Chương 11: Chapter Ten: The Rain King

"She has passed out during the most dangerous stage of the illness, sire. The matrons and physicians say whether she will wake up... We leave it to the gods." A shorter man, more rotund than lean, slunk into the shadows. Muddy prints are the only trace of his existence in the room—minty fresh tea served on a platter rippled in its porcelain cage. Within the spacious study, only a single window remained. Every vantage point beside it had been sealed by his predecessors out of precaution.

Metal grills protected the glass from breaking against the roaring winds kicking up a storm outside. Shimmering panes of glass crafted from scales reflected on the red carpet leading to his desk and the long chair behind it. A cigar hung from his pale lips as he snapped a match starter against it. Healers from all walks of life gathered for his peace of mind and dispersed faster than he could hope to catch the tail of a lie. They hadn't lied.

A portrait hidden behind equally blood red curtains pulled at the corners, leaving a glimpse of the past well within his sight. Smoke billowed from the corners of his mouth as his teeth drew back to allow the cancerous air in. A few strands of wet hair stuck to his cheeks, even in the confines of the darkest tower in the estate; his skin seemed to seep with moonlight. Even with his eyes closed in pain, it wouldn't be wrong to consider his appearance frivolous in private and utterly devilish in public.

Yet even he could not survive falling into a quagmire without any scratches.

"You cannot play with the Gods." He dragged enviously long fingers down his exquisite face and sagged in the chair in an unbecoming manner reserved for when almost no one was watching. Playing with the tassels fraying on the edge of the polished, smooth dark wood, he thought back to a time when the chair itself seemed to hold a rosy halo. Dark eyes blinked away the dampness of the passing shower of sobering rain he hadn't bothered to shield himself from earlier.

Squelching boots dug into the ground as he returned to the point of no return. There was no punishment fitting enough at this point. Was he to punish the second love of his life, the evil of his evil, the dark secret he'd kept buried and only once indulged in, and even those fleeting moments seemed colored in a glaze of jealous red and aggrieved hues. Too many wrong turns had led them to the bridge at which they were standing.

Opposites across the bank united finally, but only by the small entity they'd released on this world. Shuddering to think of the dire straits he'd fall into if even this one didn't survive, he massaged his temples. Did he have some blame in the matter? Of course. Where to even begin? Dragging her to social ruin and nearly snuffing out her spirit in the process. Depriving her of something he had forced upon her. Lying to her. She knew he knew she knew. Which might possibly be worse than all prior offenses.

The lingering guilt softened his heart in disputes that required his head. His assurance causes her boldness, and that which he loved suffered for it in the end. Deny her? Impossible. Her blade would sooner pierce my neck before I fail her. A twinge of defeat tightens his features, and he drags another long cloud into his lungs. Pulling away only to release the last dredges. Clouds of tar lift to the ceiling and stain it a conspicuous darker gray, suggesting prolonged use of the rolled-up little death.

Give her what she wants? I am only a man. Weariness clung to his entire person as he balanced on the tip of a curved blade. A map of where he had gone wrong appeared before him, but others could mistake it for the cast of rain. He felt like crawling into a dark corner where his unfilled promises held no weight. On the other side of his heavy mind, he felt enraged. Positively furious. At who? There was no single person anymore.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. The reek of wine, smoke, and an odd flowery scent that hadn't left him yet swirled under his nose. Red eyes stayed fixed on part of the wall where the paint had become chipped. In a place where no one could see but him. An infinitesimal mistake. Ghosts of her lingered in the room long after she had stormed out, and all he could feel was cold.

Petrifying fear crept in where warmth should be, and he leaned back to see the torn painting in all her glory. Glory. Honor. Power. Money. He was good at that. It was not a jest or a boast. Money is the easiest thing he has ever accidentally happened upon in his life. The vulgar, dirty arts of greasing palms, seducing all who enticed him, turning silver into gold, and gold into an army. Despised as it is, his parents had shed many a tear over its lack.

Money cannot buy happiness, but poverty can wear down any bones. Even hers. Her wishes were simple to fulfill, and his father's even more so. Penance every quarter and a visit to soothe the masses. Stare at each other's increasingly wrinkled visage and smile for the crowd to see. Recommend a vassal here, accept a well-timed bribe there, send luxuries, and receive orders for more. Pull the ladder up when they spend quickly and spread the wealth when they're vulnerable.

