When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 233

From behind the throne, a familiar figure walks out, grinning sheepishly at me. Her body is aglow with a golden luminosity, and once more I can feel that ache inside my heart- the symbol of a magical bond, holding me in place. By all sense of logic, Serena shouldn’t be here. As she rounds the dais, nodding to her friends warmly as she lifts up the fabric of her puffy crimson dress to make it down to me, I get the feeling she doesn’t know either.

“You know,” she whispers over the shocked silence, positioning herself at my side. Giving me a faint jab in the ribs, she smiles softly, obviously having pried into my thoughts.

She is getting better at this.

“You are right. I shouldn’t  be here. Last I checked Azrael had me locked away in a palace full of entranced faeries. In fact, I am almost certain there was a magical barrier around the whole place to stop anyone escaping. Are you certain I am not dreaming?”

“Absolutely certain,” I assure, pressing my lips firmly against hers, giving her a fleeting kiss to prove to her just how real things are. Behind us, I can hear Ithuriel’s heart beat a little faster, but for the most part, I ignore it.

Perhaps it is the tug of her bond that brought her here, duty, or merely by the whim of chance, but either way, the surprise written on my face is as evident as it is anyone else’s.

After a few moments when the initial shock has worn off, whispers douse the crowds in a frenzied cacophony of noise:

“Is that Serena?”

“Where did she come from?”

“Scarlet King? You mean I can’t marry him now?”

“Why wasn’t I informed of a wedding?”

Even the angels who await in the balconies and hover in the eaves fall staunchly silent. There is an uneasy look about them, their faces paling with a grim and growing realisation of what exactly she means by her statement to the masses.

“May I have a moment to greet everyone?” she whispers lowly, having no fear that the crowds will notice much in particular. They are already far too wrapped up in their own concerns to be addled over anything the future Queen of Sezeria has to do, like a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. All except the patiently awaiting crowd of angels who strain to catch everything she does with eagerly awaiting ears.

“Of course you may, though be aware that our time is short and the crowds lack patience,” I joke with a wink, ruffling her hair softly. She rolls her eyes, but as she walks away, I can hear the accusations running in her head like a wild fire:

Tease.

I can tell as she does a brief round of hugs with my friends that her form here, regrettably, is only an illusion. For although it shimmers with that classic golden iridescence, her form wavers with an unnatural fluidity, shifting under the light with a rainbow splay of a thousand different colours.

Of course, I have seen this illusion of her a time before: when she appeared to me in the gardens as her real body consumed under the veil of sleep. From what I have seen, as of yet she has no real control over it and merely has a brief intuition of what is happening to her. And yet neither of us have any clue as to why.

But perhaps, if such thinking is not to hopeful, it was the tug of my heart, my bond, that called her to me, or her duty to her people. Perhaps she unwittingly felt the ache in my chest reaching out across the empty void between us, beckoning her to my call, and blanketing her real body under a dark and temporary sleep. For right now I, and everyone else in Faey, need her more than ever. If only she didn’t have to be so far away in the hands of my brother. Then she wouldn’t have to just be an illusion.

After Serena has finished a low exchange of words with Ithuriel, and several hugs, she turns to me, beaming with delight. Her eyes glitter with a wondrous starlight, the promise of hope, of revelations, but most of all, she looks proud, as if despite everything, things could not have gone more favourably for us.

“I missed you, little dove, but tell me. Just how long have you been here without my knowledge?” I whisper with a low, resounding hum under my breath as her hands slide into mine, reaching up on her tip toes to give me a peck on the lips. Both of us are very much aware of the crowd awaiting listlessly for answers, but for a brief second, everything between us manages to slip away, replaced only by the warmth of her hands in mine, and the brush of her lips against my cheek.

“I missed you too, Soren. As for how long I’ve been here, oh-” she cuts off, counting on her fingers the minutes, or perhaps even hours of her visitation. “-You know, maybe just the last ten minutes,” she chuckles to herself. “Now then, why don’t we get this show on the road?”

Squeezing her hand firmly in mine, I give her a small, encouraging smile.

“Take it away, my Queen.”

Clearing her throat, Serena drags me out to the top of the dais, a look of determination set in stone upon her face. At first she glances out to the vampires and Folk, who regard her with a series of revered whispers, and then she glances up to the angels, to Igor, whose attention is pinpointed to where her hand meets mine. He looks disgusted. But that seems to be exactly what Serena is bargaining for.

Lifting my hand, in the air with hers, Serena reveals the rings that coil on each of our fingers, staying there a moment to let them gleam in the light in the view of our audience. The message is clear to the crowd then, all their answers at once being laid to rest as they gaze upon these matching rings on our entwined hands:

The Scarlet King has found his Queen.

I do not fail to notice the way Ithuriel stiffens slightly at the thought, but as Kal places a weary hand on his shoulder, such agonies are soon forgotten, melting away into the void. Clearing her throat, Serena addresses the swarms of nervous crowds:

“You may have heard,” she starts. “Of whispers, of rumours, floating down these halls, throughout Faey, of the identity of the girl that King Soren has chosen to wed. You may have been told she was a whore, a manipulator, a liar. But there is nothing more far from the truth. I am Serena Silvershadow, Queen of the angels, and the new Queen of Sezeria.”

A small, shocked gasp runs through the crowds, followed by curses of outrage and disbelief. But such an uncouth display of arrogance and treachery is never tolerated in my court, nor has it ever has been.

“Silence!” I roar, stamping my foot on the ground. At this, a shockwave of darkness rockets through the court room, sending onlookers staggering backwards, before curling sheepishly down into themselves. They know better than by now to disrespect my rule. Soon they will learn not to disrespect the rule of my Queen, too.

“Listen to my Queen, I will not tolerate any disrespect towards her,” I warn, allowing flickers of my magic to remain in the air around us, swirling around in a staunch warning of what would happen if my wishes were ignored.

Looking up to directly gaze upon the angels now, she continues, a pained look panging across her face for a moment. Then it is gone, washed away with her steely resolve.

“To begin with, I had no intention of marrying Soren. I was sent to this palace brainwashed into completing a mission: to take back the flame for my people to restore my kind. I was told that all vampires are evil, and that they should be annihilated from the minute we see them. But I have learned then that is simply not the case. In reality, we are one and the same: both esteemed warriors, both people of Faey, both fearing for the destruction of our kind. All of us are only feuding only in a war that has gone on far too long considering we have not made any progress. I say this stops today.”

Initially, there is silence. Then a little voice pipes up from the crowd, a vampire with short blonde hair and a fine, embroidered suit.

“My King, I do not understand. She says she didn’t manipulate you, but she hid her identity from you. Forgive me for asking, but were you not shocked when you found out what she was?”

Glancing to Serena, the two of us share a tender glance. She nods once, all at once understanding what I intend to do.

“Ithuriel, this part is on you.”

Beckoning with two fingers, I allow for Ithuriel to step forward towards us. Nerves wrack his form in a series of underlying shakes. But after a long breath out, his eyes squeeze shut as he channels his concentration towards his magic, his hair fading white to a light, pastel pink.

Extending his hands out in front of him, all at once a wave of magic washes around the room, sparkling with rainbow hues and shimmers of dancing white, crystalline shards. A shudder followed by a convulsing gasp reverberates around the room, angels and vampires alike shaking as a wave of emotions seeps into their bones.

The feeling of a mating bond. The feeling of true, meaningful love.