Chapter forty eight
Edward Wither was in the middle of a mind-catching conversation with his cousin and chief guard. Something about going to war with the beings destroying mortality.
His cousin, Francis Veyetti was shielded in a Knight's armour, standing right by the throne.
"I do not care if they are mini gods or demons, Francis," the King gestured outrightly. "You do not expect me to sit back while those things take the villages one by one."
Francis groaned for the seventh time since the conversation began. Just to clear his head off his frustration, he rubbed his temple. "Your Majesty," he began, "…we cannot possibly go to war against those things unless we plan to die!"
"I'd listen to him if I were you," came a voice from the doorway.
The King of Valish turned his head in that direction, a glower dark upon his face. The Knight did the same.
Escorted by a significant number of his own guards, there was the owner of the voice stalking in along with a bunch of others.
Before any question could be asked from his side, the man went on. "You see these…things you plan to go against are more or less the last things you're ever going to see. They'll suck your lives out effortlessly."
"Dying for my people doesn't sound like much of a problem," Edward shrugged a shoulder, rolling his eyes proudly.
"Oh, you're not dying for your people," Jeremy smiled. "You're only dying before they do."
King Wither thinned his lips into a line and stayed silent. Proper scrutiny on the clan his guards beheld him, a spark of interest rose, and he couldn't help but ask. "Who are you?"
The man he spoke to shoved his brown hair from his eyes, using the next few moments to glance at all his companions. Abraham was approaching him and now, when they stood side by side, he replied. "My name is Jeremy Tonnel. And this…is my baby brother, Abraham Tonnel."
A frown grew gradually on the King's face, a frown of thought. On the other hand, Francis Veyetti was on the verge of laughter.
When Edward seemed to have figured out whatever worried his mind, he beamed in a smile. "Abraham Tonnel? Isn't that the demon King that rules over Decresh? Stories say he assumed the throne before his four older brother."
Tension filled the air and stretched uncomfortably. Anyone could smell it. The fire djinn felt a flame of anger flaring up within him, while Jeremy had bowed in shame. A tiny smile was on his lips, perhaps to shield the smear of tears in his eyes. For a while now, royalty was that one topic he so tried to forget.
And for some strange reason, Abraham felt it too. And with anger, guilt followed.
"Shut your mouth," he growled low to the King of Valish, setting the entire courtroom in awe. He never cared, did he? Slowly, arrogantly as always, he went closer and assumed a threatening tenor. "I agree I was better King material, but don't you forget you are speaking to my own flesh and blood. Utter a word more against my brother or any one of my allies and I'll burn your heart while it's still in your chest. Am I clear?"
Although slightly threatened, Edward Wither retained a discerning glare, just before he glanced at his guards with a clear order in his eyes.
None of them moved…
For four seconds, then five. Until their King knew they were not intending to. At that, he glared back at Abraham. "Are you really a demon as people say?"
Abraham didn't answer. Instead, he grinned, displaying slightly pointed teeth that served more of an evidence than an answer.
Now, Francis drew out his sword; and Abraham answered with a mocking laugh.
Before this turned out more violent than planned, Zora came forward, all beauty with her dark brown skin glimmering like gold. Her eyes took up a new caramel brown shade, something slightly intoxicating. "Your Majesty…" she began with a sweet rasp aimed at temptation, "…we mean you no harm. Recently, we've been in search of someone. Someone we strongly believe is here in your Kingdom. If you please let us search, we'd be gone by the fall of dusk."
The King of Valish had his eyes fixed in hers…not just because she was a wonderful art of God, but because he just couldn't. Seriously.
It was not until she'd completed her words that he blinked suddenly, gasping gradually. When he refocused on the King of Decresh, he saw amusement in his eyes. "Sure…" he heard himself say. "You could search every corner you wish to. Infact, you're welcome in the palace until you find this person."
His Knight was gawking unbelievably at him. When he understood what was happening, his gaze switched to Zora very slowly while he took backward steps.
"Impressive," Abraham rasped to her with a wink.
And she curtsied.
***
Patience was that one thing that Isaac did not have. So, when his captive continued to kick against the cabin door like that, his men were surprised he'd endured it for hours.
Now, he had his eyes closed, reining his horse forward, praying he wasn't going to lose it suddenly and run mad.
But, as though to test him, Martin continued to kick with hard thumps from within the cabin he was locked in. And that was the final blow.
The tavern owner forced his filly to an abrupt halt and jumped off it. With angry, firm strides, he walked back to the still thumping cabin fixed to two horses, drew out its latch and flung the doors open.
"You son of a…"
"Who are you," Martin pitched in. That was when Isaac realized the captive had bitten his gag off.
But before he could scold about that, the Prince continued. "Tell me how much you were given to do this and I'll triple the pay. Just let me go."
That came out as more of an order than he intended, setting Isaac Ramiro on a second edge of anger. With a sardonic smile, he tipped his head. "Ya royalty be damned, ya spoilt brat. Keep your money, aye? Your nagging has given me a new reason to kill you."
The word _kill_ left the Prince dazed. Mostly because he'd begun to wonder who was behind this. Surely, the only bad he was capable of was stealing a woman from an undeserving lad with his looks. That shouldn't spike this much hatred, should it?
Now that he'd learned their intentions, he quit the negotiation and settled for something more realistic.
Isaac gave him the last of his scowls and was just leaving when Martin jerked himself forward suddenly.
However, the ropes that bound him limited his movements so that his face was just mere inches away from the other man. "This is me trying to save your life. When my brothers find you…"
"What is that," Isaac said with a wince. "A threat, aye? You're a brother to that demon, ain't ya? Well, I've heard better myths than that, young lad."
It was surprising the Prince began to laugh at him. "Wait…" anger returned, "…you don't believe them? You'll end up digging your own grave!"