David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

Oscar dragged Lanike Crestwell into the room behind him. The noblewoman appeared flushed and frantic, her cobalt, sapphire-encrusted dress askew. Curls from the mop atop her head drooped into her eyes. He could tell she wanted to brush them away, but Captain Wellington held both her wrists.

“Here she is, Highest, as you requested,” Oscar said with a bow, shoving Lanike toward him.

Velixar caught her by the shoulders, keeping her upright. The woman’s teeth rattled as she stared up at him. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and he noticed a few of those loose curls were sticking to a small gash on her forehead.

“You hurt her?” he asked, leveling his gaze at Oscar.

The young captain appeared unflustered.

“We did not, sir. She tried to get away when we took her from the keep. She slipped on the cobblestones and struck her head. Not a hand was laid on her other than to pick her up and haul her here, I promise.”

He sensed no lie in the man, although it was hard to tell for certain. His ability to read the truth, a gift from Ashhur, had been slowly fading ever since he turned his back on the god in the delta. In its place, his ability to traverse the shadows was growing in potency, though it was nowhere near as strong as he would have liked it to be.

He forcibly moved Lanike to the side. “Very well, Captain Wellington. Shall I see you at the rite?”

“Of course you will, sir. The whole of Veldaren will be there, and my unit will be front and center, marching you through the city and cheering you on.”

“They will not be your unit for much longer,” he replied.

Oscar appeared confused. “Is that so, sir?”

“Yes. The unit will remain in Neldar, under command of the acolytes, to scour the kingdom for those who have not yet volunteered for service.”

“Am I not to stay with them?”

“No, Oscar, for I have need of you. You are a man deserving of the title and privilege of the Highest’s Right Hand.”

The young soldier froze for a moment, then beamed.

“Thank you, Highest. Thank you!”

The servants hurriedly climbed to their feet and continued with their preparations as Captain Wellington stood, offered a sturdy bow, and then swept out of the rectory. Velixar felt a swell of pride as he watched the young man go. Deep down he knew he’d made the correct choice.

He heard whimpering beneath the clamor of hustling feet and clanking pottery. Turning to the side, he saw that Lanike Crestwell was slowly moving toward the rectory’s side exit, her hands held before her, her head down. Her wild auburn curls blocked her face. She looked like a woman who thought the whole world would disappear if only she could blind herself to it. It was pathetic.

“Come over here, Lanike,” he said. She froze, her body shaking, and then shuffled forward, the soles of her feet never truly leaving the ground. Velixar reached out and swept the hair from her eyes. Taking a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his armored doublet, he spat on it and proceeded to wipe away the tears from her cheeks and the dried blood from her forehead.

“All of you, leave,” he said, raising his voice, and the servants scurried away. He returned his attention to Lanike. “Why did you run?” he asked.

Lanike opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her sprite’s face caved in on itself in despair, and she broke down completely.

He clutched her chin firmly in his fingers and lifted her gaze to his. “There is no need for dramatics, Lanike. Tell me why you tried to run.”

“I…I…I didn’t want to come,” she said, her voice cracking.

“And why not? Do you not want to see my coronation?”

She shook her head wildly. “No, Velixar. I don’t wish to see… him .”

He knew of whom she spoke. A soft chuckle rattled his throat.

“But he is your husband, Lanike. Do you not love him?”

“No,” she said, her words gaining strength. “No, he is not my husband.”

“Oh, but he is. He is still the one who created you, the one who loves you with all his heart. And he always will be.”

She brought her trembling hands to her mouth, covering her face with them.

Velixar sighed. Here was a member of the vaunted First Families, set upon Dezrel to guide the children of her god with strength and honor, yet she cowered with fear. She was as useless as the rest of them. Yet despite that fact, he couldn’t help but feel for her. With her nymphlike features and agelessness, she still looked like a child, innocent and frail. His fingers gently touched her neck, feeling the softness of her flesh, and those urges he tried so hard to repress resurfaced. A painful face, a damned name he’d sworn never to think of again, entered his mind.

Brienna…

His pity turned to anger, and he quickly drew back his comforting hand and slapped her face. Lanike’s head snapped to the side, snot and spittle flying from her nose and mouth.

“Stop your sniveling,” he told the weeping woman. “You will attend the ceremony, and you will stand at your husband’s side as our Lord presents me to the populace. You will do it, and you will not complain.”

Lanike shrank from him. “Yes…yes, Velixar,” she murmured into her fists.

He swept her hands away, and she gawped at him, wide eyed. “Cease your muttering,” he ordered. “What is it? Do you wish to be free of this? Do you wish to do no more than sit in your room and mourn the loss of your former life like a broken child?”

She nodded while sniveling.

“You will not .” He grabbed her by the front of her dress, ripping the bodice as he pulled her close. “There is so much you don’t know, woman,” he told her. “You don’t realize how important you are to the realm. Your husband is key to everything, and you are the only one who can still reach that shredded sliver of humanity lingering within the beast. Whatever happens, you will live, you will endure, and you will stay by my side when we leave tomorrow to crush the people of Paradise.”

He released her, and Lanike stumbled backward. She ran into one of the countertops, spilling a jar of incense, which tumbled to the marble floor and smashed to bits. She kept herself from falling, hands braced on the counter, knuckles whitening, staring at Velixar in horror.

“Does this surprise you?” he asked. “In a way, it’s almost romantic. Every day, Clovis looks on as the demon inside him warps his body, works his limbs, fills his stomach with raw meat. His hands butcher anyone we place within them, and their flesh is shoved into his maw, feeding the beast. It takes tremendous control for him to sway Darakken’s desires. Even when given his own daughter, he was unable to deny its hunger.”

He rubbed Lanike’s face with the side of his hand.

“That he can control it for you shows just great his love is for his little wife. Like I said…romantic.”

“My poor Thessaly…” Lanike whispered, trembling. “Tell me you lie.”

“I never lie,” said Velixar with a sigh. He stepped closer to her, grabbing her arm and yanking her off the countertop. “Your husband understands what will happen should he fail. Too much rides on the power of the demon. Too much, and therefore I have done everything I can to ensure its obedience. And if it doesn’t obey, well…I will sever all ties that bind him to the beast. The first one to fall prey to it will be you , Lanike. It’s that twisted fate that gives your husband the power to resist. Imagine what would happen if the worst came about. Imagine what it would be like for him to helplessly inhabit the body of a monstrous creature fucking his beloved wife with its twisted cock, tearing her body apart with its jagged teeth.…”

The woman slipped from his grasp, mouth ajar but unable to speak. Without another word to her, Velixar called one of his handmaidens back into the room.