He completely evades my question. “We’ll greet them in the throne room.”
I start to complain, but then a small box appears in his hand from a wisp of smoke. It’s black, about the size of a dinner plate, and has a simple gold ribbon tied over it.
“For me?” Cautiously, I take it, pulling the bow out.
Inside is this necklace he commissioned for me, and it’s almost certainly the most expensive thing I’ve ever touched before. My void-black star sits comfortably at the end, but the rest of the necklace is draped with multiple layers of diamonds and other black jewels, some of which are miniature versions of the centerpiece.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, momentarily stunned, as I run my fingers over the precious gems. It’s even more ornamental than the crown Abaddon wears, andthatalready looks like a piece of art history. “I… I can’t accept this.”
“Of course you can.” He pulls the box from my hands, moving to clasp the short necklace around my neck. “Have you already forgotten our customs?”
“Right. It’s rude to deny gifts.” The moment the piece falls around my neck, the cold bite of the unusual black stone pulls a gasp out of me.
Abaddon turns on his heels, heading into the throne room, and I follow behind.
It’s even more magnificent than I imagined. Perhaps a bit more macabre, too, but still overwhelmingly beautiful.
When I walk in, I’m immediately taken by the mural on the backwall. It depicts a white moon setting over a pitch-black void with wispy, needy shadows reaching out of it. They seem to be pointed towards the center, where an unmistakable Abaddon is painted at a very small scale. Though it only shows the back of him, his wings make him unmistakable. Curiously, though, he has bands of multiple elements wrapping around him, circling him in rings like he’s a planetary body. Fire, light, shadows—all sorts of destruction.
And then there’s the centerpiece of the room.
It’s an oversized throne, melded from black obsidian and cushioned by plush red velvet. Intricate patterns of an unknown language are carved throughout the stone, while the back extends in the shape of Abaddon’s wings.
Leading up to the throne, extending nearly to the tall ceiling, are massive marble statues of angels. Six flank the walkway, three on each side, all with faces concealed by hoods. They each blow a trumpet, too, but they’re all pointed at slightly different angles.
About a dozen golden locusts, standing at a significantly shorter height than the pillar-like angels, crowd the walls as well. They stay so still, blending in with the decor, that I don’t even realize they’renotstatues for a moment.
Meanwhile, Abaddon walks towards the throne as if it’s the most casual chair in the world.
The sound of steps behind me has me looking over my shoulder, finding Dusk and Semyaza entering the room in full armor. They nod at me in greeting, but something about the cavernous silence of the room seems to keep anyone from talking.
Following their lead, I walk to the edge of the dais, just before where Abaddon waits with his back turned to us. Slowly, he turns around, his eyes finding mine with a crushing intensity.
Some gut instinct inside me—fear, maybe—sends my heart rate climbing.
The King then begins to stalk towards me, his boots echoing off the polished stone floor with a rhythmic surety. I don’t quite know what to make of it, so I stay still, fighting the urge to nervously shift and fidget… But something feels off. The hair on the back of my neck raises.
Finally, he stops in front of me, looking down at me for a second.
“You look beautiful,” he says, contemplatively, just before snatching my wrist. Pulling me closer to him with unexpected demand, he leans down to whisper into my ear, “Come sit with me, my love.”
“What?”I barely breathe the word out.
“Hurry, now, before the Council arrives. I want your place to be known by everyone.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words abruptly die in my throat. In an instant, all of my shock, fear, and confusion have evaporated.Gone,just like that.
Logically, I know it’s unnatural. I couldn’t possibly have done it to myself, nor would I have wanted to. It’s a wholly unnatural smothering. But by the time I recognize it, it’s far too late. The polar opposite emotions start flooding in—I become euphoric, enamored, andacquiescent.
Abaddon slips his hand down from my wrist to interlace his fingers with mine, tugging me with him towards the throne. My body, pliant to wherever he leads me, is no longer my own. We take up the dais, and when he sits down, he pulls me with him.
Without an ounce of hesitation, I peacefully comply, joining him on the throne.
It’s large enough for both of us, though it’s a tight fit. My legs are squeezed against his, finding uncomfortable angles between the metal of his armor and the tight underclothes beneath it. His membranous wings settle behind me, and he casually rests our interlocked hands at the juncture of our legs. I stare at it, knowing I’m desperately confused, but unable to feel the confusion.
When I glance up at Abaddon again, he’s…
He’s fucking smiling.
