Page 11 of The Kingdom of Flames

Laughs broke out from the Scarlet Lord and the masked and lithe White Bannered lord of Winter, who stared at her from a hawkish helm that covered his face.

The Lord of Silver called to her from behind his helm. His throne was of ice. “We do not share. We do not agree.”

“It is our way,” said the beautiful Green Lord on his throne of nature.

“We do not rule your Painted Realm,” the wolfish demigod of the brown banner sneered. “You are a flock we draw flesh from. We have our own realms, our own people to rule.”

“You are a body of water we cast a net into,” the white bannered lord spoke. “And we feast on what flops on the deck.”

It couldn’t be. Celestine felt the room spin, a fairgrounds trick. She had always thought the Seasons warred for supremacy of the skies of her people. But they were just ripples of their conflict. To think your entire life that gods battled to rule you, when they didn’t even hear the prayers you spoke to them…

How dare they. She saw her father’s face when he gave his only daughter.

“Then you will starve!” Celestine screamed at the court. “There shall be no flesh tithing while you bicker and invade one another. Never again! If you cannot decide which of you follows the other, then your hunts will be barren.” She stared at the court who sat silent, peering at each of them. When she spoke again, her voice dripped with the bitter venom she felt for these wretched beings. “As will your beds.”

The one who broke the silence was the made of it. The Lord of Black spoke, “She is clever, this one. Though she may not know why. Tell us, final bride, why do we feast on the maidens of your realm when we rule our own? We have peoples. We have lands. Our bastions are the very essence of each present. So why?”

It was Celestine’s turn to sneer now. “Because, they will not have you.”

Some Lords chortled, others made unappreciative noises. But the Lord of the Black Banner held her eye. “It’s because they die, final bride. The moment we seek their embrace, they wither in our arms. The worlds align once a year, did you know that? Only once. Our Mirrored go forth to your world to bring us flesh to sate our needs.”

“For your hunt,” Celestine bit the final word off at him. She glanced down at his portion of the throneroom.

Blackdawn nodded. “Imagine starving twelve beasts for a year, would not some tear apart the morsels you drop them? Though some do grab a piece or two and scurry away to their realm. But once that denied lust is set free, even those may break what they sought to save.”

“Monsters,” Celestine whispered to the Lord of Shadow. “All of you.”

“Yes…” Blackdawn answered, nodding as if she had found the secret to a hidden question. “Need makes monsters. We cease our bickering once a year, to enjoy the Tithing. And once it's over, we cannot touch another woman. Tell me, Celestine, what do the men do now in your realm now that they have no women, no hope, no future?”

“They war,” Encarmine stated. His eyes glowed as red as the mist around his circlet. “I feel their conflict.”

“It’s true,” Celestine said. “They war.”

Blackdawn spread his hands. “So you see, we are not men, we are more than them. Twelve starving lords, seeking the sweetest taste. Denied year after year. Hunger, and gluttony, that is who truly rules this court.”

“Oh be done with her!” the Scarlet Lord Vermilion snarled. “Send the Mirrored back for more.”

“There aren’t more, pale fool.” Azure of the Blue turned to look at Celestine. “Isn’t that right?”

She nodded.

“Who gets this one?” Cedarhall of the Brown Banner asked. His yellow eyes hungered for her and she felt her skin crawl, as if trying to find a way to hide from his twin fangs.

“A contest,” Blackdawn offered. He reclined in his throne but his eyes never left Celestine. “If we so choose it.”

“How so?” Lord Emberfell, of Autumn, asked from his throne of harvest and gourd. He was dashingly lovely, with spiced skin and honeyed eyes that drank her in when she looked. His smile seemed kind, inviting. She preferred it to the hungering looks around the court.

Blackdawn shrugged. “We choose during the bride hunt. Let us choose now. A contest.”

“Fight for her?” Lord of the Bronze Banners laughed. “She is lovely, but let’s not make a feast from a fledgling because we, too, face famine. Would this court break the one truce we agree to for a single maiden”

Blackdawn didn’t laugh. He stared at Celestine. “Yes.”

All turned to the Lord of the Black Banner. He sat on his throne, his tone not menacing to her ever, there was a cold invitation to him. Like falling asleep in the snow.

“The Final Bride will choose her groom. And that Lord will decide which quarter falls before another. The procession shall be set.”

Vermilion laughed, but Lord Emberfell leaned forward. “State your meaning, dark-thing. How would this work? We each race for her, whoever spills within her wins?”

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