Page 40 of A Requiem of Fire and Ice

“Do I have to watch this?” I say.

“If you don’t, you know what will happen,” Alad whispers.

I take pleasure in killing. I find joy in torturing elemny, but the King does too—yet we are not the same. His actions unfold before an audience. He seeks adoration and love through his deeds. My work entertains me, but it serves a purpose beyond that. A hunt is my passion, and I relish gathering information. I enjoy the warmth of crimson flowing from my hand, but I’m not in it for recognition.

King Ragan does it to show his power, while I do it for my own reasons. He boasts no one can challenge him, basking in praise while elemny suffer, wailing and screaming in his presence. The screams, cheers, praise, begging, raised hands, and clinging love. He loves it all while feelings of disgust course through me about what Mother must be feeling now.

This right here is the reason Mother cannot leave her chambers. The wide, vicious grin on his face as he pushes the elemny off the top of the building. Flames curl around their feet, and charred flakes of skin rain down beneath the hungry elemny yearning to feel the embrace of the king’s power.

Their hands reach for the sky. Ashen flesh, smelling of rot, endured through a thousand memories, raining down. The way their eyes glimmer and mouths open in awe at the sight of death, is nothing less than madness spilling from their minds.

“You can leave,” Alad says.

Chapter 18

Electrified [Autumn Kings]

Pandora Hart, July 9th (11:50 am)

All it took was one elemny who wanted to have sex with someone on the job to ruin the high-tech security of a castle.

Where the king lives.

He may not wake up from his slumber. Once word gets out and the dots connect to him, Prince Reen will make a spectacle of him like the innocent elemny King Ragan tortured earlier this morning.

It’s dark down here, with just a hint of light every fifteen steps. Shadows disappear quickly, unable to maintain more than a faint outline. Cobwebs in corners, and spiders dangle low on silky, sticky threads. Bones disintegrate beneath black leather shoes. Ashen bone dust floats upward, suffocating the already thick air.

As I head down the narrow, red-brick hallway, maids pass by without a second glance at me. The cover of shadows shades my face, making it hard for them to see I’m a wolf among sheep. Doors remain shut as I pass them, and a yellow light slithers under the gaps of many, accompanied by murmured, trembling voices of workers conversing quietly.

At the end of the hallway, the main door flies open as I reach for it with my key card. I step aside for the air elemny with silver hair. Her wavering grey eyes burn red from bloodshot. She wears the same outfit as mine, but there are rips across her shoulders and chest, and she reeks of burnt clothing and stale sex.

My gaze lingers on her as she walks down the hallway. Muffled sniffles echo in the quiet corridor. Once she’s out of sight, I head towards the foyer. Light filters through tall, arched windows, casting across ash-covered floors. It rests on two guards stationed at the entrance of the foyer, and my throat tightens at the sight of them, yet they keep their eyes ahead, overlooking the smoke-filled world.

I breathe easier when they don’t flinch as I move past. As I weave around the fountain, my gaze lands on the Throne Room doors, and I catch the murmurs from the foyer. “Prince Reen,” the guards say.

My focus drills into the crimson doors, and my hands flex, itching for the nail file. But with a deep breath, my body relaxes, and I walk as naturally as I can.

“I suggest you bring a body bag,” Prince Reen growls. “I am in no mood for that wretched fucking maid.” His footsteps are light but fleeting with every step. My tense back eases as I hear the fading footsteps up the stairs.

There’s the maids’ closet next to the throne room, and I grab the trolley for cleaning—since King Ragan makes the room bleed—and wait like a robot in front of the doors. The satchel bag I have is hidden inside the rubbish bin attached to the trolley.

I’m a few feet away from seeing the enemy I have imagined killing since that night.

Inside, loud moaning and giggling of women playing a role. And if they don’t, everyone knows what will happen to them. If I were in their place, I would too. Knowing they are close to a mad king and that their lives are at stake, it must be terrifying for them to think they must satisfy him perfectly or else.

The minutes tick by as I wait, slipping the gloves over my hands and flexing them. As I do, I hear a door open and close within. The moaning I heard a moment ago disappears, replaced by an overwhelming silence that hangs in the air.

With a deep breath, I push the door open. It swings silently, and as I move the trolley through, it closes with a deafening rumble. The familiar stench of sex hit my nostrils. My stomach knots, and my throat constricts, trying to keep me from retching at the smell.

When I’m ready to look, my focus moves to the steps leading to the throne. His foot taps away impatiently, and the more my focus rises, the more rage flourishes inside me until it’s about to rupture. I try to control it when I stand outside the doors, but the simmer throbs, burning into utter chaos at the thought of putting a bullet in his head.

King Ragan leans against the throne, his hand pressing against his cheek while those red, suffocating eyes bore into my soul.

The king dresses in delicate garments of red silk and the colour of flesh. He watches with disinterest as I open the black leather bag and slap clean cloths onto the ground to remove the gunky, thick white substance staining the ashen floor.

“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” he says, his voice as deep as the blue sea.

“The maid went on leave with Caleb,” I say as I scrub at the ground.