Epilogue | Part Two
LAZARUS - ANOTHER HUNDRED YEARS LATER
Azrael heaves a groan of annoyance on the throne beside me as trumpets and bugles sound in the distance to announce the arrival of King... Whatshisfuck.
God of something-or-other.
My lips curls. “Must he always announce himself with such pomp?”
Azrael shakes his head, waiting for the doors of our throne room to part. “We could just kill him and be done with it?”
I consider it for several moments. Long enough for it to turn Azrael’s head and meet my gaze.
My intuition whispers, no.
I give a noncommittal shrug. “Let’s just see what he has to offer.”
A moment later the sound of groaning wood and metal rends the air as our soldiers draw open the doors to the throne room. A great procession of acrobats, sigil embroidered flags, and soldiers precede the visiting king.
Just one of many in this new realm.
Azrael’s lip curls. “Do we have to?”
Perching my chin on one fist, I watch–filled with boredom–the display before us.
Acrobats flip and twirl beside dancers until they reach the foot of the dais, where our guards form a wall between them and us, at which point they fling themselves gracefully forward in prostration. Behind them, soldiers march in, halting just behind them.
And finally, the theatrics come to a blessed end when the soldiers part to form a path.
A page boy scurries forward, dressed in a pair of silly-looking, puffy pantaloons, a frilly shirt, a feathered hat, and a gold sash.
In a reedy, pre-pubescent voice he announces the approaching royalty.
Azrael and I both stifle our laughter as we exchange a look.
However, when we return our gazes to our guests, standing in the page boy’s place is not the king we anticipated, but a female.
A female with long sable hair and a pair of violet eyes I’d recognize anywhere.
Dressed in a gown that hugs the feminine curves beneath, she glares openly at us.
The formerly hollow space in my chest flares to life in recognition and it takes everything in me not to leap off this fucking throne and steal her away.
Before I even have a chance to recover, my eyes lift to the warrior looming behind her—presumably, her personal bodyguard. Disdain drips from his bright, green-eyed gaze as his eyes dance between me and Azrael.
The soon-to-be objects of his deepest affection.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
Even through the venom in their gazes, I can so clearly hear Levi’s voice echoing in my mind.
“... And my soul will always, always return to yours.”