When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 243

With still enough time between me and the palace to allow a short moment of quiet thought, I permiss myself to spill over a few more happenings, trying to work out the events of the day in my head. After all, when I get back to the palace- and back to him, my thoughts will not be allowed to be my own anymore.

Sure I have the pendant to ensure my protection, but one cannot be too careful. Especially when dealing in the business of souls.

For now, there are two major matters I need to attend to. The first being to maintain a convincing facade for Azrael. For while he should have no reason to think I am not enchanted by his powers given the fact I appear not to be wearing my pendant, this wouldn’t be the first time I have been able to slip his magic. If he is smart, he will know not to trust things at face value, especially the actions of another soul. But personally, I am hoping that all this business with obtaining souls has done a number to his logic- it certainly has for his sanity.

And then there is the soul herself. She seemed rather adamant on remaining nameless, her manner of speech more riddles than answers, more questions than facts. I have never seen someone so elusive and yet so apparent at the same time. Initially I had been worried about Azrael getting to her first, managing to extract her soul and consume it for his own but… after today I have a feeling he won’t even be able to find her in the first place, at least, not unless she wants him to. It is as she says, death is slippery, never found by another, but always finding you.

I make a mental note to be more wary of her in the future.

Steadily making my way through the clumps of gnarled trees and winding bushes, I turn over some of the commands that the soul had given me in my mind. The key to the walls surrounding this palace or land, as it was… If that is supposed to be in the Kings bedroom- Azrael’s room, then I might just have my work cut out for me. Although it is an understatement to say that Azrael is rather fond of me, he has not yet let me anywhere near his rooms, and to go watlzing in there would be suicide.

I may have more of an element of free will than most of the poor creatures here, but not that much. There is only one thing for it. I am going to need to get him to ask me there. To trust me, completely and wholly.

A horrible dread pools in my stomach. There is only one way to do that, one way I know for certain.

As the palace of faeries rises into view, the thorn ridden turrets peaking over the horizon of trees, it becomes apparent to me that the time for thinking must be cut short.

Equally, I have not spared a handful of thought to the soul’s wish of me. To let me decide her fate. But to be honest, a question like that is hardly one that needs mulling over. I will not betray another soul and lead them towards their death. I will only tell Azrael what he needs to know to pacify him, and for me to survive while I attempt to pry the key to which is in the kings bed chambers. A gorge rises in my throat.

I refuse to think on the matter after that.

The wolves leave me at the entrance of the palace, prowling in the shadows with a feverish impatience that is tinged with desperation. A little part of me wonders if they have any connection to Soren, any way of passing their experiences between him. I wonder if he knows I am here. With this hopeful optimism in mind, I lean down to the two wolves under the shadows of the palace, pressing my forehead against each of theirs in turn.

“If you can,” I whisper solemnly. “Tell Soren what has happened here. Let him know what my plans are, tell him about Azrael. If you are able to do this, report back to me as soon as you can.”

A small grunt passes between the two of them, followed by the sound of a voice in my mind:

“Yes, High Lady,”

And I know it is done.

Leaving the wolves behind me, I refresh my facade. As of late, is has become almost too easy to conjure that fake smile of blissful, enchanted delight, to let it swim over my features, filling my aura with a bubbly, ignorant positivity. So easy, it is almost scary.

But alas, time to face Azrael.

Fortunately, the court room is empty as I walk my way through, picking up pace as I enter another corridor. The silence seems harmless enough as it is, almost enough that I could let myself relax marginally. Then I jolt slightly, my skin prickling at the warnings the death soul had sent me.

They are watching you, the eyes. Once more I shiver, and hurry onwards. Finding Azrael is left difficult as one would presume, especially given the fact he has been a slithering, slinky little snake for half his life. All I need to do is follow the scent of arousal, and the murmured, impassioned moans that drift in waves down the corridors like a wash of an ocean breeze. Inwardly, it disgusts me, eliciting a second lump of sickness to rise in my throat, but forcefully, I push it down, unwilling to let my exterior of glamour crack.

Whatever Azrael is up to, it sounds most vile.

At last I find the room that is the source of the noise, the fancy gold doors ajar, just enough so that a thin stream of light can seep out into the darkened corridors.

Nervous and fingers trembling, I push open the doors, and it is quite a sight to behold. Not because of its interior, but mostly who inhabits it. And rather grotesquely, the activity they are indulging themselves in.

Don’t lose it now,  I chide myself, taking another breath.  Remember, mind blank.

Wherever there is space, there is people. On the large, silken couches, against the walls, the tables, the chairs, everywhere they stand or sit or dangle in groups of two or three, moaning, glamoured, and entirely naked.

I almost blush at the sight, attempting to avert my eyes from every angle but finding nowhere clean to look. So instead I look straight ahead to where Azrael sits at the back of the room on a large pillowed chair, surrounded by women. Like the rest of the room, these faeries wear little or nothing, their faces covered in decorative patterns, all wide eyed and grinning with lust. These ones look conscious.

How peculiar.

Darting my way around naked bodies, and trying my best to disregard the moans of the creatures who grind against each other, kissing and touching, I make my way towards Azrael as best I can. I am sure he notices that my face is flushed. I am sure he realises how inexperienced I am with this sort of… event. Perhaps that is why he looks so pleased as he beckons me over, curling one finger in my direction. Upon my approach, the other women scatter, their brief taste of consciousness sucked away as Azrael takes a hold of their minds once more. At the foot of his throne like seat, I stop short.

“Little pet,” Azrael coos over the rim of a blood filled glass, taking a short sip from its crystal rim. He practically reeks of arousal, but so does the rest of the room, so that is hardly saying anything.

“Did you have a nice bath,” he queries, brows raised as he glances over the strands of leafy debris that cling to my hair with a sceptical expression. My body chills. Shit.

“Yes, I did master,” I say cooly, beaming as I slide my way closer to him, over his lap as I allow myself to straddle his legs. The thought of doing such a crude action is almost enough to send me running for the nearest bathroom, but I hold my ground. Maintain the facade, I remind myself. Soren already allowed you to do what you must to not get yourself killed.

And yet still it feels awful.

At first, Azrael looks so taken aback he nearly drops his glass. Then a smoother expression slides over his face, a smug grin tugging at his lips. Perhaps he remembers that I am no longer mortally opposed to him, and that one of his first commands was that I was to be his.

“And where have you been, my pretty little pet?” He murmurs, allowing his fingers to caress the side of my arm, slowly slipping down to my waist to linger there for a moment. “It seems like the bathhouse is not the only place you have been wandering too, hmm?