The Infernal King | 1 ✓

CHAPTER IX | SUCH INHUMANE BEAUTY

       THERE SEEMED TO be an eternity of footsteps between them, but even that was not enough. Seeing him in the flesh was positively nauseating. As he approached the young woman, Maarit was able to get a better glimpse of the twenty-one-year-old monarch than she ever had.

King Theodoracius was tragically, inhumanely beautiful—there was no other way to describe him. His face was nothing short of perfect, like unblemished porcelain. His brown hair was slicked back, with not a single strand out of place. His eyes were the colour of coffee and had multiple dimensions. They seemed to be one hundred feet deep and were accentuated by his thick eyelashes and eyebrows. Appearing as though it had been chiseled out of stone, his jawline was sharp and clean-shaven. And his lips—they were roseate, parted slightly to display a row of pearly teeth.

Everything about him was attractive in the most unfortunate of ways. It was a shame—an abomination—that such loveliness had been wasted on a monster.

Maarit noted once again the absence of emotion on his face, much like when she had seen him at he servant's execution. Yet, deep within his eyes, there was an iciness that was far from lovely. It was this coldness that merely added onto his pulchritude. While his father had always radiated warmth and kindness, the exact opposite was true of King Theodoracius.

He wore a floor-length robe that dragged on the carpet as he walked, billowing out behind him majestically. The robe blended in with the rest of the room, for it was crimson and had ornate embellishments on it. On his head was the revered gold crown, which he wore proudly and haughtily.

When he was close enough to Maarit, the guards and the warlock fell to their knees before him. In response, he waved the guards away from Maarit wordlessly. They immediately dispersed and moved to stand at the door instead. The warlock, however, remained close by. She sensed the warlock's watchful eyes fixated on her.

The king circled her, his red robe slithering on the floor like a serpent at his command. There was utter regality in the way he carried himself. She held her breath, an expression of combined repulsion and fear. His eyes swept scrutinizingly across her frail figure and the dressing gown she wore. The dark hair at the back of her head was matted with dried blood.

"Picard," King Theodoracius boomed, addressing the warlock authoritatively, "heal her head. And lift the spell—let her speak."

Maarit became stunned by the fact that she was hearing his voice for the very first time ever, as well as by his priorities being to heal her.

She felt sudden relief in her head. She also regained the ability to voluntarily move her limbs. Instantly, she stood up straighter and met his eyes so as not to seem weak.

This seemed to amuse him immensely.

With a slight smirk playing across his lips, he said, "Ah. So, as I understand it, you are the little oracle who has been attempting to begin a revolution, a ploy to overthrow me, through the act of spreading around falsities."

After what felt like an hour of being mute, she was finally able to use her voice once more.

"Soothsayer," Maarit hissed abhorrently, correcting him. She was going to be killed regardless, so she made the decision to be as rude to him as possible. He did not deserve her respect; she already loathed him. "I am a soothsayer, not an oracle. And they were not falsities. Everything that I told the villagers was the truth, and that is why you were so upset by it. You feel threatened by me, don't you?"

"Oh?" he said, raising his eyebrows mockingly. There was not even a trance of anger in his tone, which confused Maarit. "It is quite interesting that the only person to ever have spoken to me the way you are now doing is my father. I am your king; you must show me respect. Begin by addressing me as 'Your Majesty'."

"No. There isn't any point; you shall have my head anyway," she responded indifferently. "I know you killed your father."

"My father," he said pensively, gazing off into the distance as though trying to remember something, "the wonderful king who could do no wrong; adored by the people; constantly playing up the fact that he had such a troubled son in order to gain sympathy. Poisoned by a servant boy, whom I had executed yesterday."

"The servant was innocent. You had an innocent boy tortured just to cover up what you had done... Your Highness," Maarit sneered, contempt dripping from her lips like venom. She spat the words and they sounded like an insult when she voiced them.

The corners of his lips twitched and he took a step closer to her. "That would be 'Your Majesty' to you, Little Oracle," he said, feigning fondness. He flashed her a fake, tender smile. "No longer am I the prince; I am the King of Bonvalet."

"Not to me, Your Highness," she shot back. "And not to anyone. You think that executing me will make a difference? It will do no such thing. All of Fribois already knows what you are and they were quick to believe what I told them."

King Theodoracius laughed mirthlessly. The sound caused Maarit to seethe with unexpressed rage. Mustering all of her remaining strength, she silently attempted to cast another spell; yet her efforts continued to be pointless.

"If anyone has the audacity to disobey me, they will get just what they deserve. And you, Little Oracle, are not exempt from that."

As he spoke to her, she fingered the bracelet on her left wrist. She tried to take it off, but it would not budge.

"Don't bother," King Theodoracius said to her. "Do not waste your energy on trying to take it off. It cannot be removed without magic, and you cannot use magic unless it is removed. I am afraid," he continued pompously, staring condescendingly into her eyes, "that you are at a standstill."

"YOU—" Maarit suddenly lunged for him, seeking to claw at his handsome face and leave ugly scars. She wished to see him suffer.

In an instant, the two guards were at her side, prying her away before she was even able to reach him.

King Theodoracius looked only slightly dishevelled at her sudden outburst. He ran his hand over his slicked brown hair and pursed his lips. "Commoners. I suppose it is becoming a trend among them to attack monarchs," he said calmly more to himself than to anyone else, slowing his breathing.

He began pacing around, pressing his fist to his lips. He whirled around to face the guards.

"Dungeons," he stated simply, gesturing distractedly in Maarit's direction.

Then, he turned on his heel and stately stalked towards his throne.