The give and take is easy when either side is relatively equal. The balance evens out, and both parties walk away, satisfied. That's business. Only gamblers rely on luck and the long shot. Pain or love made no sense in such a world. It held no weight. No intrinsic value for him to compare against each other. Her knife to his sweet lies. His wrongs to her beautiful vengeance. Petty tricks? I had submitted under the weight of them before, in place of giving her what she most needed.

Now I'm paying dearly for the discretion. Her message is crystal clear to all with eyes to see and ears to hear. Choose. Continue to choose. My one desire is to see what you will bend to and what you will break under. How much do you love me? Choose. She never for a second gave up on tormenting me. Changed tactics to lowly common household affairs. Something even he had to admit impacted him more than a sword or imperial fine. A blow to his pride was all it took.

How well does one have to know someone to aim at the heart every time? A cold chuckle borne from irony originates from deep within, and he coughs out. A spattering of blood lands on the wall beneath her regal visage. After all he had done to keep her, abide by her rules, giving in, and still having his cake on the side, like it was that simple. In her mind, it most likely is. He had never forgotten that first cry that haunted his halls. The one he woke up to in the middle of the night. He could still hear her.

Her arms wrapped around him, dainty due to excessive denial of herself. Spun spider-silk draped over his shoulders. Slender fingers and hidden callouses pressing small circles on the sides of his temples. Her hateful love hurt. The way she played with his boundaries and spared him nothing. He would have it no other way. Better than nothing. Better than her being out of his sight. In the arms of another. A better man. A cleaner man. A good man.

Kissing her warm, letting her venture past his walls, walking beside her into eternity. A good man. A hollow laugh started in his chest as the blood dried on his lips. A pretty version of my lie. That trailing thought seals the devil's deal and puts the cigar out on the arm of the century-old chair.

"Have the guards prepare the shipyard. Fill the Baron's coffers with ten thousand gold. Along with a message. The upbringing of his daughter is lacking. Send someone to rectify his mistakes." His breath evens out as he hammers the final nail.

"Dispatch a missive. Spare no expense. The late Duchess shall be in attendance of my youngest's birthday." Over my dead body, do I let you destroy us all and walk away into oblivion without me.

"The healers are unmotivated; ask their families to join them in the guest quarters."

"Yes, My Lord." The henchman moved out of the shadows and disappeared into a wall that looked no different than any other. His pale fingers worked at where her fingers would be. Her lovely and her broken peals of laughter. A blade twirling in place had more grace than it, and he found heaven in the sound. Drunk on the memory of her but years ago, he found himself standing. Hiding in the darkness would get him no closer to her. If she would not come, he would go to her. Ash in his mouth, he declared his orders.

Bend. Till Death. My Hateful Lover. What a wonderful set of examples our youngest will find herself living up to. And she will. He rubbed a golden ring on his finger, and a bewitching jewel nestled in the crux of the gaudy accessory gleamed sinisterly. I promise.

"Mm?" A voice like my name came from above, and I roused. Wet locks of hair clung to my face as I moved my neck, turning to the side. Fatigue clouded my blurry vision and clogged my ears with cotton. Everything hurt. My elbows pushed against the wet floor. I was lying on my back, which helped me to sit upright. Facing whatever lay beyond. Which was nothing?

"…" What is this place? I slowly stood up and noticed how far away the ground was, or rather how tall I suddenly was. How familiar this body looked. Isn't this... My dark, long hair brushed my face and back. Did I go back? Did I die again? I stared at my teenage hands in wonder until the novelty wore off and let them fall to my sides. It's cold in here. Wrapping my arms around my form, I lifted my foot and stepped down on the glass lake. Apprehensively, I called out into the unknown, "Hello?"

Where is that voice from before? It's so dark and wet in here. Wait. Turning on my heel to see a flicker of something run past, I jumped and completed the spin to see light coming from behind me. My hand stretched out to shield my eyes, and my bare feet pointed at something too bright to be a torch. In a blank space, I stood barefoot and waited for the advancing light. Once I'd adjusted to the amount of sheer light emanating from the source, I stumbled away from a floating blue screen. What the hell is going on?!