The doors of Ailla's private chambers flew inward as Malachi burst through the threshold.
His shoulder-length, wavy dark hair was loosely secured in a half-up, half-down style, several wild strands whipping across his face .
As he walked, his dark, ornate royal robes swayed like a gathering storm behind his back.
Shakdam, standing like an immovable sentinel by the wall, instantly sprang into action. She pulled out a carved chair for Malachi, bowing so low her forehead nearly aligned with the table.
A silent procession of servants glided into the room, their hands bearing fine silver trays to serve steaming dark tea to both Malachi and Ailla.
Ailla sat with effortless grace, draped in a gown of striking crimson silk. Her long, brown curls was held high in a ponytail, adorned with nothing but a meticulously carved ivory hairpin-a rare token Malachi had gifted her during their youth.
Her deep brown eyes locked onto Malachi's matching gaze, her expression a mix of fond exhaustion and excitement.
"Cherry..." she spoke, her voice dropping into a soft, teasing cadence. "I barely ever see you nowadays. One would think you have forgotten the way to my quarters"
"I have simply been busy, Ailla," Malachi replied, resting his elbows on the table as a servant poured his tea.
"You refuse to grace me with your presence and then you dare give me such a lame, uninspired excuse?" Ailla countered, tilting her head.
"I have absolutely no reason to lie to you," Malachi said, his voice devoid of deception.
Ailla lifted her porcelain cup, taking a slow,sip of the hot liquid. "Are you planning on bringing him back?"
Malachi let out a heavy sigh. "Kizari wants him back and well... little Xian-" He abruptly stopped speaking. A genuine, bright smile spread across his face as he stared blankly up at the ceiling, remembering how many times his stubborn younger sister had threatened him never to call her by that childish nickname again.
She is going to throw an tantrum if she ever finds out I called her that, he thought, a rare spark of familial warmth softening his Sharp features.
Ailla's brown eyes remained glued to Malachi's smiling face, but this time around, she felt nothing. The old, familiar pang of jealousy failed to spark. Usually, the only one capable of coaxing a smile from Malachi was Zaliyah.
But now that Zaliyah was exiled to the frozen wastes, she knew with certainty that this particular warmth was reserved solely for Nyxian.
The realization filled her chest with profound happiness. Her friend was finally showing signs of life that weren't driven by rage.
She set her teacup down gently, "It still shocks me that Xulthas hasn't killed him yet. Leaving a disgraced consort in the hands of a ruthless warlord seemed like a death sentence."
Malachi grinned, "Xulthas is a brutal bastard, but he knows better than to touch royal property. Besides... Zaliyah is hard to kill. He is a stubborn parasite that simply refuses to die under Mephisa's brunt or beneath the weight of my own fists."
You give his fragile body far too much credit, Ailla thought to herself, though she kept her face perfectly neutral. She smoothed the silk of her crimson skirt before leaning forward.
"The Council has been whispering behind closed doors, Malachi. They are saying it is long past time for the kingdom to secure a proper heir."
Malachi let out another heavy sigh, the transient warmth from moments before evaporating entirely. Even after he had personally purged all the corrupted, rotten filth within the council, evil and greed always found a way to reinvent itself. "Kizari does not want a child," Malachi replied bluntly.
Ailla looked at him, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. Her mind flashed back to their childhood, remembering the little boy who used to sneak away from his training sessions just to play with baby demons in the courtyard, the same boy who used to boast proudly that he was going to father fifteen children when he grew up.
"Do you even realize that you are the King?" Ailla asked, her voice laced with disbelief.
"Damn, am I truly?" Malachi spoke, a mocking, playful smile breaking across his lips as he leaned closer to her. "And here I thought I was simply the chief guard stationed at Lady Ailla's bedpost."
Ailla's fingers spasmed. She gripped her delicate porcelain teacup with a sudden, immense force that the material violently splattered in her palm. The boiling tea poured directly over her bare skin, and the porcelain shards clattered loudly onto the floor.
Malachi didn't flinch. He looked down at the mess, an internal thought crossing his mind. Well, at least she didn't lit herself on fire this time.
Without addressing the spill, Malachi continued, "Kizari's wishes are dear to me. What she wants, she gets."
Yes... how could I ever forget? Ailla thought bitterly. Both Malachi and Kizari are blindly, almost psychotically devoted to one another. It was a terrifying bond forged in blood. That was the sole reason Ailla had never once objected to their royal union; she knew Malachi needed someone stronger, someone whose ruthlessness forced him to be strong in return. Kizari was the perfect, candidate for that role, even if watching their twisted union ate Ailla alive from the inside out.
"The concubines in the lower palace-" Ailla started, trying to find an alternative.
"They are unworthy of carrying my lineage," Malachi interrupted.
"The celestial consort, then. He is of true, ancient royalty-"
The moment the words left Ailla's mouth, Malachi's face hardened. The playful air vanished instantly, replaced by a suffocating, murderous pressure that flooded the room. He squeezed the teacup in his own hands so violently that the porcelain didn't just break, it immediately pulverized, turning into a fine white dust that slipped through his fingers like sand.
Ailla smiled enjoying the raw, volatile reaction her words had provoked.
