Page 4 of The Queen & the King

The shadows return to me, drawing Krios’s attention. The darkness forms a cloak around my shoulders, armor scaling down my chest.

“Coward,” Krios snarls, charging up for his next attack.

The steel of my old friend, the bident, forms in my hand. I can do this. I can fight rather than crumple into a ball. I want fury instead of desolation. My knuckles turn white with the grip on the bident. This is a welcome distraction. I will fall into violence to stop thinking about sorrow, embracing the darkness that lurks inside me. It waits to consume me, feeding on my blackest thoughts and my most turbulent emotions.

What good did sealing that part of me away do? I’d locked it inside an obsidian box in my mind, acting like it didn’t exist. It didn’t help me when Persephone was taken. I was fighting with one hand behind my back. What happens when I finally let go? What happens when I shatter that obsidian box in my mind?

My armor breaks, the shadows becoming more chaotic, more out of control, reflecting my own emotions and release.

Why hold back?

I hear Zeus shout, but I can’t understand what he says. The darkness surrounds me, whispering to me, calling to me, beckoning me. It slides along my body like silk, a midnight wave of power.

Krios is about to hit me, and I unleash it. A torrent of darkness, despair, and agony slams into him, and the Titan buries his feet into the ground, trying to hold out against it. That obsidian box flies open, and two thousand years of dark emotions come flying out.

I’ve never unleashed like this.

I can’t stop.

I don’t want to stop.

It feels good.

Krios’s feet slide back against my power, his eyes completely white. He is screaming something. I don’t care. I keep unleashing the darkness. Krios leans into the onslaught, trying to hold his ground against shadows from every part of me, from the depths of my soul.

A hand grabs mine, breaking my focus and releasing Krios. The box slams shut on the darkness, and the Titan vanishes in a flash of starlight.

I snarl and turn on Zeus. “Why did you stop me?”

Zeus looks at me, his eyes filled with something I’ve never seen in him.Fear. He doesn’t speak, which is also unusual. He holds up the hand he grabbed, showing me what made him intervene. The tips of my fingers are black like they’re stained with ink. My brows furrow as I try to control the darkness and remove it from my fingers. The box is supposed to be closed. Nothing happens, and I shake my hand again, panic gripping me.

Zeus stops me, grabbing my hands again. “This will hurt.”

Before I can say I’m ready or even ask what he means, he uses his lightning on my fingers. I shout from the sudden pain, trying to pull away, but Zeus holds me firm. I grind my teeth, watching as the darkness starts to flake and fall away from my fingers. Once it’s gone, Zeus releases me.

I pant, my hands on my knees. “How...How did you know that would work?”

Zeus shrugs. “I didn’t.”

I glare at him. “Dick.”

I flex my fingers again, thankful that the darkness doesn’t reappear.

Three

Persephone

MY EYELIDS STRUGGLE TO SHIELD ME FROM THE BRIGHT SUN, MAKING ME WINCE IN DISCOMFORT. I shift in bed, trying to hide from it, clinging to unconsciousness in an effort to stay in the bliss of sleep for a few more moments.

The movement is futile. Sunlight fills the room like this is the only place in the realm it longs to be. I slowly blink my eyes open, my head throbbing in pain. At first, I pass it off as the light in the room causing the ache, the gleam that even in sleep I couldn’t seem to escape, but my brain seems to throb as if it’s been hit with a hammer over and over. Maybe I am just dehydrated.

I stretch, my white cotton nightdress restricting my movements somewhat. Gods, I hate this thing. It feels like a straightjacket. I look up at the ceiling, the white paint practically shining, reflecting the sunshine. I shove my sheets off and sit up at the edge of the bed, pushing my feet into my slippers. The fluffy lining tickles my arches until I press my soles into them.

They are always in the same position, always ready for me.

I walk to my vanity and sit in front of it, looking at my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot, and there’s some redness at my temples. I frown, tilting my head slightly to see it better. Both sides of my head have matching bruises. They’re small and sit just over my temples.

My bedroom door opens, and Margaritte enters, pulling my gaze.

---