The page turned on his heel in a way that looked practiced and exited the room. Everyone looked at Harsen. He squared his jaw and stood.
First, he bowed. Doing so was simply good manners. It wasn’t as though he accepted their authority.
“I’m Prince Harsen, Crystalline priest of Sencrysi.”
Romi made a sound like a delighted gasp. Harsen ignored him.
“Where is your king?” Esther had a deep booming voice that belied his shriveled appearance.
Harsen’s mouth stretched into a wry smile. “You’re our king now. Isn’t that so?”
“Where is the former king?”
“Haven’t got one. Sorry.”
Esther stared at him.
“I couldn’t manage both the duties of priest and king, so I never ascended the throne.” He looked up and tapped his forefinger against the side of his face. “The idea was for Leeta to take a husband and he could be crowned. I guess the people didn’t much like that.”
Romi’s smile turned ecstatic. “No, they didn’t.” He blurted a quick laugh.
Harsen focused on him a moment more. Was he insane? His mother’s insanity had never been this joyful. He seemed tremendously young—perhaps nineteen. Harsen wondered if he was simply a hooligan.
“Are you saying King Leonard is dead?” Ashla said.
“Yes,” Harsen said.
“Then I am truly sorry.”
Harsen swallowed and lowered his head. He never dealt well with sympathy. It made his grief surface.
“What of your mother, Queen Dorathea?” Ashla said.
“She’s not well. Never been well, actually. She’s um…locked up.” He looked at them. “Under a minister’s constant care, of course.”
“Devotees of Darkhelm often lose their mind when forced into the Crystalline clan,” Esther said.
Harsen’s lips parted. “Is that so?”
“Of course. They’re condemned. Part of their demon essence is purged. They’re robbed of every scrap of their identity.”
Harsen felt as if bugs crawled under his skin.
Ashla kissed her husband’s hand to silence him. “We shall take responsibility for our kinswoman. She’ll be put to right once she can return to Darkhelm.”
Harsen swallowed. “Splendid.”
“Now then,” Esther said, “where is the princess?”
Harsen drew in a long breath through his nostrils. He smiled grimly, then smacked his lips. “Yes. Well. You see. She’s quite run off.”
A response would have eased his discomfort. The demon royalty merely stared at him.
“Eloped.” He focused his smile towards the floor.
Esther’s eyes narrowed. “So. The Crystalline clan provides no royal heir to transition our regimes? Despite it being proscribed in both our religions, and as practiced for several thousand years. Is this what you’re saying?”
“Not at all.” He lowered to one knee with a flourish of his robe. “I offer myself.”
“Oh!”
Romi’s outburst made him look up. The prince stood with a delirious smile and had his hands cupped together below his chin. His demonic eyes seemed to sparkle.
“Father,” Romi said, “may I accept?”
Harsen looked at Esther as panic overtook him. The demon king held his chin in consideration.
“The princess is truly gone?” Esther said.
“Well…well yes, but—“
Ashla faced her husband. “Let him have the priest, dear. You know he’s always shown such inclinations.”
“What of an heir?”
“He’ll outlive the mortal.” Ashla smiled in her serene way. “His first marriage should be a happy one.”
Esther shrugged, and then nodded. “Oh, very well. We accept.”
Romi clapped his hands together. “Thank you, father!”
Harsen felt the color drain from his face. “You’re joking.”
“Joking?” Esther scowled.
He climbed up. “I can’t…I won’t. I have an unwed aunt. Once you kill me she’ll be the heir to the Sencrysi—“
“Kill you?” Ashla said. “We’re not barbarians.”
Romi’s face became sad in the same exaggerated way he showed happiness. Esther leaned forward to look at him.
“Take care, priest!” Esther said. “Your words verge on insult, and you’ve distressed my son.”
Harsen’s mouth went dry. He looked at Romi. The young prince would not meet his eyes.
“I…I can’t exist amongst demons. I’m devoted to my faith. You see, there’s…there’s no place for me in this new regime. I thought you’d do me the favor of killing me—so I wouldn’t have to do it myself.”
Romi gave a coo of sympathy. “Oh…but really, I fancy you because you’re a Crystalline priest. You’ve such a magnificent aura. Why, you’re beautiful, my prince.”
Harsen gave a laugh of exasperation. “So you want to destroy me? Contaminate me?”
Romi became stricken. “Not at all. You’ve more power to do such things to me, if you wished.”
Harsen stared. The nincompoop demon child had just intrigued him.
“You claim to be devoted to the Crystalline faith,” Esther said. “The rules of a regime change are clear. In keeping with your own precepts you must abide this marriage. To take your own life would be shirking your sacred obligation.”
Harsen shoved a hand into his hair.
“Further—you chose this, and no one else. I will not have my son the victim of a cruel joke. Harm him from within or without and you’ll be dealt with. As our kinswoman, your mother, learned—there are fates worse than death.”
“We are not villains,” Ashla said as if to diffuse her husband’s threat.
Harsen focused on her kind face.
“Romi is not your enemy. He’s a quite precious boy, as I’m sure you’ll see.”
The page reentered the room with a trumpet. Harsen had no idea how he knew the audience was over. He played a regal tune as the litters were raised by servants.
“We leave for Darkhelm in three nights,” Esther said. “It is now the capitol of Sencrysi—and your new home as consort to Romi. Kindly prepare to leave this place forever.”
The words didn’t affect him. He was still numb from the earlier devastation. Harsen remained on his feet until the room cleared, then collapsed into his throne.
“That went splendidly, don’t you think?” Eldridge said.
Harsen glowered at him.
