Ashes of the Elite-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.

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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.

I've put my mask back on cold, blank, unshaken but I feel the strain behind my eyes. And then he's in front of me. Close. Too close. His ringed hand comes down heavy on my shoulder. The shock of him touching me is enough to make me flinch, and out of the corner of my eye I see the Red Legion tense, ready for violence, if need be. The King's smile only widens, as if he's savoring every second.

"You'll be staying here in the castle, young Daath," he says, voice soft enough for only me to hear, "for the next month or so until you leave for the Academy. And on every break, you'll return here. You're part of my household now."

My heart sinks. I don't let it show. But inside, I feel the cage close. My displeasure most have showed on my face because he just chuckles, lowering his voice, and leans in so only I could hear him. "Do you think I'd simply... let you go, Ayato Daath? You're powerful, and there are many who don't like that. Be thankful I'm the one who does. You can think of it as me protecting you."

Protection. That's convenient for him. I seethe behind my stone facade, but I know the truth. I'm not a guest. I'm not hear because he's worried about me. I'm his new weapon his new project to mold into his new killer his hound.

"I think with some more guidance," the King says, his voice smooth, almost paternal, "and once we get that second trigger of yours figured out... you could be my next Spellbreaker. Maybe even join the Hand."

The Hand? I don't know what that is, but the way he says it sounds important like something sacred or secret. I keep my expression neutral, but inside I frown. Another title.

Of course I don't get a choice. Not really.

He talks like he's offering me something grand, a nice gift. But I hear the truth beneath all his buttery talk. Spellbreaker, part of the hand whatever that means it means nothing at the end of it I'm still his tool. His next beast to unleash.

And this is the same man who stood up there not even five minutes ago, preaching about he's abolished slavery in his conquered territories. How noble. How virtuous. And now he smiles down at me, hand still heavy on my shoulder, as if he hasn't just claimed my soul.

Hypocrite.

The voices in my head cackle with amusement, already mocking him. "Let him wear his crown while he can." "One day we'll chop it off his head"