122. Levi
LEVI
Violette is unusually quiet, like the calm in the eye of a storm.
Azrael and Lazarus stand on either side of me as we watch her sitting on the balcony of one of the myriad guest rooms of what is now her palace.
We spent the rest of the evening coordinating how and where Azrael and Lazarus’ people will begin integrating into society here, and for the Sinsólians who choose to leave—like the harems of newly freed concubines—Violette has given them a fraction of her father’s wealth to help get their feet on the ground elsewhere.
King Charon and Queen Monette will rule in her stead as Viceroy and Vicereine; Violette will return intermittently to check in on things but has made it clear she doesn’t want to be shackled to an entire kingdom of people, nor be confined to her father’s palace.
Thanks to Azrael’s memories merging with my own, I’m aware of the fact that drakonati have no singular monarch or ruler, outside of Ataraxus—one of Queen Mareina’s three soulbound.
He might loosely be considered their King, but doesn’t impose any of the impositions of a conventional ruler, but is simply revered as the most powerful and wise among them, in addition to leading the drakonati in battle.
According to Somnus, he had no interest in acquiring more power, land, or responsibility and his reply to Lazarus’ offer to bargain was quoted verbatim as, “My people are capable of ruling themselves, my priorities begin and end with my Queen, and I would sooner castrate myself then enter into another bargain with the God of Death. Good day to you.”
A kindred spirit.
As my eyes linger on Violette, I get a sudden, bizarre idea.
An urge.
Right now, she doesn’t need reassurances or empty words about a future beyond our control.
She just needs to be reminded she is loved, and that she is not alone.
That just because her father couldn’t be who she needed him to be, doesn’t mean that we won’t be.
That she doesn’t have to merely survive anymore.
That she is safe.
She has people who love her, that are loyal to her, and would give their lives for her.
She doesn’t need to place her self value in the eyes or the actions of others.
That she is a goddess with goodness in her heart—a radiant spark of the divine.
And whether or not she accepts any part of the crown she has inherited, she is still my queen.
When I come to stand before her, lilac eyes made brighter by the redness surrounding them gradually lift to mine. Not even a second passes before her lower lip begins to tremble. Tears she probably thought she’d run out of are swift to follow.
My heart aches for her.
Bending at the waist, I scoop her into my arms, and sit on the oversized settee so I can hold her in my lap and clutch her against me like the precious creature she is.
Drawing in a deep breath, my stomach dives and swoops with unfamiliar butterflies.
I haven’t sung in front of anyone... ever, much less for someone.
And for some god-forsaken reason, the lyrics that spill from my lips are none other than, A Kiss From A Rose.
Thank fuck she isn’t from Earth.
Unfortunately, Azrael and Lazarus have spent plenty of time in my home realm to be familiar with Seal’s greatest hit.
I only make it through the first verse and a half before I hear a suppressed snort of laughter.
Violette hisses a curse at them before gazing back up at me with wide, adoring eyes. “Please don’t stop. You have such a beautiful voice.”
Feeling more than a little sheepish, I continue.
And the moment I reach the chorus, Azrael and Lazarus burst into song behind us to harmonize. My voice wavers as I attempt to sing through the laughter trying to escape my chest. This of course only encourages the two of them; lures them onto the balcony.
But it’s Violette’s bewildered laughter that makes this small humiliation so worth it. The smile parting her lips is like watching dark cumulus clouds surrender to the sun.
When we reach the post-chorus, Ba-ya-ya, ba-da-da-da-da-da, ba-ya-ya, Azrael and Lazarus’ voices soften as the three of us sing it—only making it halfway through before my laughter fills my eyes with tears and makes my voice wilt and pinch until I can sing no more, and the ill-timed humor rumbles free.
Azrael reaches a similar state of helplessness.
Lazarus is the only one in control of himself, allowing himself a well-earned chuckle.
Violette is giggling as hard as I am, shaking her head in disbelief. “What did I just witness?”
Lazarus heaves a sigh of amusement as he strokes her hair. “The musical stylings of a human named Seal.”
Azrael wipes away a rogue tear, grinning. “I like our version more.”
Lazarus’ gaze slides from Azrael’s to mine. There’s a tension there that feels like appreciation. Though his smile remains reserved, the sincerity in his admission makes something tighten in my chest. “So do I.”
The words. Those fleeting moments of us being joined in song, to console our soulbound, feel like a truce.