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“Of course you’d say that,” a humanoid looking man says. He crosses his arms and leans back in his seat. The chair groans under his weight but holds true. “The only thing you care about is yourself. Hell, if his war suited you, I doubt you’d be sitting at this table. You’d be at his side, waving your sword around.”
“And that would be Rillion, Lord of Purgatory. In short, he punishes the bad souls by making them relive their worst moments in the hope that they learn from their mistakes. He’s never really liked me. Not since I started an underground fight club in his district.”
My brows arch as I turn to Asmo.A fight club?He rolls his eyes, then flicks his gaze back at me as if saying he’ll elaborate later.
Asmo glares daggers at Rillion, his voice dripping with venom as he says, “If there was war, I’d sacrifice you and yourdogsto ensure my family was safe. So, be lucky the elf lord isn’t interested in the hellhounds.”
“And that’s precisely why you’ll never be king.” Rillion snubs his nose into the air. It’s crooked, like it’s been broken one too many times, and I can’t imagine why anyone would ever want to do such a thing.
“I’ll never be king because I’ll ensure my brother has a long, happy life. Long enough that his son is of age and ready to take the throne in his passing. Everyone at this table knows I’ve never had a desire to rule, and that’s as true now as it was before I’d ever gone through that boundary.” Asmo doesn’t look away from Rillion. I’m not even sure he blinks as he stares the hell hound shifter down.
Rillion scoffs, but says no more, turning his attention back to the king and queen.
The king shakes his head, the light bouncing off the golden serpents that have been embroidered around the edges of his billowing sleeves. He’s dressed in the royal colors of black and gold, but like Asmo, he’s left the neckline open. If it weren’t for the sheer finery of the fabric, the crown on his head, and the power he radiates, I might not have pegged him as a king on looks alone.
A warrior, maybe, but not a king.
“War doesn't solve anything.” The king sinks back in his chair, his dark eyes scanning the room, meeting those of every individual around this table. “The only thing war leads to is the death of innocent lives on both sides.”
A lump forms in my throat, a mix of grief and anger swirling within me at the raw truth. The king is right. War only has devastating consequences.
“Yeah, well tell that to the Elf Lord. He doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.” An Orc, easily five times the size of any creature around this table, says. He’s not sitting at the table, but rather standing against the far wall. Even from that distance, he dwarfs everyone here.
“We must remember that our grievances aren't with the elves as a species, just the leaders commanding their armies to attack our villages. If there's an option to make peace, without us tossing magic back and forth on a battlefield and killing more innocents who are simply following orders, then we need to try. Now, his declaration came with a—”
Alice squeezes his shoulder, making the king stop mid sentence. Her lips tugging into a soft reassuring smile as the king peers up at her. “As much as I'd like to try to negotiate our way out of this, I don't see one. What he’s demanded isn’t possible.” The queen meanders around the side of the table, pacing itslength. “The elf lord has hated our kind for centuries. He frowns upon his own people for not being pure bloods. How do you reason with a man who sees himself superior to every other living thing?” She pauses a moment, as if waiting for someone to answer her. “You can't, because he doesn't value life outside of his own and the original elven families. To him, every creature other than the elves are ants. Ants he’d feel no remorse for if he crushed them beneath his boot.”
Asmo gently nods beside me, elbows propped on the table and fingers laced, silently agreeing with her. As I stare at him, tracing the outline of his beautiful face, I’m not sure how to feel…
When my mother was alive, my father’s views weren't so farfetched. He had empathy. He smiled… The day she gave her life to save mine changed something in him. Suddenly, the loving man I’d grown up with became cruel,hardened. I'm not sure if he was angry that his mate gave her life to save her child and left him behind, or that she did it to bring back his daughter and not his son.
She could only save one of us.
A life for a life.
Then I think of the gargoyles at Grim's Keep, what he did to them… I would've never expected such viciousness, such blood-thirsty vengeance from my father, even at his lowest point in life. It leads me to wonder if I ever really knew him at all.
“What was the alternative the elf lord offered?” Griffin’s father asks, exhaling deeply as he lifts his gaze to the queen’s.
“Not something we can give.” The queen’s gaze shifts to me.
Blood drains from my face, leaving my cheeks cold as ice, turning my soul hollow. She didn’t need to speak it aloud. That look told me loud and clear.
Whatever his demands were, they have to do with me. Except, she can’t do anything about it because I’d made her promise to keep my secret. She’s honoring it, but at what expense?
My brows worry together, flattening slightly as I watch Asmo’s face out of the corner of my eye. He spins the rings around his fingers, seemingly lost in thought.
What will he do if he learns the truth? That I’m the daughter of the man he hates with every cell of his being…
“We should have all the information,” Griffin’s mother says, her voice far more angelic than I expected it to be. It’s impossible to look away as she speaks.
The king glances at his wife, then nods, settling his hands on the table. “He believes his daughter is being held captive here on the mainland. He’s said if she’s returned unharmed, then he’ll settle for the Elven Islands to succeed from the crown of the Seven Realms, to become their own kingdom.”
“She’s his only heir, yes?” the hellhound man, Lord Zule, says as he pinches his chin between his fingers. “Is it possible for one of you to summon the girl?”
“Yes,” the queen answers, her eyes drifting back to me. “Though summoning isn’t an option. As elvish customs suggest, the Lord’s heir in waiting is hidden away for their protection. No one has seen her.”
She’s not wrong. Until my courting, I had been hidden away. Whenever I wasn’t at the royal balls, no one but a handful of servants were allowed in the wing of the castle I lived in. Whenever I was allowed to join my father at his gatherings, or allowed to promenade with the suitors, I always had to wear a golden mask that covered most of my face, save for my eyes and mouth.
