Chapter 22
Oziel
“What do you mean?” Isabelle turns, her wet body only inches from mine. This damn woman is under my skin. I don’t like it.
Seeing her half naked and escorted by Garvan nearly sent me into a violent rage.
Rage is no stranger to me, but I’ve never let it lead me before.
Never let it control me. I control it. But when I looked at Garvan, all I wanted to do was tear him limb from limb until his cries echoed throughout the kingdom.
This growing need inside me slithers like a snake, ready to strike the moment I let my guard down.
Isabelle looks at me expectantly. Unlike most, there’s no fear in her gaze in regards to me. Only a fierce determination I’ve come to associate with her. Together, I think we’d make a formidable pair. But unfortunately, this pairing has an expiration date.
My gaze flickers to the faint glow of the roses. Those damn roses, an omen and a curse wrapped up in one.
Isabelle takes my silence as reluctance to speak and continues to pry. “I know you said the roses are the curse, but why? Who would curse you with roses? Glowing ones at that.”
This is the question I’ve dreaded. My hatred for roses is no secret to my people, but for Isabelle, who didn’t grow up here, she has no idea what they symbolize for me.
Memories I’ve shoved deep down resurface; the familiar pangs of sadness puncture through my barriers.
It happened so long ago, and yet…it feels like it was just yesterday.
“Oziel,” Isabelle speaks my name with reverence, like she’s reciting a prayer. She reaches out, soft fingers dancing across my chest. “Talk to me.”
Three simple words, and I feel myself yielding to my queen.
She opened herself to me yesterday. It is only right I do the same.
The words tumble out, each one feeling like a burden.
“The Nephilim cursed me or, rather, my kingdom. They are known to use your weakness against you, and mine has always been roses. They were my mother’s favorite.
She used to weave them into her hair, into the tapestries of the palace.
The gardens were filled with them. Blood-red roses stretching for miles, as if the land itself bled beneath our feet. ”
My jaw tightens, a muscle ticking as the memories resurface. “My father used to say they were a symbol of love. A promise that, even in darkness, beauty could thrive.”
“Are you certain your parents were demons? They sound like hopeless romantics.” Isabelle’s question is a welcome distraction, lifting some of the heavy weight upon my chest.
“They were completely and disgustingly in love. A powerful duo with powerful enemies. Demon nature is chaos and discord. Love isn’t something many of us experience. Lust?” I inhale Isabelle’s spicy scent. It goes straight to my cock, making it twitch in interest.
She seems to notice the shift in me because her body tenses. My hands brush against her hips, and she lets out a soft gasp.
“Lust is more common amongst my kind.”
Isabelle listens, silently urging me to go on.
I narrow my eyes as my gaze flicks to the roses.
“They died because of those damned flowers.” My hand curls into a fist, claws pressing deeply into my palm.
“An assassination. The kingdom was on the brink of civil war, and my parents made many enemies.
Enemies who saw their love as weakness. Who believed their love would be the downfall of our kingdom. In a way, I suppose it was.
“Still, my father, ever the fool, believed peace was still possible. He invited the enemy, a man who fought him at every turn, to meet in our rose gardens in hopes of converting him to an ally.” My voice turns bitter, the day playing out before my eyes.
“He wanted the scent of roses to remind them of love instead of war. That peace was possible between all demons in our kingdom.”
A hollow chuckle escapes my lips, humorless and cold.
Much like how I’ve felt since their untimely deaths.
“But the only thing the roses did was mask the scent of poisoned blades. By the time I arrived, the garden was redder than before. I found their bodies, along with their guards’ bodies, among the petals, their blood soaking into the earth. ”
Isabelle reaches for me, fingers brushing against mine.
She doesn’t take my hand, nor do I take hers.
Our fingers simply brush against one another, and that’s enough.
My shoulders tremble with a silent rage that has never truly faded.
Something I’ll keep with me for the rest of my days and well into the afterlife.
“The scent of roses has haunted me ever since.” My gaze lingers on the bouquet in the dome. “To you, they are just flowers. To me, they are ghosts.”
There’s no pity in Isabelle’s eyes when I turn back to her. Only understanding. Then, “How did you survive?” she asks, almost in a whisper. Her cheeks go red, and she shakes her head. “You don’t have to answer—”
“I had the blood of the king and the rage of a thousand demons,” I cut her off.
“I let vengeance and my bloodlust fuel me. Killing the demons who killed my parents didn’t ease the ache of losing them, but it helped me win over important court members.
