, and black began seeping into Daemon’s vision, shadows slipping through his hold as he took heavy pulls of air into his lungs.
“You may have a seat at this table, Syrus. But that’s all it is. A seat. And that’s only because your father got it for you. Your words hold no weight here. I suggest you remember that the next time you speak.”
A flush began to creep up Syrus’ neck, his nostrils flaring as he clenched his jaw. “I am a Lord. I have every right—”
“You may be a Lord, Syrus. But I am a Prince and the next King. You may have inherited your title just as I have, but the difference between you and me is that I also committed my life to earning my title. And in case it slipped your mind, I can also take yours away.”
While some of the council’s eyes widened—flicking between Daemon and Syrus with curious expressions—others fell to the table, finding anything to focus on other than the storm brewing in the room.
Syrus scoffed, leaning back in his chair as if he hadn’t a care in the world as his lip pulled up into a sneer.
“Maybe if you started using what’s inside that pretty head of yours instead of thinking with your dick, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.
I mean, I get it. Truly, I do.” Syrus’ lips pulled up into a knowing smile.
“I can still feel the way she melted against me as we danced.”
Images of Syrus dancing with Auraelia at both the Summer and Fall solstice celebrations burned through his mind.
The way his hands constantly dipped too low on her back, the uncomfortable look on her face.
It had taken more restraint than he thought he had not to pull her from his arms and even more not to cut the man’s hands from his body right then and there.
He called on that restraint now as Syrus continued.
“Her body is quite supple, isn’t Prince Daemon?”
“Watch it.” The words came out as a warning growl, but Syrus didn’t seem to take the hint.
Daemon spent his life learning the ins and outs of politics.
How to act during these meetings and keep his composure when people were determined to get a rise out of him.
But all of that training meant nothing as the next words spilled from Syrus’ lips.
“I’m sure you could seduce her into giving you her kingdom. It’s not like that bitch Auraelia is fit to rule anyway.”
Black.
Endless, impenetrable darkness enveloped the room before gathering together and slamming Lord Syrus into the nearest wall.
Cords of shadow wrapped around his neck, his arms, and his torso, lifting him until his feet dangled over the ground.
Choked sounds came from his lips as Daemon appeared in front of him, like a nightmare given flesh.
“How dare you.” Venom dripped from every word.
“How dare you speak her name.” Ropes of black slithered up Syrus’ body, sliding along his face like they were searching for a place to burrow into.
“Queen Auraelia has done more for her kingdom since she took the throne than you have in the whole of your miserable life. She’s endured the worst of what the world had to throw at her with more grace and dignity than you have in your entire body.
And you think that, what?” Daemon’s gaze raked down his body, a sneer pulling one side of his lips upward.
“That since you’re a man—and trust me when I say that I use that term lightly—that she’s unfit to rule? ”