Page 67 of Heavy is the Crown
Being the king of Hellshouldcome with perks. It should be filled with parties, plenty of drugs and alcohol, and most importantly, beautiful individuals to keep you warm at night. It should most certainly not include being covered in fucking demon blood that smells like a rotting corpse. It also should not mean walking around in these gods forsaken sewers below my own damn kingdom. Although, truth be told, I think I prefer this to managing the politics that come with ruling.
Another Carnargion demon slinks from the shadows, its body barely formed before it’s shooting out at me. Carnargionare the cockroaches of our city. They have little brains and care only for their next source of food, which unfortunately seems to be me right now. I slash out with my sword, allowing the black blade to pierce the demon in front of me. Its shrill shriek of pain no doubt summons others toward us.
“Fucking Hell,” I grumble. I need to get back above ground. Reaver told me not to come down here alone, to meet my contact anywhere else. Even went so far as to say he would come with. His bulky six-foot frame of thick muscle was intimidating enough even without his magic. Reaver’s rich toffee skin gives him away for being from the southern part of my kingdom. He is powerful, the most powerful of his kind. We met shortly after my sister fled and Oisin disappeared, when he pulled me out of a bar fight and refused to leave my side after.
An annoyingly handsome, tattooed, black-haired man who is now the only family I have left. But did I listen to my friend? To his insistence on coming with me? No. Of course not, because I always have to be fucking stubborn. Before I ran into all these demon scum, my plan was to look around and then meet my contact, who’s placed in the palace right now, to alert her of my sister's impending arrival. When Ava told me her plan, including her vision, I didn’t want to agree. But in the end, she reminded me she would go with or without my help. If I’m stubborn, my sister is an unyielding mountain when she makes a plan.Now, I’ll have two people in the palace I need to fucking worry about.
The shrill call of another Carnargion demon summons my attention toward it, away from my anxiety around my sister being subjected to Oisin. “Fuck this,” I growl. I slip my sword into its holder straight down my spine. My wings, still tucked tightly against my body, under a glamor, brush against the cool blade. You learn early on wings don’t belong in a battle that is close quarters.
My magic pulses at my fingertips, crackling black lightning echoing over my body. A low thrum vibrates through the tunnel as I unleash myself. My power pulses through the inky blackness, liquifying everything it touches. Screams are cut short, the very essence of each being eradicated from all realms in a blink. In a matter of seconds, the tunnel goes silent, save for my heavy breathing. I wince as I feel my magic drain a little more. Oisin slaughtered all but one priestess and replaced the dead with his own people, who know nothing about the actual ceremony. Given the one priestess I know who would be willing to do the ceremony for me is stuck in the palace, I’ve avoided using my magic lately.
A crack behind me has me whirling, pulling my sword from its sheath, my vision blurring at the quick movement after the drain on my magic. Through the darkness, a light shines, pure white light. The closer it gets, the brighter it gets, causing me to shield my eyes until it dims to a point that I can drop my hand.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I take in the familiar silver hair and violet eyes peeking out from the dark, hooded cloak pulled tight around the newcomer. Her slender hand holds a small ball of light tucked into the palm. It’s been years since I laid eyes on her; all our conversations happen via coded messages. Years since that argument about her going back into The Order. It was a risk asking her to meet me today, but despite that, I couldn’t allow this to go through even a coded message.
She doesn't say anything, doesn't move to take off the cloak, and instead just stares.
Dropping the tension from my shoulders, I offer a smile and take a step forward. “It’s so good to see you. I know it's a risk for you to meet me in person—thank you for coming. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.” Her violet eyes track me as she gives me a slight nod. The only sounds between us are the drip of water and my echoing voice. “My sister, she's coming intothe palace. If she’s not already there. I need you to help keep an eye on her. Assist her in whatever you can, but do not endanger yourself in the process. Do not let her know you are with me, either; we can’t risk Oisin figuring it out somehow.”
I pause, breathing deeply. Just below the stench of the sewer is her scent. An intoxicating mix of a cold morning and crisp ocean air. “We need to get you out soon. I promise before the full moon, it’ll happen. You’ll be free.”
I briefly flash back to when I first met her, fresh from running from The Order and wide-eyed as she took in the races. We found each other at a time when we had both lost so much. She had spent her whole life with them before finally escaping, only to return as my eyes and ears. Fuck, do I hate the position that she’s in. Hate that she isn’t out and free like she should be. She deserves so much more, deserves the freedom she was never granted.
