Chapter 36
Everything felt louder, every nerve heightened as Ellaryn sat at the King’s table, wishing she was somewhere else entirely.
The Chancellors and Royal Court members dined with them, discussing Velaviere once again, but Ellaryn couldn’t even force herself to be interested; her mind was occupied with different subjects entirely.
She kept thinking about Xander, hating the way not knowing if he was dead or alive made her feel. Outside the wall would be safer than within it, she knew that, but still her mind wandered.
And then there was Arielle and the tiny baby. Despite her efforts, she still had not managed to go back there.
They needed food.
Desperately.
So tonight, she would have to go down.
“You’re quiet this evening,” The King said casually. “Does something weigh on you, little Ruin?”
She met his gaze without flinching. “Not at all, Your Darkness. I’m just tired.”
He chuckled. “Ah. The burden of loyalty.”
His hand came to rest over hers on the table, but his tenderness rendered her cold. The familiar metallic stench drifted from between his teeth and sent bile clawing up her throat—blood.
“You serve me well,” he continued softly as his thumb pressed against her knuckles, just enough to remind her of who held the power.
“Always, Your Darkness.” She said through gritted teeth.
Across the table, Chancellor Bane watched her with narrowed eyes. She had been avoiding him ever since their encounter at the party the other night.
Ellaryn kept her expression blank, but inside, her thoughts screamed.
She hated him.
She hadn’t seen him since the banquet, since he had tried to make a move on her and discovered just how unwelcome his attention was.
She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing that his presence unsettled her.
Instead, she lifted her glass and took a slow sip of water, deliberately looking away.
The King raised his goblet.
“Another week without Potentials,” he announced, his eyes travelling lazily across the table. “Do you know how long it has been since a Potential was born in this city?”
No one answered.
“Three hundred and fifteen days.” The King said, his lips curling into a thin, cruel smile.
Ellaryn’s gaze drifted across the room, quietly taking in the reactions. Glasses were tipped towards waiting mouths, heads tilting, a few smirks tugging at the corners of lips, as though the number were nothing more than an inconvenience.
If only they knew.
If only they knew there was a Potential living beneath their feet.
Right beneath them.
And Ellaryn knew exactly where.
“They’re like weeds.” The King continued, spitting the word, each syllable sharp and bitter. “And what do we do with weeds?” His eyes then trained in on Ellaryn.
Her stomach twisted, knotted tight with dread.
He wanted to hear it. He always wanted to hear it.
“We kill them,” Ellaryn whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, even as her mind screamed against the words.
She knew better. She knew the truth. The people thought he killed them to eliminate competition, to cement his power—but she knew the dark reality: he killed them to absorb it. To make himself stronger.
“Yes.” His smile widened, thin and predatory. “And then… we kill their families.”
He leaned back in his throne, fingers steepled, black gums flashing as his tongue dragged across his teeth. “So none can ever grow again.”
Ellaryn shifted her weight; every muscle coiled tight. Her mind screamed with the image of tiny fingers gripping air, of a toy hovering above a crib.
He was looking straight at her now.
Measuring as if waiting for guilt to surface.
She gave him nothing.
“To Cinders,” he said. “To control. And to those who keep this city clean of the weeds.”
The table members lifted their glasses in silent unity. Ellaryn hesitated only a fraction of a second before raising hers.
She took a sip of her sparkling wine, the faint tingle dancing upon her tongue and soothing the rawness in her throat. She tried to hide the small cringe that followed as her gaze drifted to the King’s chalice while he drank.
It was the same one she had seen in the library.
He licked his lips slowly, a dark red liquid clinging to his teeth, staining the pink of his mouth.
Blood.
He was drinking blood.
All those years, she had thought it was wine.
Now she knew better.
Her eyes lingered on the liquid as he set the chalice down. It bubbled faintly against the metal rim, thicker than wine—viscous. The sight of it turned her stomach.
One question clawed at her mind.
Where was he getting all this blood?
She hadn’t killed in days.
Unless he had some stored away.
The King caught her staring. His eyes narrowed slightly, following her line of sight down to the chalice.
Ellaryn straightened immediately, forcing her gaze elsewhere, though her body trembled with the effort of containing her reaction. To her relief, after a moment, he turned back to his meal as though nothing had happened.
Only then did Ellaryn release the shaky breath she’d been holding, letting it fall quietly into her cup.