I headed toward a fire blazing in the center of the road. My boots became heavy, caked with mud, and as I threw the girl’s head into the fire, I looked to find the townspeople had come out of their homes, gathering beneath what little outdoor shelter they had.
The boy had likely alerted them to my presence—and the death of the nameless girl. I could not be certain what he had said or if they believed him, since it was unusual for monsters to venture out in the daylight.
All monsters except for me.
I turned fully toward them.
None of them bowed; none of them so much as nodded. They stood, solemn and staring.
“Have you forgotten your king?” I called, a warning and a chance to show respect, but the only movement came from one man who stepped apart from those who cowered.
To my disappointment, it was not Gesalac. This man was mortal.
He was thin, and age had bent his tall frame so that he stood almost like a crumbling oak—hunched at the shoulders, skin perpetually weathered by the red sun.
The land and this village had nursed this man as it had me, and he faced me, unafraid.
“Or have you found a new one?” I muttered, narrowing my eyes.
“Our king left us to die on the edge of his kingdom,” the man said, his voice just as scarred as his body. “If that is the title you claim, then you may have it, along with the souls of our dead.”
I tilted my head to the side. “The dead have always burdened me. What are a few more?”
The mortal stared and then spoke quietly to the others. “The Blood King mocks our grief.”
I straightened my neck, the corner of my mouth lifting.
I knew this game. This brave, stupid mortal wanted to be a martyr. I wondered what spurred his sacrifice. Who had offered something more to believe in than the safety of my rule?
“If you wanted your death to mean something, you should have chosen to fight the monsters in your woods.”
“They only exist because of you,” he said. “Perhaps if you die, they would too.”
I chuckled at his ignorant response. It was a common belief among the people of Cordova, and many had attempted to assassinate me, believing that if I died, other monsters would follow, but I was a creation of Dis, and the monsters were creations of Asha. We were not the same, though we were all eager for the blood of mortals.
“I cannot die,” I said.
This time, the man smirked. “We do not need to take your life to end you.”
This response tightened every muscle in my body. Until this moment, I admired this man’s courage, but his words were dangerous and a direct threat to my queen. Despite this, I did not think he knew about my weakness; rather, he threatened Isolde because he knew I loved her.
“Is that a thread of humanity I see in your eyes?” the man asked, offering a raspy chuckle.
I moved at an imperceptible speed, appearing behind the martyr, striking his ankles. He cried out and collapsed to the muddy ground as I placed my palm against his forehead and jerked his head back.
“I am certain you wished to die quickly,” I said near his ear. “But threats against my queen deserve an agonizing end.”
Once more, he laughed. “I do not care how I die. I shall join my goddess in the sky.”
“Your goddess?” I seethed, truly mocking him. Asha did not protect her mortals in life, so why would she protect them in death? “Have you forgotten that all the dead belong to Dis?”
“Not anymore,” he said. “The light is coming, and she will cast out your darkness. It happened once before and it will happen again. Only we will not leave ash and bone behind.”
I was used to my rage, but his words took me a step beyond, past a point where I could extend death. As I moved to drag my blade across his neck, the creak of a bow drew my attention, but before I could rise to my feet, the arrow had lodged in the old man’s head.
I pulled it free with a jerk, twisting it in my hand. I reared back and sent it flying in the direction it came, satisfied with the groan that sounded from the shadows as I hit my target.
In the next second, a hooded man fell face-first in the mud, dead, and I wondered how many more would die by my hand today.
Finally, Gesalac appeared.
He had exited one of the run-down buildings, dressed in gold armor. His finery was misplaced here among the worn and ruined village, though it seemed he had managed to gain their trust. I wondered how many years it had taken. Had he worked the land beside them? Had he helped repair roofs and gathered wheat to knead bread?
Those were the actions that would gain their devotion.
I stepped around the mortal at my feet.
“Once again, you choose your queen over your people,” said Gesalac.
“Is my love for Isolde your only critique of my reign? If so, I will have to assume you are jealous,” I said. “Are you in love with me, Gesalac?”
The vampire’s eyes narrowed.
“You murdered my son.”
“He is not the first son I have murdered, nor, I imagine, the last, but let us not pretend that your vengeance is fueled by fatherly devotion. You want my throne, my empire.”
He chuckled. “What empire? What kingdoms have you conquered since you began fucking that woman?”
I managed a smile despite how hard I clenched my teeth.
“My queen and I will conquer this world, and when we have our empire, we will fuck on a bed of your bones.”
Gesalac smirked and began to circle. “You may need a queen to rule your kingdom, but Isolde needs no king. You will make her into a monster.”
“You say that as if it is a bad thing.”
Gesalac’s blade came down hard on my own, but I was far quicker and struck him in the chest with my hand. The push sent him a few feet down the road. He landed on his back, his golden armor covered in mud.
I followed as he got to his feet, dark eyes gleaming. Once more, he circled.
“Do you recall this place?” Gesalac asked.
I did not answer, though I knew it well. It had been my home. This was the earth I had worked, the fields I had plowed, the roofs I had once repaired. It was the village that raised me, where the anger that fueled me had taken root.
I had always been a monster.
Yesenia’s death merely uncaged me.
He continued but stopped circling, and as he spoke, his gaze never left mine. “You are merely a farm boy whose father was a broken soldier and whose mother whored herself for alcohol.”
I imagined Gesalac was aware of the wound he probed—it was open and gaping, never cared for, never healed. I’d used it to go to dark places where I did violent things, but if he thought it made me weak, he was wrong.
My past gave me the strength to do what no one else had done—endure.
I managed a laugh.
“Merely a farm boy,” I said, eyes falling to the cold ground where snow had yet to gather, and in the quiet, my body burned. I only moved to attack when I could no longer stand the throbbing in my head and hands. As my blade met Gesalac’s midswing, the sound was like lightning crackling across the sky, a vibration that went to my bones.
It felt like life, like breathing once again.
“I was your beginning,” I said. “And I will be your end!”
Our blades clashed, the force behind each strike growing harder and faster until our swords locked, neither of us relenting in our determination to see the other fall. Finally, I moved, punching Gesalac in the side over and over until his armor bowed, cutting into his skin. He stumbled back and I followed, blade lifted over my head. But as I drew my weapon down upon him, he grabbed both of my wrists, his head knocking into mine.