Page 39 of A Requiem of Fire and Ice

I laugh at the prospect.

If that’s what she desires, I’ll wait with utter excitement. Yet, it makes little sense—unless she knows about my awareness.

No, it’s doubtful. I’m meticulous whenever it comes to a suspected hunt. There must be another reason for her presence here.

The chauffeur waits outside the black, slim sedan and opens the door for me as I leave the castle grounds. Slipping inside, my thoughts still linger about what Alad told me while the driver departs from the castle estate.

Walkyer must be lying to me—but how? He’s a helpless liar who wears his heart on his sleeve. Unless the girl knows ways to conceal, or he told me the truth, but only half of it.

A cruel, unfriendly, salivating smile reaches my lips at the thought of a hunt. This is becoming the most entertaining game yet, and it hasn’t started.

Will Walkyer bring this woman back to the castle to sway her? I breathe a laugh. Who am I kidding? He’ll bring her back because he usually does. It wouldn’t surprise me if Emmerton were home, catching wind of Walkyer finding love again, and bedding her to annoy his older brother. It’s usually how it goes whenever Walkyer finds a girl he likes. They fall for the mischievous, dickhead younger brother who teases them, knowing Emmerton is easier to bed. They open their legs and hope he falls for them. In reality, he’s playing a cruel game just to hurt Walkyer’s feelings.

I can’t help but think of the games I will play. It is easy for me to fall down the rabbit hole whenever I imagine her wide, innocent eyes wavering with unsettling fear. The shadows around her will move, and the essence of a presence lingering behind her will place the little lamb in flight-or-fight mode until she willingly succumbs to her death. And then, I will torture her until she breaks further and becomes nothing but a shell.

“We’re nearing the place, Prince Reen.”

Gazing out the window, I grimace. I thought King Ragan would want to display his pieces in the centre of Flesh, but it seems he woke up with another brilliant idea. He wants to show everyone who enters Flesh not to mess with him. What better way to do that than to threaten them as they enter Ebon Hall?

The chauffeur stops the car in the middle of the street. Elemny of all colours—yet mainly fire—crowd the streets, clustering around cars. Excitement brims from their faces as they see the king atop the hall in a grand gesture.

Fans are obsessed with or believe the king is a wondrous elemny. They cheer and swoon over him as if he were the god they need to worship.

I sneer at those desperate enough to think they can sleep with him. Sadly, they probably could. He’s a king. He can do whatever he wants without a care in the world. Sex workers are lined up outside his doors to be mistreated and demoralised at his whim.

Fiery red eyes turn to me, and a frothing, cruel grin spreads across his face—King Ragan bellows for the crowd’s attention.

I weave through the crowd and spot Alad off in the corner. With a bemused expression, he observes the whole spectacle. I wouldn’t blame him for thinking the king has finally gone beyond madness and into outright insanity. Anyone witnessing this will feel so, except for his devoted fans.

“How long has he been spouting nonsense?” I ask.

“An hour. He will stop now because he knows you’re here.”

“He loves torturing me,” I agree.

Two elemny who smuggled in elemny from outside stumble forward. The female yelps when she steps too close to the edge, and a high-pitched scream tears through her fragile lungs. Falling forward, she screams and grunts when the chains around her neck snap, and she collapses at King Ragan’s feet.

He’s not ready to kill her yet.

No.

He will do exactly what he taught me. Torment her until she’s at the edge of fear.

“Listen here and listen clearly!” King Ragan shouts.

I dart my focus to the right. Astin crouches on a building, sniper ready, searching the crowd for a target. If King Ragan weren’t tied to Mother, I wouldn’t care if someone clocked him in the head. Anything to relieve the tension of constantly protecting a family that sees me as nothing more than an unchained mutt.

“There are conniving, sneaky rats weaselling inside our home and breaking our rules!”

“Burn them!” the crowd taunts, salivating at fresh death through fiery eyes.

Alad is passive, but I can tell he finds this as disgusting as I do.

“They’ve been bringing unworthy, dirty elemny inside where we sleep. Walking among us and seeking jobs elemny birthed here could have!”

“Burn them! Burn them! Burn them!” A constant chant froths out of hungry mouths until it becomes incoherent.

“Oh, they will burn,” King Ragan snarls, saliva dripping from his mouth. “They will burn from the feet up!”