***
The first day Harsen did nothing. He didn’t even take food or drink. Iyla had to note his depression, but the immortal dragon’s patience was a constant. She let him wallow as he pleased until the next sunrise.
Then the crimson dragon led in two servants bearing a feast. She had them spread it over his bed and leave. Harsen could barely register the happenstance. He’d become fixated on dying of natural causes in his sleep. Not a suicide—not his fault, and certainly a great many men died at 30 or younger. Iyla’s feast only added to his disappointment. Not only was he alive—his weak mortal body demanded food. He snatched a loaf of brown bread without prompting.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Iyla said.
“Butter. No, cheese.”
The dragon happily drifted about the bed to service him.
“Today’s itinerary: packing, choosing which servants to bring with you, then a bath.”
“To Hell with all of that. Except the bath.”
“Oh, but Harsen dearest, you must prepare.”
He grew curt. “Preparing means acceptance. I’m not there yet.”
Iyla blinked at him. “What…what do you intend to do?”
“I haven’t given up hope on dying.”
“You’re still suicidal, sweetheart?”
He degloved a drumstick, chewed and swallowed. “Blasted duty squashed that privilege. I’ve been too pious too long to forfeit my reward. No, pet, I’m fixated on just expiring through some divine gift. Like this meal here. Is it too
much to ask for some bastard to poison me? Can’t these lazy servants even manage that?”
“Are you being silly?”
“If only.”
He went to the chapel only to find his first source of comfort already drained. Harsen felt like smashing the bottle, but each ceramic tile of the floor had be painstakingly crafted to his specifications. He grabbed The Songs of Blada from his bookshelf and took it to the window seat. There he turned to a well-worn page with lyrics that made him think of Leeta when she was barely out of the nursery.
Iyla remained perched on his bookshelf. The stone fixture had been carved into the wall and held nearly a thousand tomes. Harsen eyed her.
“My dear, darling Harsen…”
“Spit it out.”
She pouted as much as her hooked snout would allow. “Servants should be packing these books now. The same with the ones in your study.”
“To Hell with it.”
“Sweetheart, you know you won’t be content without them.”
Harsen scoffed with exasperation.
Iyla lowered her head onto her crossed front legs. “Why must you abet your misery?”
He slammed the book closed beside him. His anger begged for a greater release. That led to a feeling of helplessness. What was the point of any of it? There was nothing he could do. Nothing, except to march below a death knell towards his hideous fate. Now the tears came. He let his face contort.
“I can’t do it.”
Iyla flew to his shoulder. Her voice matched his emotion. “You can, my dear. I swear it.”
“I can’t…not even if I wished it. The walls are too high…too…sturdy.” He snuffled. Then he gestured out to the room. “You think this gave me pleasure? It was protection. What good is it to me now?”
“It’s your identity, Harsen.”
He looked at her. Those words struck a chord. He remembered Esther’s explanation of his mother’s insanity. The dragon probably spied during their audience, but no matter. She was right.
He took a deep breath. “Go…go tell them to pack it, then.”
Iyla floated up. “Of course, darling.”
He leaned against the side wall. “My study, too. Everything I might or might not want. Just pack it all. I can sort it out if I ever come back to my right mind.”
“Leave it to me, my love. You spend this time saying farewell to the castle. That’s one thing you can’t pack, after all.” She left.
Harsen didn’t make a move in her wake. He stared blankly into the chapel. It might have looked as though he meant to enjoy the ambiance there for a final time. In truth he’d gone numb again. Every motion that led him towards Darkhelm scraped his insides raw. Perhaps the stress would kill him. One could hope.
Servants came in with barrels. They looked surprised to see him. He dragged himself up so he wouldn’t witness the disassembly of his life. The same chaos would be in his study and chamber, he imagined. Harsen opted to go to the main castle library. Perhaps there was some book in the general collection he couldn’t live without in Hell.
He stepped onto a mezzanine above the towering walls of books and froze. Prince Romi stood in front of a shelf with his back to him. Harsen stared. The fact he’d be wed to the youth had somehow eluded his thoughts, as though it were the least important part of the equation. It was, in fact, the very crux of his disaster. He should despise this demon…wasn’t that right?
Romi stood eerily still for several moments, and then turned to smile up at him. Harsen did not allow himself to be agitated. The prince’s goofy smile stirred up a myriad of judgments. He might have been a demon, but he was surely awkward for any race. There was also an effete quality to him that Harsen would have tormented him for when he was school-aged. Still, these characteristics compelled him. He had no fear of his fiancé, but rather found his vulnerability disarming.
He stared a moment more. Romi’s smile made it easier for Harsen to see past his demonic features. If he were mortal he’d be a cute enough lad for his sister to fancy. In a sense their tastes ran the same: big eyes, luscious hair, a slender frame. He searched for something repellant in the boy’s face that would match his awkwardness. No, there was nothing to find. At least his intended was a pretty thing.
Harsen descended the stairs leading down into the library. Romi’s visage was like a magnet beckoning confrontation. Harsen didn’t even try to resist. Perhaps there was still a trace of childhood bully in him.
Romi greeted him with his adoring smile and his hands cupped together below his chin. Harsen walked a semi-circle around him first. His face was fine enough—now Harsen inspected his body. He was somewhat curvy for a male, but that was not a detriment. His buttocks were pronounced with a deep central grove. Once they became more familiar Harsen would give in to the urge to grope him. Hadn’t he that right as his betrothed?
Once he’d leered to his content he stepped two paces back to a long reading table and leaned against the edge. He crossed his arms and kept his eyes locked with Romi’s dark orbs.
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Alien's Bride Book Three Page 9