He eradicated the last kiss frozen in my mind. That was different. Darker. More.
There were no butterflies in my belly from that kiss because he slaughtered every single one of them with a flick of his tongue.
Ten
Knight
Two years ago
Rathe
I sit in the chair and watch as our butler carries a long rectangular plate down to the end of the table. We all know why the fuck this meeting was called, I just wish I had more time. I don’t want to go to the fucking human world, even if ours still merely exists in it. Creed doesn’t mind being there, but we all knew he only said that to keep Ministry’s ass nice and buttered. It’s my turn. Fuck.
I can feel Legend’s and Sinner’s eyes on me, but I try to ignore them. Legend, the fucker in particular, can’t wait for me to leave so he can use all my shit. Even though he has his own—and can have his own of everything I have —he still takes more joy in using what isn’t his.
“What do you think?” my mother asks.
The table slowly melts away and turns from liquid gold to solid, with intricate carvings over the base. They tell a story, one that is just as lame as the one that’s happening right now between Mother and Magdalena. Magdalena is the leader of the Mages, representing them as a whole as part of the Ministry. Fucking annoying with an ego the size of a dragon’s shit.
“I think you both signed a contract to state the boys—I’m sorry, the Lords—will attend Rathe U as they should, as all the gifted do upon high school graduation. It allows our kind to exist among humans and trains our kind to see the Giftless as something other than, well, pets. Aside from that, the Lords have been surrounded by Stygians all their life. They will need to learn how to, at the very least, tolerate Argents too, especially if they intend to take the crown.” I want to know who intended for this whole thing to be a democracy.
“They won’t be existing among a lot of them,” my mother answers back with the kind of swagger only she can possess.
“Well, that’s just not true and you and I both know that,” Magdalena whispers around the wine glass in her hand. Pink liquid swirls around inside of it with glitter as pale as her white painted fingernails tapping against the top.
White nails, white dress, white fucking eyeliner winged along her lids—it’s always white with these dark magic haters. So desperate to classify as pure, as if that’s going to help them get to where they think they’re going post-death.
What’s funny is the lies and scheming don’t come from the Stygian side. They come from the Argents. We, the dark of our kind, are what we are and we give no fucks what others have to say about it. Them? Psh, they hide within themselves, dumb things down, and sugarcoat as not to fuck with your feelings.
Such a pathetic, Giftless way of thinking.
“Do I get to say anything?” I pipe in from my side of the table. All night I’ve watched them go back and forth. Sinner and Legend have both zoned out of the conversation, Legend toying with a certain Mage. Thankfully, not the one at my table right now. Not that Magdalena isn’t attractive. All Mages are. They’re able to cast Anointings that both freeze their aging and make them look however they like. It’s fun, until you’ve got a Mage riding your dick and the Anointing runs out of juice and you find you’ve been balls deep in Janice from down the street. Fucking trickery.
Magdalena shifts her siren gaze on me. Her skin glitters the angrier she gets, and I have to bite down on the magic jokes. She could also turn me into Janice from down the street, and although I’d personally have nothing wrong with that, I know my mother would turn her ass to dust. Which would trigger Rathe War Two.
The last one still burns my brain so I would avoid that shit at all costs.
“Speak,” Magdalena’s tone snaps over my skin.
My mother calmly sets her glass down, and I know she’s reciting the royal decree in her head to keep herself from sinking her teeth into this woman’s neck. If she were anyone other than one of the four Ministry members, she wouldn’t even hesitate. The conversation would already be over.
My mouth curves into a smirk. “Well, I just think it doesn’t matter because we all know Creed will be the first to mate and unlock his Ethos, so why the fuss over me? It’s bad enough I don’t want to go, why are you teasing me?”
“Son…” Father floats through the doorway before it evaporates into thin air. The boardroom in the Stygian realm of Rathe is a movable room that drifts over the continent wherever they are. Whether it be here, in Stygian, or in Argent.
“What?” I shrug. “It’s true.”
“Mating has nothing to do with age,” Magdalena argues. “Some go their whole lives without finding their soul keeper.” Her gaze lingers a little too long on my father and mother.
“Such encouraging words, Mage.” My father pins her with a look before settling his eyes on mine. “But she is right. You know this, son. Age has nothing to do with the mating process, and even if it did, Creed is but a year older than you. Chances are you mate around the same time, Sinner and Legend as well.”
“Yes, and my son is the same age as you-”
“I’m well aware of who your son is,” I cut her off. “Not that I care to.” What’s a preppy prick who acts human and comes from light magic worth to me? Not a fucking thing, but I’m not interested in talking about her precious pussy of a hockey player son, Zeke, so I get us back on track.
“I don’t want to mate. Neither does Sin.”
Magdalena’s glass nearly slips from her hands, horror in her gaze as she looks to me. “Blasphemy, Deveraux. We are created missing a part of ourselves with the purpose of finding what makes us whole. It is the way of our kind, both Light and Dark alike.”
“You should be happy to hear this.” My smirk deepens. “We all know the last thing you and your little light followers want are more Deverauxs. Between my three brothers and me, think of all the little monsters that would be running around wreaking havoc on the world you’re trying to ruin.”
“Knight,” my father snickers, but even the Mage can’t pretend not to read the humor in the man’s tone. It’s that fucking obvious.
Magdalena is getting more frustrated by the second, her skin damn near glowing now, probably at the thought of the boom in the Deveraux bloodline that’s arguably destined to come, not that she’d admit to it. If Creed were here, he would know which it was.
She swallows what’s left of her drink before pointing her eyes on me once more. “You can claim not to wish to mate, but you’ll never come into your Ethos if you reject what is meant to be yours when the time comes.” My mother’s head snaps her way, and the Mage corrects herself. “Should it come at all.”
She’s not lying. That bullshit fate slaps on you is real. Like shackles dipped in a pool of shielders’ blood, the chains around your Ethos are impenetrable, only cut free when the mating ritual is completed. When you’re ‘accepted’。
It’s sorcery if you ask me. We’re royals, Deverauxs, Lords of Darkness, for fuck’s sake. That alone should give us access to the gift our father gave us. Our blood should set us apart from the rest of our world in all ways, but it doesn’t.