I alone am the honoured

satisfaction feels like a distant memory

The idea of releasing my nose to let in the foul smell passes me but I force myself to ignore it for the sake of my life.

"Clothes," I say nasally, putting my free hand out, to which he stares at for a minute before collecting the fabric and placing it in my open palm. "Thanks."

I change in front of him, not bothering to hide the deformed art littering my body. He looks up quickly, tutting at the sudden exposure. A smile tugs my lips but Asmodeus is humming beneath my skin, dancing maniacally, a threat I am unsure the King is aware of every time he does it.

A faint blush paints the King's cheeks when I've finished changing. He clears his throat and finally takes in the state of my face, for my body distracted him earlier. "What happened to your eye?"

His eyebrows furrow when mine do in puzzlement. "What?"

Quickly, I find a small mirror poised on the nightstand of the double bed and find that my eye has not returned to its original state. Still the black void has consumed the entirety of my right eye.

No. This cannot happen again.

The reason for my exile stands behind King Akraton, her hanging, broken jaw, missing teeth, and one ear shine in all its macabre glory. Her head moves in a grotesque manner, slow yet jolty, as if she herself did not know what to do with that maimed body of hers.

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe out a curse. I need the cuffs. I need to dampen this... nightmare that lives inside me. I need it gone.

"Please." I hold my wrists out in front of me. Cautiously, he steps forward, the broken girl disappearing, to unveil the metal chains from his back pocket. The dark mist roaming in my skin wiggles erratically at the sight, refusing. I ignore the strain boiling in my skin and allow the King to lock me in the safety of the energy-suppressing cuffs.

"We will be leaving now for my Kingdom," he speaks sharply with a hint of caution wavering in his tone, attempting to be the commanding King I have come to see but that slither of hesitancy looms over his tired state. He picks up his matching navy-blue blazer and rests it on his lower arm. "Follow me."

I follow the man as instructed and watch the armoured guards stand tall with various weapons at the ready.

We walk to the staircase and a set of hands collide with my back, sending me down the marble steps. The sharp edges stab into every crevice, a multitude of groans escaping my throat as I swivel around to my stomach to prevent myself going any further. My head pounds from the initial impact and pain coils from my arms in attempting to save my skull from injury.

I look up the curved staircase and find twenty people surrounding the King. They disperse and the King holds the perpetrator by their neck. Their all-black outfit, their full-face mask, their burning eyes. They kick and thrash inside the King's grip but it is futile when you are caught in the grasp of a Golden Blood. I laugh internally at the sight, knowing that could've easily been me a few years ago.

Voices overlap each other regarding the calamity, giving me no way to eavesdrop. A few guards soon realise my position and surround me too, one brave man deciding to help me up. The King's eyes snap towards us and notice my condition. He closes his eyes and growls something into the perpetrator's ear, their body sinking into deep fear at his words.

The King orders the perpetrator to be cuffed and interrogated as soon as possible. He walks past us silently and then looks back, offended, when he realises we weren't following. I jumpstart in descending the stairs but find with extreme difficulty to do so without stopping after every step. The slowness of my pace annoys the King who stares up at me from the bottom of the staircase already, a cocktail of raging emotions waging war in his deity eyes.