She doesn’t say anything, and keeps the hood closed tightly around her face. I narrow my eyes, taking a step forward, closer to her. Taking another deep breath, I find that below her normal scent is fear. A tinge of it, barely a whisp, as if she is trying to hide it from me. A low growl emits from my throat. “What is going on?” We may not have seen each other for years at this point, but she’s never feared me, and she’s never been this quiet.
Her violet eyes fill with dread and her hands seem to white-knuckle the dark fabric, as if it’s a lifeline for her.
“Drop the cloak,” I command. She shakes her head, the movement drawing some loose hair into her face. “Drop. The. Cloak.”
Still, she doesn’t. Closing the distance between us in a move too quick to perceive, I’m in her face, my hand pulling at the fabric. A muffled shout of protest comes from her throat, but it’s too late. I zero in on the torturous device affixed over her mouth. Crude brass bolts are screwed into her jaw, holding the piece ofmetal in place. There is no way for the mask to open. For her to talk or eat or drink.
Panic bleeds into my body as I look her over. As if sensing my alarm, she holds out her hand, pointing to a vein as if to show me this is where she gets hydration, followed by pointing to a very small hole in the mask at the base that would barely fit a straw. “I never should have let you go back,” I say. My voice shakes, my power rumbles and skips over my skin. “I should have told you no, should have said we’d find a different way. I was young and an idiot to think you wouldn’t get hurt.”
Ever so carefully, she raises her hands and pulls my forehead to hers. Casually resting them together as if to tell me it’s okay. To soothe me. I keep my eyes locked on hers. Her eyes crinkle at me like they would if she were smiling before she taps her head lightly against mine. She drops her hands, grabs my own, and squeezes them before stepping back. Pulling the hood of her cloak back up, she gives me a subtle nod, as if I am the one currently bound in a torture device.
“Don’t go back.” The words are out before I can take them back. She gives a sad shake of her head, so much emotion swimming in those luminous violet eyes.
I stay in the tunnel long after she leaves, before I finally explode and it all goes dark.
THIRTY-EIGHT
When a priestess comes of age, twenty-one, she will enter her first Heat Cycle. This will allow her body to channel the magic from the Well to the royals.
– Priestess Codex
Ava
I scan the crowd that has gathered in front of the dais that Oisin has us seated upon, all nobles that swore allegiance to my family at one time or another. They seem to believe whatever bullshit lies Oisin has been spreading. The first evening he introduced us, I hoped I would find an ally in the crowd, but no one has given any indication they see me as anything other than their new queen. I commit all of them to memory so when this is over, I can help my brother hunt them down.
Oisin stole our ancestral home in the heart of the city. The palace never truly felt like home, but now it feels even worse. The room we currently sit in is considered a VIP room, at the end of a lengthy corridor that leaves no space for threats to Oisin tohide. Even if someone got down the hallway with ill intent, no one is allowed to leave before Oisin deems it appropriate. The first night he brought me out, I watched a young performer try to sneak away. Her body was incinerated the second she touched the wards.
Those are courtesy of the Mori grimoire.
Harrowlena is my only support, a silent presence that gives me reassurance whenever I start to forget why I’m here. But she’s been missing for a few days now. Instead, I’ve been stuck with Pearl and the others. None of whom care to tell me where the young priestess is. After two weeks of being here, I can’t bring myself to enjoy their company any more than I could the very first day.
I stare out blank-faced. Oisin sitting next to me is ever the picture of a devoted fiancé as he holds my hand. Acrobats dangle from the ceiling on silks, servers pass around food and drinks, people dance and sing and laugh. They seem willing to live in the bliss of being favored by Oisin as opposed to remaining loyal to my brother. A numbness has settled over me since coming here, and I fear the longer I stay here, the longer I’m away from my mates, the worse this feeling will become. Mates are not meant to be separated this long. Particularly mates of dragons.
I’ve slipped into the role of the pretty little doll so seamlessly next to him, not unlike what I did for my father all those years ago. Tonight, I’ve been dressed in a white wrap dress. The material crisscrosses over my breasts before it wraps down into a long, flowing skirt with slits up the side. My scar is on full display, painting a story of the savage nature of the dragons. It’s a narrative I’ve been forced to sell.
