Chapter 54: King Augustus Malik Part Six
The King's laughter finally dies away, echoing one last time through the cold chamber before he stands. He's smiling at me with genuine mirth, his hands raised in open applause like an actor stepping out for his curtain call. "Magnificent display," he says, voice ringing out for all to hear. "Truly impressive."
Inside my mind, the voices howl with laughter. Of course it was magnificent, they sneer. Of course it was glorious. You are the true god Ayato, and the world will kneel soon enough. They mock the King's praise even as they bask in it, lapping up the recognition like wild dogs. I grit my teeth, holding them back, locking them in the dark where they belong.
The Queen hasn't moved. She remains still, poised, that same serene satisfaction on her face. Her beauty glows like moonlight on water untouched by the blood, by the screams I know they all heard. Her violet eyes gleam and she has a soft smile on her face. Not cruel. Not mocking. Like she's a mother watching her child finally take their first steps.
Inside me, horror blooms. It presses against my spine, my ribs, curling up until I almost double with the weight of it. I have killed for the King. I stare at my hands, at the faint tremor in my fingers, as the voices swirl gleeful and triumphant.
I keep my face still as the King descends the steps of his throne. Every clap of his polished boots echoes across the marble, slow and precise, like a drumbeat heralding my ruin. My arms hang at my sides, slick with the ghost of blood. My fingers twitch once before I command them to stop. I won't let him see how hollow I feel. I won't give him the satisfaction.
He smiles as he nears, and though his applause has faded, the pride in his eyes burns brighter than before. It makes me sick. I've just ended four lives snuffed them out like candles for nothing more than a test. A performance. And yet here he comes, wearing joy like a crown, his voice warm and full of approval.
I let my gaze shift, just briefly, toward the royal siblings still standing beside the feet of their parents thrones. The princess is untouched by war or blood she's no elite and such has been pampered her entire life. She stares at me in horror. Her wide eyes shimmer like she's seeing something unholy, and maybe she is. Her fear rolls off her in waves, sweet and intoxicating. The voices croon and scratch, hungry for more. She knows what you are, they whisper. Let us out. Let us show her everything.
I don't. I won't.
The prince is different. Where she trembles, he hardens. His face is all sharp angles and contempt now, mouth tight, brows low. He looks at me like I've crawled out from under a stone, like I've defiled the very room by breathing in it. There's no awe in his eyes. No respect. Only hate. He already sees what I am to his father a weapon, nothing more.
The King finally steps down, his crimson robe brushing past the frozen forms of his children. Neither dares to speak. The princess sits still as a statue, pale as bone; the prince grits his jaw but doesn't move, his disgust simmering just beneath the surface. The King pays them no mind. All his attention is on me.