To Bewitch a Devil

204 Mourning

“Pen…”, her name on his tongue was as light as a feather. Her eyes fluttered open, and she found him staring at her with a kind of raw hunger. He could have her, and she would allow it, he was certain of it.

“I’m not trying to ruin what’s going on”, he said. “But I don’t want to push something that you would wake up to regret or hate me more for.”

Pen’s brows fell. “What?”

“Your mood is in a fragile place now”, Azriel said. “I want to be sure this…”, he placed a kiss on her cheek, and the spot burned with passionate promise. “…is what you want, because it is sure as hell what I want.”

Penelope wanted to pull him to her, to forget talks and regrets and live to the sweetness the moment had to offer, and let the morning come with whatever it would bring. The night wrapped like an invitation. Her fingers reached behind his neck, the temptation drawing her in, but she didn’t pull him close. It was like there were invisible strings holding her away from him, pulling her away.

“Pen?”

She looked at him and untangled her fingers from around him.

“My Lord…”

The title drew the line, solid and visible between them. It was all the answer Azriel needed from her.

.....

“I understand”, Azriel smiled. “But I will always be here if you need me. And I am talking about if you need to talk, Pen.”

Her eyes became watery. “I don’t want to ever pry the truth out of you again. I can handle it.”

“And I will remember.”

Pen felt herself drawing closer to him, but she placed a kiss identical to the one he had given her on his cheek.

“Good night, my Lord. And thank you.”

“Good night, Pen.”

And so, she left the chambers, and there was a certain forlornness in her steps, a mourning of what never was to be mourned, and a wish for something she never wanted to have.

A paradox of her life, and where Azriel was concerned, she was thrown in a loop that got even more tangled at each turn.

….

The meeting room was filled to the brim with Lords, Knights, and Knightesses with grave faces, black attires and formidable silence. At the head of the table, Zavian sat with Azriel at his side. The seat at the opposite end of the King was the only empty one in the room, a reminder of the reason why they were all gathered in the first place.

The Duke of Selesee, Aaron, was wearing a black coat, very unusual from the colourful attire he had worn all through his stay at the castle not too long ago, when merry and wine flowed within limits. His face was longer, eyes sunk in their sockets as if he hadn’t eaten in days, and he kept his gaze on his varicose-veined hands on the table. The Duchess, his wife, had taken ill at the news. He had told the other when asked about her welfare, and was deteriorating as days went by.

“I have to say”, the Duke of Taos cleared his throat, “my condolences once again, your Majesty. It has been a week since the demise of the Queen, and this is a condolence visit than it is a meeting.”

“No”, the Duke of Selesee spoke, his voice grave. “for me, I came to take my daughter’s body. They wouldn’t let me see her face. Got her all wrapped up in bundles of clothes. How thoughtful of the King to not want me to be scarred by her remains.”

Zavian’s eyes flicked over to the Duke, but he said nothing.

The Duke of Grenao sat forward, and the attention was directed to him, to everyone’s relief. “All the burial rites will be complete in two full moons, and as the laws demand, the King is to remain in mourning till then before another Queen can be chosen.”

The Duke of Selesee slammed a hand on the table, and his eyes turned bright red.

“My daughter is yet to be buried and you are talking about replacing her?”

“No one can replace the Queen,” The Duke of Grenao said in a mellow tone, placating and patronizing at the same time. “Duties are still duties, and they have to be upheld in the face of any disaster.”

“Speak of duties at another time,” the Duke of Darstun shot at him. “This is about Queen Jasmine, and nothing else is of more importance.”

“You still know I speak the truth,” The Duke of Grenao said.

Aaron turned his fiery glare toward the King. He shot up from his seat, and the chair fell behind him. He pointed a finger at Zavian.

“You did this”, he said. There were gasps on the table, but Aaron went on. “You caused her death.”

“Your Grace”, Azriel was on his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Please remember it is the King you are referring to.”

“If you had gotten rid of that sniveling little whore rat of yours, my Jasmine would have still been alive!” Aaron continued. He approached the King, and Azriel stood in the way.

“Give me back my daughter!” Aaron yelled. The Knights stepped behind Azriel, and with a tilt of Azriel’s head, a small order, they lumbered the grieving Duke out of the room, and he didn’t stop screaming until the closed heavy doors muffled all traces of his voice.

“The official ceremony will begin at dawn”, Zavian announced. He stood, and looked each one of them in the eye.

“Thank you all for coming. I do hope the maids tend to you optimally while you are here.”

Zavian left the room for them. In the wake of his footsteps, he recognized his friend following behind him.

“Something tells me you have something to say”, Zavian said as they rounded the corner leading to the exit of the castle.

“It’s about Neera”, Azriel said.

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