Page 51 of Omission: Part 2

“Walk, Marsilla.” He shoves her forward, and she stumbles a bit but is held upright by Uncle Roberto who rushes to her aid. He straightens her, and it’s heartbreaking to see him fuss over the same woman who spent years torturing him. Roberto’s looking her over to see if she’s injured while emitting unintelligible noises that show his distress.

I’m confused by it. We all are.

“Please stand back, sir.” Francois makes to gently push him aside, but my uncle will have none of it, and Anaya waves him off from her throne. The general heeds her simple request without an issue and takes a protective stance to the right of the dais where her family sits.

Her mother and grandfather haven’t said a word, but their expressions speak volumes. They’re embarrassed by the very people their family has devoted their lives to serving, and that has to be a painful reality to swallow. More so for the old man who helped destroy what he’s built in his time as ruler.

I’ve seen the guilt in his eyes, and it runs just as deep today as it did the day he woke up in the hospital room. He’s reminded every time he looks at his daughter. When he hears Anaya speak.

And now, as so many of the elders here wear the same amulet without knowing the truth.

They’ve been manipulated. Lied to. Stolen from.

“You’ve desecrated our ancient laws, Anaya. This little show has proven that you’re not fit to lead.” Jean stands amid the bunch, eyes bouncing from her to me. “We request you step down and leave our lands at once.”

“You don’t have the right to so much as request a glass of water in my kingdom.”

“Your father?—”

“Is dead. His son is dead.” She tilts her head, appraising him. “You’ll be dead soon, too.”

“How dare you!” Others rise, too. A united front. “Look at the bodies and the blood…you’ve killed our innocent people in the ill-intended quest to destroy us.”

“Those brought in by King Xadiel and King Astor arenotfae. Let’s not play games here.”

“How would you know, unless you planted these imposters?”

“Or maybe you’ve all forgotten how to use common sense.” Her sass rubs them wrong; I’m sure they’ve never encountered a mouthy Anaya before. It’s a huge change from the scared and bruised woman I met a few short months ago. Now, my precious one is confident, funny, and happy. My queen thrives. “They have no pointy ears, they bleed red and black, they do not carry the lingering undertone of honey in their scents. That scent marker is only detectable to us.”

“Then what are they? Why are they here?”

“You tell me why I have vampires and witches running rampant through my kingdom, executing random acts of violence, and one just so happens to be a Veltross?”

“I don’t?—”

“Shut up.” Her voice carries the weight of a command, and I smile as he’s forced to do as she asks. “I don’t want to hear another lie or attempt to discredit me when, quite frankly, you’re wasting your breath. No one here cares. I don’t, and neither does my family.”

Give the signal, Anaya. It’s time.

With a gentle hold of her hand, Roberto walks Silla over to me. They stand to my left while I hold the blade at Brice’s throat, lazily sliding in and out of the wound my precious one created.

Something I’m so proud of her for doing. For defendingherselfand not just everyone she loves.

“Now, Brothers.” The moment those two words slip past Aya’s mouth, Theo and Xadiel rush the elders, their bodies nothing but a blur. Their claws are out, and a blueish mist permeates the air as shallow cuts are made across the necks and chests of the men wearing the amulet.

Each stone is tossed to the ground and crushed beneath the heavy weight of an angry beast’s footstep. And as soon as they crack and splinter, the man who’d worn the chain crumbles to the ground. More than two-thirds of the elders drop in mere seconds, and all to the background chorus of the cries coming from the open balcony:long live the queen.

Cornered and afraid, those that remain run toward the exits, but the guards stop them—some with magic, and others with the threat of meeting the sharp end of a blade, forcing those smart enough to comprehend the severity to drop to their knees.

All but one man. He refuses to submit.

Keep your eyes on the man with the bronze lion’s head pin on his lapel. He’s not to be trusted.

Instead of trying to escape, Jean thought the distraction would help him reach Anaya. In his single-minded quest, he removed the bronze lapel pin and raised it high above his head, ready to drill into hers with its long-neck design—three inches of metal with a sharpened point so it slips through fabric easily without damaging the piece. It’s meant to hang in place, but now he’s aiming for her face, and I’m thankful for Xadiel who reaches them first. He’s there before I can throw myself at or fry the soon-to-be-dead male.

A furred arm with black-tipped claws punches a hole through Jean’s spine, ripping out his heart while Anaya’s grandfather steps between them. The point of the pin stabs the old king’s back, but he simply shakes it off while cupping Aya’s face and asking if she’sokay.

It’s over in seconds.

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