My ascent to the throne was easy. They finally got the bloodthirsty king they always wanted, one who wasn’t distracted by love. ”
Isabelle stays silent. I wish I could hear what she’s thinking, know the thoughts swirling around in her head right now.
Her face gives nothing away. Soon her hand and body pull away from me, and she turns, slowly approaching the roses again.
My body tenses, ready to pull her back if she gets too close, but Isabelle stops and runs her fingers over the glass dome.
It does little to ease my worries. She’s still too close.
“My sister loved roses.” Her words catch me off guard.
I’m desperate for any information about her life, even if it’s about her sister.
“They were her favorite flowers. She bought them every week, always decorating our kitchen table with them. I learned to love them, despite the many times the thorns made me bleed.”
As if I needed another reason to hate roses, knowing Isabelle bled because of the thorns fuels that hatred. I may never understand their beauty, but I can appreciate that her connection to these flowers is vastly different than mine.
“Why are they glowing? Is that the curse?” She finally drops her hand from the glass.
I nod curtly. “I believe so. A petal stops glowing when it falls, signaling another has fallen to the curse.”
“Hmm.”
I raise a brow. “Something interesting?”
Isabelle shakes her head, tearing her gaze away from the roses. “Nothing, it’s just that I can feel the power within it.”
Before I have a chance to ask what she means, there’s a knock on my door, and a raven-haired demon walks in. Her eyes glance toward me first before landing on Isabelle. Something akin to hunger crosses her features, pupils blown wide. This demon is interested in my wife.
My lips curve up, unable to hide my smirk. I don’t know why it amuses me so much, especially since I was ready to rip Garvan’s head off for simply escorting Isabelle back to my chambers. I suppose I’m in a better mood now.
“My lord and…lady,” she purrs the last word, licking her lips. If Isabelle notices the not-so-subtle flirting, she doesn’t show it. “The wine and food for your upcoming celebration have started to arrive. Would you like a sample?”
“Our upcoming celebration?” Isabelle’s nose wrinkles in confusion. It’s rather adorable. “What celebration?”
The demon laughs, though it sounds forced.
Something she does to be noticed by her queen.
“The celebration of your wedding, remember? The ball is a few days away. The kingdom anticipates quite the celebration. To welcome their new queen, of course.” Again, the she-demon licks her lips as her predatory eyes roam over Isabelle’s body, all but eye-fucking her in front of me.
This time Isabelle takes notice of the she-demon’s obvious flirting and frowns, disinterested.
My wife knows nothing of the lavish, debaucherous parties our kingdoms throw.
Where the drinks never run dry, and the sex lasts well into the next day.
Where rules don’t exist, and our bodies do all the talking.
It’s not uncommon to wake up naked in between two strangers. Or more.
I still believe the ball is the best option to take note of who is in attendance and who isn’t. It’s a well-known fact that the kingdom will be enthralled with a celebration, giving whoever is poisoning the River Hel the perfect opportunity to sabotage it. Except this time, we’ll be ready.
“You said there’s wine?” Isabelle asks.
The she-demon smiles, showing off her white teeth. “Yes, my queen. I’ll fetch some for you now.”
She goes to leave, but my shadows slam the door closed, effectively stopping her. “Tell your queen what kind of wine it is.” My voice is low, unassuming.
The she-demon freezes, not meeting my gaze as she turns around. “It’s lust wine, my queen. Meant to put you in a haze of lust.”
Isabelle’s eyes widen, and she looks at me. “You’ll be serving this to everyone at the party?”
“No,” I say, and she relaxes her shoulders until I add, “We’ll be serving it to everyone.”
The look of horror on Isabelle’s face is almost amusing, until she gets a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Bring the wine,” she orders the she-demon. My curiosity piques.
The raven-haired demon looks in my direction cautiously. I dip my head, reining my shadows back in. The door opens with an audible click, and she scurries out quickly. Isabelle sits back on the velvet upholstered chair, an amused grin on her lips.
“When were you going to tell me about the kind of parties you throw here?” she asks, only mild curiosity in her tone.
I sit at the edge of the bed opposite her. “It’s more fun to see you experience it. I couldn’t do the party justice with my words.”
“I’m sure,” she hums. “I suppose after everything we’ve discussed, we both deserve a drink. Don’t you think, Husband?”
This time, it’s my turn to grin like a damned fool. That’s exactly what Isabelle makes me. A foolish demon playing a dangerous game. “Very much, Wife.” Even if I have sworn off love, I’ll happily indulge my wife in any way befitting a queen. Though, if I’m being honest, I want to ruin her.