Page 28 of The Horned King

Why do you need to be a great leader? Why not someone else? The question echoes in my mind, but I'm uncertain he would answer and even less certain that I want him to.

"And you?" he asks me.

"And me what?"

"Do you wish to be well-liked? Or to be a leader?"

I think about his question for a moment, unsure how to answer without revealing my unique perspective on being liked and disliked by others. "I like to think the two go hand in hand. If people like me, they want to listen to me."

"You might like to think that, but what do you actually think?" He sinks further into his chair, one leg draping over the other so casually, as if we are two friends sitting together for drinks and not two enemies-turning-allies who've been shoved together by some cruel master of fate.

"I think the sad reality is that it doesn't matter if people like you. Liking, loving, hating, it's all so… inconsistent." I close my eyes, the dancing colors behind my lids making me dizzy. "It can change from one moment to the next without warning. The only thing that matters is if people respect you. And unfortunately, some people don't respect anyone."

"Like me," he states, his tone warning me to be careful how I respond.

I peek open one eye to see him looking at me, watching me closely. "I wasn't thinking of you at all, King Kairon. I don't know you well enough to make a judgment like that."

A guard hands him a drink, and distantly, I wonder if I somehow missed him asking for one.

So swiftly, his tone falls back into the cold, disinterested mask he wears as armor. "You seemed more than comfortable making judgments when you first arrived."

With a scoff, I argue, "You killed our messengers. Saying you don't respect us is not the same as saying you don't respect anyone."

"Fair enough." I can tell that the conversation is over even before he stands, taking his drink with him. "I must retire. I'll see you in the morning for breakfast. We'll have all of our meals right here unless I'm entertaining or our fellow delegates are joining us."

I groan and let my head fall back against the seat behind me again. I didn't need the reminder of the rest of our neighboring countries' talking heads coming, but gods know that I wish for a moment I could have forgotten about the disastrous negotiations headed my way.

My mind wars with itself, unsure if the negotiations or the king's hot and cold demeanor are destroying my sanity. Probably both, if I'm honest. One moment, he steers our conversations into inappropriate, sordid corners, and the next, I fear one wrong word will relieve me of my life before I can beg for mercy.

After a loaded, silent moment, his footfalls begin, heading toward his sleeping chamber. His steps grow quiet, and I barely hear the click of his bedroom door, which finally seals him away from me, allowing me my first unhindered breath since he walked into the room.

I stumble into the room, nearly falling to the floor due to shock. It's as if they picked up my sleeping chamber and transported it here, down to the configuration of each gorgeous pillow. Everything is arranged here so perfectly and beautifully that I want to scream.

I hate how spotless it is, how it looks like it was created just for me. It's so pristine, so fucking clean, it's making my head hurt. I need something to look as disheveled as I feel.

With a silent scream, I rip all the beautiful pillows off and throw them behind me, followed by the layers and layers of silken sheets, pulling them until they're halfway draped onto the floor, leaving only a single blanket and pillow.

While it isn't nearly enough, and I half consider tipping over a candle, my energy is drained, washed away by the wine and the horrific events of the day.

By some miracle, I manage to pour myself into what remains of the bed. I bury my face into the pillow, finally letting an earth-shattering scream escape me. My fury, my frustration, my grief for the lives lost today, I pour everything into this small soft lump of comfort, knowing that in the morning, I'll need to hold myself together again.

But for just this one moment, I can fall apart. I can give myself permission to feel, but only for this brief second.

Somewhere between my terror, my heartache, and my rage, sleep takes me, roughly shoving me back into the market, watching helplessly as innocent people are gunned down. Countless times throughout the night, I wake, I sleep, I wake and sleep again, and either way, their faces haunt me.

Nine

Kairon

Sneaking out the hidden entrance to our chambers while tossing a pink pearl up into the air over and over, I have to keep myself from laughing at the turn of events today and the fury that overtook my Elva. So much so that she spent the last forty minutes destroying her room.

Through the trick door connecting our dressing rooms, I had stopped before leaving to catch a glimpse of who she is when no one is watching.

And she was glorious. My quick moment of curiosity quickly turned into nearly an hour of watching her tear everything apart. Unmasked, unburdened by propriety, she is a vision of madness and chaos. Only by luck did she manage to miss the fireplace. I stood there motionless, hidden in the shadows, unsure whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all or indulge myself in pleasure, captivated by the beauty of her rage.

What I would give to be the recipient of the smallest bit of her untamed violence. Anything. Everything. I would trade nearly everything I have to feel her vicious nails against my flesh, the bite of her teeth on my skin. To watch her hands drip red with blood.

Mine, someone else's- I'm not picky.

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