Avernus || Book 1 ✔️

||Threat||

I did scoff then, crossing my arms at his choice of words. But he raised a hand to stop me from interrupting.

"We both know that Ronan will precede me as King. And with that title comes a very important condition: he must have a mate. Fated or not fated, that detail is minute when looking at the bigger picture. Ronan chose Primrose, and while he told you he would leave her be I insisted that he have her."

I gripped the armrests of the chair, a low growl ripping through my chest.

But father only leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk in front of him and mouthed his words slowly.

"To put it very simply, incase you still don't understand. Kings always get what they want."

I flared my nostrils and leaned in closer, wanting him to see just how close I was to losing it—show him just how crazy I really am.

"I should rip out your throat for this fucked ploy of yours." I spat. "Do you think I'm a fool? Do you really think I wouldn't take down this entire kingdom—your empire—before I let you take my mate and pass her off to another?!"

Father chuckled but I could see him grind his teeth in irritation as he wiped my spit from his face.

"Please Azrael. I won't pretend you aren't...gifted." The word rolled reluctantly from his tongue, the syllable ending abruptly as if it left a sharp taste in his mouth. "But you should know better than to threaten me."

We stared at each other for a moment before the old man tilted his head, his voice lowering an octave.

"Of course I wouldn't expect you to be the bigger person and stand to the side as your brother finds his happiness. You want to know your true fate son? You were to be chained and caged in the cellars, 10 feet deep in the ground with misery the only thing to keep you company."

Heavy breathing.

Violent glares.

Silence.

I swallowed tensely, turning my head to the side as I leaned back in the chair. My fingers dug into the leather of the armrest as Bael pushed at my mind, growling and snarling at the disrespect.

But as much as I wanted to give in to the rage, I wanted to prove my control more.

It was hard.

We felt threatened, offended, hurt.

The old man was a bastard but he was also my father. And despite the many unpleasant feelings I hold towards him, my heart still ached at his admission. He might as well have clawed a hole straight through my chest and ripped it out himself.

"I know what you're doing." My voice was low but shaky; I couldn't find it in myself to care.

"Ronan could have any girl he wants, he is free to take his pick. But you encouraged him to take mine."

I turned to face him now, anger melting to mix with pain. I found it funny how the two blended together so well, but perhaps that was also why they managed to cripple me so easily.

"You're scared. You're scared that your 'people' will pick me over him," I pointed my finger in his face as I pressed my other palm against the wood of the desk; at my growing heat, the structure crackled like kindling being kissed by a flame, "You're scared that they'll find out that I'm not so illegitimate. Azrael Zachario, a bastard only because the King killed his own mate."