In the end, his body betrayed him. It didn’t matter how many tiles he counted on the ceiling or how many different birds flew past the window, his body was always his worst enemy. Camalia would win. She would draw it out of him in any way that she could.
Today was slightly different.
There were others. Friends of hers with the same sick lusts and wandering hands.
He did everything he could.
For four years, he’d endured it. Today was slightly different. He saw her.
Though it was just a glimpse of her hair, he saw her wandering around in the courtyard, a basket full of fresh flowers nestled carefully inside. Good, he thought. It was good. She was safe. He’d done everything he could.
“What are you looking at?” Camalia asked. He could hear the rustling of her silks as she moved closer to him, crawling over the bodies of her friends to reach him. The large bed was still not large enough to put as much distance between himself and the truth. There were six hundred and twenty two ceiling tiles in that room and he still could not hide from the truth.
“Nothing, your majesty.” He mumbled, but his eyes stayed fixed on the window, on the girl that was now twirling around in a downpour of cold, spring rain.
Camalia followed his gaze, the runes on his back igniting with a ferocious heat that made him arch into her. “Do not look at her.” She growled. “Especiallywhen you are with me.”
He wasn’t quite sure where his sudden defiance came from, as he’d usually been fairly compliant in what she’d asked of him, but Aziel refused to look away from the girl. She was still dancing, his back still burning with pain.
“Look at me.” She hissed. “Do not embarrass me in front of my friends. Look at me, Aziel.” Another wave of fire. A shuddered groan. His body still betrayed him as her friends stroked and pulled at him. But this…
This he could control.
He could look at her. Hewouldlook at her. No matter how many times Camalia burned him with the runes, no matter how many bodies were on top of him or how many hands ran along his skin, he could controlthis.
He did everything he could.
He did everything…
Later that night, as Aziel left the city, he noticed the first harsh, black line that cut across his chest. And with it camea sense of carelessness, a certain numbness, that started as a means of survival, but eventually became an addiction.
Aziel dragged his hand along his jaw, teeth grinding as he placed his glass back onto the counter. Gorford eyed him, both of them having already exchanged displeased looks the moment that the men entered the Twisted Willow roughly twenty minutes prior.
It was not uncommon for humans to find themselves here. There were many people that wandered through these forests, eventually stumbling upon a trap like this—one that Aziel had carefully curated and crafted himself.
When he’d heard of Dorid’s men lingering too close to the far side of the Gillian line, Aziel decided that the Twisted Willow would be his place of residence until he got this issuesorted.
As a god, Aziel could not kill anything that did not have an impending death. If their names graced his roster, he was allowed to do as he pleased with their worthless bodies. These men, in particular, had been names he’d waited on seeing for a very, very long time.
So he waited.
In full glamour, with his hair an odd shade of red and his eyes of gleaming green, Aziel waited. And listened.
Unfortunately for him, their conversations were almost of no value. They didn’t talk about the war, about the Mystics they killed. Instead, they talked about all of the women that were falling into their laps the moment they saw their gilded armor. It was quite a shame, considering three or four of them had wives and children back at home. A shame that their innocent families didn’t know what they were doing with their free time, a shame that they were laughing and practically spitting in the faces of the ones that loved them most.
He expected no less from them. He’d spent time with them when he served in Dorid’s army. He remembered how they prodded and poked at him, shoved him around when he first arrived in The Beyond. He’d just been sterilized and they considered him weak, given the fact that he could hardly walk after the procedure.
They forced him into armor. Forced him to kill someone. Forced him to eat the testicles of an animal, since they’d all come to the seemingly laughable conclusion that he no longer had any. They would have forced him to do much worse, had Oran not stepped in and threatened to have them all dismissed on account of treason.
He let those memories run their course in his mind, let them steep into his bones, settle into his muscles, and rouse the Death that was waiting rather impatiently to strike.
And then it faded.
The smell of warm vanilla and mint filled his nose, notes of fragrant blossoms sprinkling the air. His stomach curled in on itself, his gloved hands curling around his whiskey glass. Aziel glanced over his shoulder at the door as soon as it opened, teeth grinding when he saw white hair and a mint green dress stepping over the threshold. Gordford went still.
“What is she doing here?” Gorford hissed. “Her father will rip out your guts if anything—”
“Remain calm.” Aziel snapped quietly. “She will be fine.”
