The Issaraeth breezed in, his dark clothing perfectly tailored to his brutal frame.
He knew not why he’d been summoned to appear before his sister and her husband in this room, but from prior experience, nothing good awaited.
Fear wanted to twist in his gut, but he shoved the emotion away. Feelings were a weakness, a lesson carved into his flesh not long after his first kill.
To his surprise, he was alone with the two rulers of the Angel Realm upon entry.
“Brother,” the Korona cooed, rising to her feet and descending from the dais upon which her crystal chair perched.
He kissed her on either cheek, noting the fervor in her eyes as he backed away and swept into a deep bow to greet the Koron. “Your Grace.”
“Rise, Vaeron. We have much to discuss before our other guests arrive.”
“Of course,” he replied, his tone even and measured while his mind worked over every possibility. He kept his expression neutral as he straightened, hands clasping behind his lower back.
His sister returned to her throne, draping an elegant silk gown so that it fell over her long legs. An array of rings flashed in the daylight as she drummed her fingers against the stone arm.
The Koron studied his brother-by-law for a long moment, waiting for him to squirm.
As always, he never did.
“Herr Elyriane has been causing trouble,” he finally spoke, expecting his finest hunter to understand without needing the filth of explanation.
“What would you like me to do?” the Issaraeth asked, ever the obedient soldier. This, he could do. The Herr had irritated him endlessly for decades. In fact, he was the Issaraeth’s least liked counterpart on the noble council.
“I’m glad you’re so willing to aid us, Vaeron,” his sister grinned, but her voice tipped into an almost caustic territory. Like she’d already decided how much his help would hurt.
A stone settled in his gut. That tone was far too familiar for his liking. He flinched internally at the memory of what he’d had to do the last time she spoke to him with saccharine sweetness.
“To appease Herr Elyriane and secure peace within our realm so that we may continue to exterminate the Demons,” the Koron paused, his regard like a noose tightening around his hunter’s neck, “you will marry his daughter, Dasha, at the end of the summer under the Goddess Moon.”
Shock jolted through every nerve. It took all of theIssaraeth’s self control not to react, to keep that placid calm, that refined control, in place. Surreptitiously, he expanded his nostrils and exhaled.
“I will not.”
The words emerged steadier than he’d anticipated and ringing with finality.
The monarchs’ expressions darkened.
“You have a duty to this realm. Need I remind you what that is?” the Koron threatened, red tinging his cheeks.
The Issaraeth took a step forward, posture impeccable and coiled tight. “I know exactly what my obligations are, Stadiel. I round up Seers. I kill Elessarum. I Command whomever you need to do exactly what you want. Why not let me do the same to Zarethiel Elyriane?”
It would have been that simple, truly. He gritted his teeth as he waited for an explanation as to why that wasn’t enough.
“Because you are the most sought after bachelor in the entire realm, and we wish for you to marry Dasha,” his sister spit, her nails digging into the stone.
“For centuries,” he paused, forcing himself to speak slowly when all he wanted to do was scream. “I have done everything you asked, without question. Can I not refuse this one thing?”
“No,” the Koron snapped, legs parting as he leaned forward, casting his imposing might over his wife’s unruly brother. “This is your most important mission yet. Nothing will get in the way of that. If you have another, cast her aside.”
His sister laughed, sharp and condescending. “He has no one else. Never has. He’s too busy drowning in his bloodlust rather than allowing himself to care. Isn’t that right, brother? After all, because of that, you let our mother die. Had you gone to get help, she would still be alive.”
She stabbed the Issaraeth directly in his deepest woundwith a smile on her lips. Without hesitation. Without remorse. It wasn’t the first time.
His nails bit into his palms as the scent of autumn apples rose from a long-buried memory.
He never wanted to marry—after all, he was a monster, even to his own people. Monsters didn’t love. Couldn’t. It was far too dangerous; it made them too easy to destroy. Even if his mother’s final words about his good heart echoed in his ears in the lonely darkness.
