“Disperse!”
For a heartbeat, the crowd stilled—and then came the reply, ragged but unified, a chant that made Jesenia’s stomach lurch even from inside the safety of the palace walls:
“No half-blood king! No half-blood heir!”
The last restraint in him broke.
He launched from the balcony, wings tearing the air, and landed in the heart of the terrace with the force of a falling star. The ground cracked beneath his boots, and the crowd scattered—but not far enough.
“On your knees,” Val-Theris said softly, dangerously, his eyes burning. “Now.” When they hesitated, he shouted once more. “Now!”
For a moment, it seemed as though they might obey.
The nearest rioters faltered, some sinking to their knees, others frozen mid-step with stones clutched uselessly in their hands. Val-Theris stood among them, wings flared, the light of his divinity cutting through the tension like a blade. His presence pressed down on them, demanding submission without another word.
Then someone laughed. It was sharp and nervous at first—an ugly sound that didn’t belong in the silence. A man near the back of the crowd raised his voice, emboldened by the sheer number at his side.
“You hear that?” he shouted. “The angel defends his bed warmer!”
A stone flew with the words. It struck Val-Theris’s shoulder and shattered against his armor, fragments skittering across the marble. Another followed. Then another.
Val-Theris moved before Rohannes could reach him. His wings snapped outward in fury. The air screamed as he surged forward, the force of his passage knocking men flat where they stood. He seized the man who had spoken first by the front of his tunic and lifted him clear off the ground.
“You forget, I am your king,” Val-Theris said, his voice low and terrible, each word trembling with barely leashed violence.
The man choked, clawing uselessly at Val-Theris’s wrist, then spit in his direction. He dodged the spittle. Around them, the crowd surged again, panic overtaking bravado as the loyalHastaticharged in at last, shields raised, blades flashing.
Val-Theris hurled the man aside as though he weighed nothing. He turned, eyes blazing, and raised one blood-slicked hand.
“Drive them back,” he commanded, his voice ringing like a death knell. “Make them remember who I am.”
Feathers cut through the smoke like blades. His soldiers followed his fury, striking hard, scattering rioters with merciless precision. Screams tore through the terraces, the sound of bones breaking against marble. The people who had once chanted his name now fled from him in terror.
From the high windows of Solmiris, Jesenia pressed her hands against the cold stones, her heart hammering as she watched the chaos below.
And in the middle of it all, Val-Theris stood unyielding, his wings spread wide, blood on his feathers, his hand slick with the proof of violence.
Jesenia’s hand went to her stomach, tears breaking down her face “This isn’t what I asked for,” she whispered to the silence. “Not this.”
When Val-Theris returned to their chambers, his cloak was torn, his hands bloodied. He reached for her at once, his voice soft, almost tender.
“They will not threaten you again,” he whispered, as though his brutality were a gift. “The city has been reminded who their king is. It is by my rule they live such lavish lives, and they will do well to remember that. They will never dare speak against our child again.”
Jesenia stepped back before he could reach her, her tears still streaking her cheeks and her hand trembling faintly where itrested protectively over her stomach. The movement struck him harder than any blade.
“At what cost, Val-Theris?” she asked, her voice breaking. “You said you would protect us. But all I see is more blood. More hate. You’re giving them reason to despise us. To despise me. How can this save our child? They will never forgive me for what you’ve done in my name.”
Val-Theris’s wings shuddered faintly as though from an unseen weight—perhaps even guilt. “I did what I had to do,” he said, though the words sounded more like a plea than conviction.
“Every drop of blood you spilled makes the whispers louder. Every scream you silenced becomes another curse upon our child.”
“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “If I let things worsen they will take you from me. I cannot let that happen.”
“And if you keep going?” Jesenia asked, her voice trembling. “What will be left of you when our child comes into this world? Will they inherit a father? Or a tyrant who calls himself angel?” Her voice cracked then, and she turned away, her shoulders shaking as she pressed her forehead against the cold stone wall. “I can endure your people’s hatred,” she whispered. “But I will not raise this child in blood. If you cannot stop this path…then perhaps I was not meant to stay.”
Val-Theris stood frozen, his wings half-furled, his hands clenched helplessly at his sides.
“Jesenia,” he said finally, softly, his voice raw. “Don’t ask me to choose between you and my crown. Because you know I will choose you. Every time.”
