Chapter 18
Oziel
Blood pours from Isabelle’s nose as her face drains of color.
She lets out a piercing, bone-chilling scream that cuts through the air like a dagger.
The Nephilim’s cries join hers, a haunting symphony of terror that reverberates in my skull.
The sound is unbearable. Standing becomes a struggle, and holding on to Isabelle feels impossible.
Then, she goes limp in my arms.
My heart pounds violently in my chest, as if there are steel hands gripping it, ready to tear it free from my body.
Beads of cold sweat trickle down the back of my neck, chilling my usual warm body to icy cold.
This emotion is foreign to me. Something I haven’t experienced since… the roses. The day my parents died.
Isabelle grows cold to the touch. Any longer down here with the Nephilim will cause her body to shut down.
It is just a guess, but not one I want to test. My queen is dead weight in my arms, but she feels as light as a feather.
Shadows enclose us, far too slowly for my liking.
Power flickers within me like candlelight, rapidly losing steam.
Finally, the shadows blanket us completely, silencing the cries of the Nephilim.
When they part for me, we’re no longer in the dungeon.
Isabelle’s room feels like a paradise. Adrenaline pulses through my veins, lighting a fire within me.
With great care, I carry Isabelle to bed.
The woman doesn’t so much as stir as I lay her down.
If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of her chest, I would mistake her as dead.
She’s so pale. And her chest and bodice are soaked with her blood. Red stains her lips, painting them a menacing crimson color. I roar, shaking the very foundation of the castle. It’s a call for any demon nearby. A distress call, one I have only given once before.
Garvan is first to Isabelle’s room, followed by two other demons, one whom I recognize as a medic.
Garvan assesses the room and takes one look at Isabelle before springing into action.
He barks orders to the two demons in the room, and they fall in line, both coming to attend to Isabelle.
I’ve never been more thankful for my courtier than this moment.
The green-skinned demons attempt to move me out of the way, but I bare my teeth at them.
“My lord, Zain needs to assess the queen.” Garvan takes a tentative step in my direction.
He reaches out like he’s going to touch Isabelle, but fury once again fills me, and my shadows circle his arm, forcing it back down at his side.
And just like that, the feelings for my courtier diminish into something truly vile.
He stops approaching the bed, lips set in a grim line. “We can’t help her if we don’t go near her, my lord.”
I know he’s right. She needs the attention from the medic, but I’m unwilling to move.
Distrust for my own people plagues me. In fact, distrust runs rampant throughout my kingdom, everyone always trying to point the finger at someone else.
Anger demands an outlet. Someone has to be blamed.
Do these demons blame me for not protecting our people?
Will they hurt their queen in order to hurt me?
But if Isabelle doesn’t receive help…that could also be a death sentence. One I have no one to blame for but myself.
The choice is simple, and yet I find stepping back the hardest thing I’ve ever had to force myself to do.
The demon—Zain—looks upon me with uncertainty but soon determines I won’t attack them for touching Isabelle.
Zain speaks to the other demon, one whose name I didn’t catch, and together, they place their hands over Isabelle and chant.
Garvan moves closer to me, but still keeps a sizable distance between us.
Smart man. If I lash out, he would be the recipient of my wrath.
“What happened?” Garvan asks.
I answer him, though I don’t look away from Isabelle. A sheer gray film radiates from Zain’s hands as they trail across Isabelle’s chest. “She spoke to the Nephilim.”
Garvan’s eyes widen. A flicker of unease flashes in his eyes. “Is that wise, my lord? With what little we know about the Nephilim, it seems dangerous to test the waters.”
“And what would you have me do? Hmm?” I whirl on him, anger getting the best of me. “Isabelle is here to help this kingdom. Others may feel fine with locking their wives away in a fancy tower, but I will not be one of those husbands. She will not be caged here like a prized lamb.”
Garvan backs up, holding his hands in front of him as a symbol of surrender. “I mean no offense, my lord. These are trying times. I know we are desperate to seek answers, but—”
“But nothing,” I interrupt. His voice grates on my last nerves. “A king will do whatever it takes to save his people. As will his queen. The way you seek to lock us in the shadows and hope for the best further proves you aren’t and will never be cut out to do my job.”
The words cut deep as intended. Garvan flinches. Anger clouds his features, and his breathing speeds up. Part of me wants him to fight back. I would welcome an outlet for my emotions. But ever the proper courtier, he schools his expression into the loyal lap dog he is.
“Of course, my lord. This is why you are king. You know best, after all.” Garvan’s jaw clenches as he takes a step back. His heated gaze bores into me, even as I turn back around just in time to see Zain take her hands off my wife.
The demon turns her head in my direction and nods once. “The queen suffers from a mild case of vasovagal syncope.”
“In plain language.”
“It’s common. Especially in humans. It causes the person to faint after the body has gone through severe emotional distress.
She will wake soon, but she’ll need to eat and drink plenty of fluids.
She may also experience a headache or nausea.
” Zain digs for something in her coat, producing a vial of green liquid.
“This will help the queen if she’s experiencing intense headaches or fatigue. ”
I take the tonic from Zain’s hand, pocketing it. “Very well. Have the kitchen prepare a meal and send up a pitcher of water.”
Zain nods and takes her leave, along with the other demon assisting her. Garvan still lurks behind me but soon moves from his position. “Anything else you need, my lord? What should I tell the others who heard your call for aid?”
“Tell them their queen is healing. That she spoke with a monster today and survived. Oh, and Garvan?” I turn in time to see him take a step closer to the door. “If you ever question what I allow my wife to do again, there’s a Nephilim downstairs that could use a cell mate.”
His features don’t change, but there’s a sudden stiffness in the way he holds himself. He bows low before meeting my gaze again. “Of course, my lord.” Garvan turns and leaves Isabelle’s room.
Another time, I may reflect on wounding the pride of my closest courtier, but that isn’t today. I drag a wooden chair next to Isabelle’s bedside and perch myself upon it.
And then I wait.
For food.
For water.
For Isabelle to regain consciousness and throw insults in my direction. Then and only then will the heaviness in my chest disperse.