Page 42 of A Requiem of Fire and Ice

I need to blow off steam soon before I engulf the castle in flames. I am in no mood after King Ragan’s performance. To where I tried roaming the city while King Ragan entertained his sex workers when he came back, but I couldn’t get her out of my head. She’s like the plague, and the more my thoughts drift to this…Pandora—if that’s her fucking name—the more she interests me.

She transferred to the academy in Oceanview Harbour. It’s interesting, but not that surprising.

Pandora moved from the academy in the Kingdom of Storm to Oceanview Harbour. It is vaguely fascinating, considering Oceanview Harbour is the furthest from the Kingdom of Storm. Why not choose a free city closer to her elemental power?

She has a boyfriend. Not that interesting. She acts differently when she’s not around her friends. Interesting, but lacking information. It’s common for some elemny to hide their true feelings, emotions, and personality from those around them because they don’t want their friends to judge them.

Emmerton is a perfect example of showing a kinder, more innocent, and sweet side. All the while, he’s a viper ready to strike at his victims. What’s more pathetic is the women and men who fall for his cheap tricks when, if they had a hint of critical thinking, they would know that it’s all a game to the youngest prince.

Pandora is an orphan. Now that…that’s fucking interesting and piqued my interest when Alad told me. An orphan. What would an orphan from Sweethearts Orphanage be doing in Oceanview Harbour? Why there? Unless she’s tied to someone or something there. Someone by the name of Old Wolf, perhaps?

There was no other reason for her to live there.

Either way, I will discover and savour this hunt until I have quenched my thirst. I will fill my bones until they are nothing but blackened flames.

As I move up the stairs, I eye the hallway leading to the throne room. The moaning draws my focus in that direction, and I observe the water elemny maid marching toward the closet.

Rolling my eyes away from her, I continue up the stairs, weaving around flights of them, down the corridor and to the sleeping chambers. Walkyer is currently searching for the girl I intend to hunt. How entertaining it would be if he found her and brought her back, and I got to meet her personally without it being obvious that I was stalking her.

When I reach the top of the stairs, the doorway is empty, and Layla’s nowhere in sight. The thought of my mother being left unguarded, at the mercy of an assassin, deepens my frown. But I shrug off the feeling and enter her chambers.

The overwhelming scent of mulch wafts in my face, and I blink in the suffocating smell that dulls my senses before I notice Mother leaning against the railing and overlooking the Kingdom of Flesh. It’s uncommon to see her out there as if she’s contemplating life. Usually, she perches on her chair, making dream catchers like my dad used to create. Today must be a rare occasion for her.

“Reen, do you ever wait?” Mother speaks in a drawl. Hostility and irritation are thick in her words. She’s irritated, either by my being here or because of King Ragan’s entertaining day spent killing smugglers and screwing sex workers.

I lean against her chair and say, “This is the first time I’ve seen you without a maid, so I took the opportunity before the insufferable woman returns, and I’d have to kill her if she gets in my way.”

“I sent her to lunch,” Mother says, but she’s lying. “So, son. You’ve picked the perfect time to get me alone.” Her voice drops an octave. “What do you want? What game do you want to play today?”

“No games. I already have a game with someone I suspect is a smuggler. I came here to tell you about King Ragan’s display earlier.”

“And?”

“The madness is becoming unbearable. Did you know he wants Emmerton and Walkyer to brawl it out, and whoever wins, he will crown them?”

Mother sighs as she turns away from the railing. She closes the glass sliding door and folds her arms across her chest, clearly barricading herself from my words. They hurt to hear. Who wouldn’t feel any form of pain knowing someone threatens to end the life you created inside them?

“You need to talk to him,” I say.

“I haven’t spoken to that man in twenty-two years. What makes you think talking to him will do any good?” Mother says through clenched teeth.

“He won’t kill you. He must listen to you, no matter what. If Walkyer or I try, he will slaughter Walkyer. Or is that what you want?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Reen.”

“Then do something before those words come true, and you hear about Walkyer lying in a pool of his fucking blood because he’s too caring to harm Emmerton and me.”

Mother bites her lower lip and peels off the green lipstick until it stains. She’s struggling with my demands. My demands aren’t usually this demanding of her, and more often than not, I figure something out if it means leaving Mother alone. But I can’t do anything this time. And I didn’t spend most of my life sacrificing myself to save Walkyer, only for him to die at the hands of his dad.

I didn’t nearly bleed out in the crisp snow at the Kingdom of Crystal, only surviving because a stranger aided in my recovery, and the one who wanted me to protect them turned his back and wished me dead instead.

I didn’t waste my life becoming this fucking shell to have him throw it in my face. If he weren’t tethered to Mother, I’d have ripped him to pieces without batting an eyelash, placed Walkyer on the throne, and seen a new world thrive for the better.

“Very well.” Mother digs into her pocket, and as she pulls the letter out, a wash of blood sprays out of the side of her neck. Her emerald eyes, a bright, alluring colour of all things warm, fade, and her body jolts back. Fleshy brains and blood spool out from the back of her head—a searing hole from where the bullet entered bleeds red.

I reach out to her, grab her arm, and before she falls, I stumble to my knees with my mother in my arms. Her face contorts in surprise, her eyes wide open, and her mouth agape in utter shock. Her blank, expressionless eyes are nothing but lifeless and dead inside.

When severe pain pulses in my temple, I close my eyes and twitch my head to the side, trying to diffuse it. Despite telling myself to calm down, the darkness rises quickly like dye in water. It spills across the floor, and tendrils of flames curl around the plants, burning them until they stink of dry grass.