Before the tension could snap, the doors were flung open once more. Kizari burst into the chambers. She was dressed in a striking, flowy white silk skirt that pooled around her ankles. Multiple gold chains, bracelets, and anklets clanged together loudly with every step she took, her long black hair cascading down her back like a river of ink. True to her infamous, scandalous nature, she was completely topless, the pink circles around her nipples was covered in glittering, exotic gemstones that caught the light.
Ryuna walked silently behind her like a shadow. Kizari marched directly toward Ailla, her icy-blue eyes scanning the crimson gown. "Red? Again?" she spoke, her tone dripping with mock pity as her long, manicured fingers reached out, idly gripping one of Ailla's brown curls. "You truly lack imagination, darling."
Ailla quickly slapped Kizari's hand away from her hair, rolling her eyes. You just absolutely had to ruin everything, she thought as her mood plummeted.
Kizari laughed, completely unbothered. She glided over to Malachi's chair, wrapping her bare arms around his neck from behind. She pressed her bare chest against his back, her dark hair draping over his broad shoulders as she locked her predatory gaze back onto Ailla. "Still desperately trying to steal my husband away for the millionth time, Ailla?"
Ailla rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I dare not dream of it, my Queen."
Kizari smirked, leaning her chin on Malachi's shoulder.
"The Great Winter Festival takes place tomorrow. I recall it is a holiday very dear to you pathetic snow dwellers"
Ailla forced a polite smile. "My brother has everything under control. The preparations are seamless."
Malachi looked up from the ruined dust of his teacup, his brown eyes tracking his friends face. "Do you wish to go, Ailla?"
"I have already enjoyed more than enough festivals in my lifetime," Ailla replied softly, her expression darkening with a trace of dread. "I don't feel as though I am missing out on anything. My brother is currently occupied with the festival security, and I fear my sudden arrival would only interrupt his duties."
Kizari unwrapped one of her hands, her long fingers idly playing with Malachi's dark curls.
"I have always wanted to travel north to see the snow monsters. Those vile, vicious beasts of the frozen wastes that have been hunting the borders ever since we coexisted with those wretched Celestials."
"Should we arrange for a formal royal trip to the Northwest territory then?" Malachi asked, "Either way, my schedule is full, and I cannot accompany you, so do not bother asking."
Ailla let out a giggle at his bluntness.
Kizari smiled beautifully, "Let us go next year instead. I would be delighted to finally see the bleak place where you grew up.
The moment the words left Kizari's lips, Malachi's face shifted into an unreadable, blank expression. A sudden flash of an ancient memory invaded his brain.
In the memory, the grand royal chambers of his childhood were a catastrophic mess. The room looked as though a horde of wild beasts had rampaged through it.
Curtains were torn down onto the floor, priceless vases lay shattered into thousands of sharp pieces, and the bed was turned over. He was only about five years old, dressed in his stiff royal regalia. A pale woman with wild, frizzy, unkempt black wavy hair, dressed in nothing but her thin undergarments pushed him away. Her eyes were crazed with insanity as she scrambled back.
"Go! Go away! Don't look at me ! Get away!"
The little Malachi took a hesitant step forward toward the trembling woman, his small hands reaching out. "M-Mother... I am sorry. Please, please don't leave me alone. I won't ever do it again, I promise to behave..."
The woman looked petrified. Whenever the young Malachi took a single step forward, she took two steps back, her hands shaking . She pointed a trembling, skeletal finger at his chest, her voice screeching. "Y-You... You are just like him! Why do you look exactly like him, Malachi?!" The woman's trembling suddenly stopped, replaced by a manic rage. She lunged forward, grabbing the young boy's small hands and violently throwing his fragile body onto the cold floor.
She knelt directly over him, her eyes devoid of any remaining sanity or maternal warmth. "You are a curse! A horrific monster! I should have ripped you out and killed you myself when I was pregnant with you!"
Her brown eyes glowed as she wrapped her two large hands around the five-year-old boy's neck, strangling him on the floor.
The little boy didn't fight back. He didn't scream, he didn't use his magic, and he didn't shed a tear. He simply stared up at her face, accepting the suffocating darkness.
Back in the present, Malachi's lips twitched upward into a soft smile at the memory. "Mother always loved the purity of the snow."
Ailla stared across the table at his twisted smile, her expression instantly softening into one of heartbreaking pity. "Cherry..." she
muttered, her voice breaking slightly.
The next morning, the rays of the northern sun hit Zaliyah's back, making his long silver hair shimmer like liquid stardust against the dark silk sheets.
Xulthas sat quietly on the edge of the mattress beside him. He reached out, grabbing a handful of Zaliyah's white strands, watching the flawless silk slip slowly through his fingers like sand.
"Its resemblance to the fresh winter snow is uncanny," Xulthas murmured, his deep voice breaking the morning silence.
Zaliyah slowly raised a slender, pale hand to his face, blocking the bright sunlight that was filtering through the high frosted windows
He was dressed in nothing but his thin, silk undergarments. He gently stirred awake, letting out a delicate yawn as he stretched his slender arms above his head, his back arching slightly.
Xulthas's lips twitched into a genuine smile. He always found it captivating when Zaliyah inadvertently displayed these uniquely human mannerisms he had picked up growing up in the mortal realm.
"So hungry..." Zaliyah muttered, his voice raspy from sleep as he rubbed his eyes.