Fifteenth-century English fashion was excessive and tedious. The endless petticoats and skirts required multiple sets of hands to shimmy into, and I gasped as Sköll tightened the strings on my corset.
I’d been glamoured and undercover as a lady in waiting for several years now, hiding in plain sight.
The god of creation’s ruthless takeover had solidified, and England was completely under the thumb of his reign.
The current king of England, Henry the Eighth, had declared himself ‘God’s Chosen Ruler’ and preached that loyalty to him was equal to loyalty to God.
It was a trend that had become increasingly prevalent in men throughout the ages. They used Yahweh’s religion as a means to acquire power andcontrol over others. The blend of church and state had become a toxic, fear-based chokehold wrought with hypocrisy.
Henry the Eighth was a prime example of a man who used the parameters of Yahweh’s religion selectively.
For example, his people were expected to follow strict marriage laws and were not permitted to divorce. Henry himself was the exception to this rule. He’d created the Anglican Church for the sole purpose of divorcing his wife, Catherine of Aragon, so he could marry Anne Boleyn… whom he then beheaded for alleged adultery and incest charges.
He was a disgusting man, both physically and in his narcissistic ideologies; however, he was theperfectpawn for my plan.
His abuse of power and disrespect towards women made him exactly the type of human I condemned. He was also the first man I’d found who was physically revolting enough to play a starring role in my revenge plan against Hazai.
There had been a period of time when he’d blinked out of existence, and I’d grown worried, only to learn that he, along with Lilith and Ramel, had been trapped in Yahweh’s bowl of nothing as punishment for refusing to bow to him.
Happily, my little stalker was released from purgatory relatively quickly. Lilith was a smart goddess and had made it so that only a demon could wield her scythe. Without her or Ramel there to manage the natural way of death, Yahweh needed to release Shem so he could return to Hell to take over.
I had expected him to immediately resume his chase. However, he’d stayed away. I was beginning to wonder if it was because of Sköll and Fenrir. Perhaps he’d been too busy cataloging the souls in Hell to find a way to overcome them?
I smelled a small twinge of concern toward Shem’s lack of interest in our game since his return from purgatory. I wanted to lure him out of hiding. If Shemhazai thought I was unguarded, maybe I could finally put my plan into action.
“Trust me. I will be fine,” I reassured Fenrir, smiling up at him as he pouted. I manifested the blue jar of elixir I had kept just for this occasion. “Hazai won’t know what hit him.”
Sköll chuckled. “You’re so sinister for a creature of balance.”
Ishrugged. “He’s been moping in Hell long enough. Someone needs to snap him out of it.”
Sköll gave me a peck on the cheek and herded his brother out of the ostentatious room I had been given within Henry’s palace.
“She’ll be fine, brother,” Sköll said, ruffling Fenrir’s mahogany locks affectionately. “Summon us if you need us,” he called back to me, clearly amused by my insane plan.
I smiled at him and nodded. “Always.”
The king was drunk.
I had been summoned to the recreation room to watch as the king drank and gambled with other courtiers. He always won, of course, and his loud laughter was tinged with foul-smelling spittle every time he ‘bested’ another courtier.
He really was vile. Likely close to three hundred pounds with several jiggling chins. He was in a good mood, which was a blessing. King Henry was prone to child-like tantrums if he felt he wasn’t getting his way, so everyone was doing their best to keep him in his good humor.
Drunk as he was, it was easy to influence him in this state.
A small suggestion spell and a few whispered words in his ears had him telling the other courtiers that he wished to retire.
By my suggestion, he asked me to stay and read him poetry as the night wound down.
As I settled into my seat, preparing to read to the drunken buffoon, the back of my neck prickled with the tell-tale sign of Shemhazai’s arrival.
He strolled in, dressed as a courtier, his green eyes flashing in amusement as he took in his surroundings.
His lip curled at the gaudy room, sneering down his nose at the thick, pale curtains and tapestries that draped the walls and the over-the-top golden chandeliers that hung from the gilded ceiling of the recreational room.
“I was going to ask where your dogs are,” he crooned, his gaze rolling over the obese king. “But it seems you’re still entertaining one.”
Henry was now frowning at Shem with a glazed, befuddled expression on his face.
