Page 8 of A Requiem of Fire and Ice

Chapter 4

Reen Kyong

Ash falls onto my skin as I make my way toward the castle. Nate and Carter stand at their posts, facing forward but nodding their heads as I pass through the black iron gates. Their watchful green and blue eyes monitor my movements until I move beyond them.

Ashen bones litter the stone steps. Some have turned to dust after too many boots have crushed them. Nothing but powder lies beneath me.

Alad complains that someone should tidy it up, but King Ragan never responds. I often catch him mumbling about how much he enjoys leaving the castle grounds and seeing the bones of the enemies who wanted him dead.

We don’t question King Ragan’s motives, yet we wonder whether Walkyer or Emmerton would better suit the crown. But as I cast my sight on the tower, all hatred for King Ragan fades when I see Mother tending to her plants. Her earth powers reveal a hint of life in Flesh. Even knowing they don’t thrive in this kingdom, it’s nice to see some colour before the drab greys, blacks, and charcoals vividly show, drowning us in ashen darkness.

Plagued by nightmare-induced dreams.

When I first entered the Kingdom of Flesh, I thought dragons inhabited the land thousands of years ago. I thought they scorched the earth until it reached a state where nothing could grow. A foolish tale I spun upon entering the castle with Mother. And here I have remained since, only leaving when King Ragan sent me out on orders for me to hunt and kill.

As I enter the foyer, the water fountain against the wall next to the double, L-shaped wrought iron staircase comes into view. I gaze at my reflection. Sharp, piercing red eyes stare back at me before I turn right, avoiding the stairs and head toward the wide double doors leading to the Throne Room.

The doors look new because they are. A month ago, King Ragan burned the entire Throne Room when a commoner requested a pay raise. The man explained that farmers needed more money to buy fresh grass for their livestock.

Irritated, King Ragan set him on fire and burned the doors with him. Alad made new doors a week ago and usually kept them open to avoid incidents. But someone had closed them now, and this makes me speculate.

A meeting? It’s too soon to entertain his sex workers. Unless he’s unwell and in desperate need of satisfying that urge, in which case, I doubt I could bear entering the Throne Room without the overpowering need to grab his throat and let his skin dissolve between my fingers.

With a deep breath, I push the doors open and enter without care or regard for whether there is an actual meeting or if he’s fucking his dolls.

King Ragan is in his seat and lifts his head. Those dark, bloodshot eyes burrow into me as I head down the crimson trail rug, ignoring the bodies near the structured pillars lining the throne chair—organs, crisp flesh, and crimson stick to the soles of my shoes with a fleshy sound. Limbs lay all over the place, telling a story filled with terror from a mind gone mad.

I must have missed one hell of a party.

Walkyer stands near the steps leading to the throne, fists clenched, glaring at his father. Irritation, frustration, and anger are a few of the many emotions painstakingly visible on my younger brother’s face. His hatred for his father knows no bounds, and he struggles to hide it from the world.

Walkyer has icy blue hair braided into a ponytail, while the rest falls over half his face. When those glistening eyes snap at me, I glare at the fierce oceanic blue swirling like a storm inside.

He’s pissed, and I don’t want to get on his bad side, considering he’s stronger than I am from element alone. However, I am better than him in everything else, and that’s no brag. I am better. He and everyone in Flesh know it, and that’s where the hatred stems from.

His lip curls into a sneer. My presence here annoys him. “We’ll finish this discussion later,” Walkyer says through gritted teeth.

I tilt my head and murmur, “Evening, brother,” as Walkyer turns to leave. He doesn’t respond, and I don’t expect him to. I didn’t say it out of kindness. I enjoy teasing him.

Once my younger brother exits the throne room and distances himself from the stench of decaying bodies, King Ragan fixes his gaze on me. “Reen, did you capture the smuggler?”

“Astin has prepared a cell for him.” I glance at the door on the right as it opens. Grimacing, I ignore the women entering and continue. “When did you want me to kill him?”

“Midday Saturday.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on the silk fabric draped over him. “And I’m killing him.” His grin broadens with a sinister edge as he says, “I’ll put on a show for all of Eraminia to see.”

I want to ask him why, but women wrapped in thin, see-through mesh, sparkling lace, and glistening jewels emerge from the right-side door, giggling and animated. They dance suggestively, and every curve moves with conviction as they gaze at the King.

I turn away and leave when a woman sits on his lap.

Once I’m outside, the doors closing behind me, Alad waits at the entryway near the staircase. Deciding to find out what’s going on, I head toward him when I see Walkyer storming out of the estate through the floor-to-ceiling window. There’s definite tension on the castle grounds. Knowing Walkyer, he’ll head to the infamous Crimson Hotel, well known as the “Lovers” Hotel. A hotspot for single elemny to hook up.

Everyone in the Kingdom of Flesh knows Walkyer enjoys visiting the Crimson Hotel. However, he typically goes out on weekdays until he finds the one. So far, he has returned empty-handed. I’m not sure why he is so desperate to seek or find love. It’s a hassle. I’ve seen it. Nothing is new except for the torture, torment, and caring for another life besides your own.

“Prince Reen,” Alad says upon noticing me. “Do you know what transpired between King Ragan and Prince Walkyer?”

“No. Nor do I care.”

Alad grimaces, and the lines on his dark brown skin crinkle as he watches Walkyer leave the castle’s confines in search of what he believes is love. Uncaring, I head up the staircase toward the castle’s main entrance. The doors to the entryway open, and the inside glows a vibrant red, revealing a hallway bathed in crimson and gold. My reflection emerges on every inch of the surface, along the metallic golden walls and the glistening, smooth crimson tiles.