King of the Unblessed

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “And I, King Ean, am at your service.” Hugh bowed again. He turned to Nicholas and motioned him to follow. Swinging up on his horse, he waited for their guides to show them the way.

  “Wait, my lord,” Gorman yelled, hopping down from the trees onto Nicholas’ horse.

  “We’re coming, fresh from the fight,” Halton added, jumping in front of Hugh. Hugh frowned at him as he blinked his wide blue eyes.

  “Hold, my lord, where’s the other one?” Gorman asked.

  “Aye, we like him,” Halton added. “Where’s Sir Thomas?”

  Hugh clenched his jaw. It was all he could do not to knock the spright from atop his horse. Instead, he kicked the horse in the flanks, sending it thundering off into the forest.

  Halton gasped in surprise, flying off the horse and into a tree. He tumbled to the ground. Gorman jumped down after him as the horses galloped away. Rubbing his sore backside, Halton frowned. “He’s in a fiery mood. Was it something you said?”

  * * *

  Juliana heard footsteps coming into the hall of the Black Palace. As she looked up from her place on Merrick’s throne, the sound stopped. Merrick stood before her, eyeing her curiously as she sat hunched in his chair. The goblins were quiet. They had been since she took the throne that morning.

  “Juliana?” he asked, frowning. She continued to stare at him, feeling numb inside, watching as if she were in a cloud. Nothing had felt right in her since going to the garden. Merrick stepped closer. “Juliana? What goes on with you?”

  Her breathing was loud in her ears, drowning out the sound of his voice until only a muffled thread of it remained. Grief pumped through her veins with every heartbeat until she could feel nothing else. She looked away from him to the arm of the throne chair. It hurt too much to see his face, for she loved him still, even as she hated him. Her hand was still covered in dried blood. A bath had materialized for her in the bedchamber, but she hadn’t used it, nor had she changed to the gown that still lay over the end of the bed.

  There was nothing left for her. Nothing but a mortal life without those she held most dear. She felt the knife against her hip and knew what she had to do. But to kill Merrick would be to kill the last thing she cared for. Not to kill him would be to betray her family’s memory.

  “Juliana!” he demanded, louder, storming up to her. She slowly turned her eyes back to him and stood. Her body was stiff, jerking with each movement. Her chin lowered, she stared up through her lashes. A slight breeze blew and the banners over the fireplaces turned red. They dripped with blood, thick trails of it running down the walls. The fires grew in the fireplace, surging forth only to temper back down. Borc cried out in pain as he caught afire. Neither one of them turned to the goblin as he put himself out by rolling in the blood.

  Juliana felt air entering her lungs. She felt the slight sting in her arm, the irritating brush of her clothing against her skin. But the sensations didn’t register in her detached mind.

  The sound of stone grating against stone echoed over the hall. The goblins murmured to themselves as a giant black angel grew from the hall floor. She had long hair carved over her naked back. Her stone wings wrapped around her body, hiding her arms, and her eyes glared at Merrick’s back. Merrick glanced over his shoulder. His frown had deepened when he looked back at Juliana.

  “Juliana?” he asked. “What goes on here?”

  Juliana opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Blood ran from beneath the angel’s wings at his words, pooling on the floor. It crept toward his feet. Merrick leaned over, touching it. When he lifted his hand, it was crimson. He turned and the angel spread her wings. Thin red trails dripped from her eyes, nose, ears, mouth.

  Merrick stepped toward Juliana, reaching for her. She lifted her bloodstained hand, mimicking him as she slowly walked forward. Her skirts dragged in the blood. She didn’t care, even as her feet were swallowed up in the liquid warmth. When she reached Merrick’s side, she said, “You have killed me, Merrick.”

  Merrick reached for her, but his hand went through her body, unable to touch her.

  Juliana sat up in bed gasping. The fog was gone. Pain rolled over her full-force as nausea rose in her throat. She scrambled off the bed, falling hard onto the stone floor. Finding a basin, she dry-heaved into it.

  When she finished, she weakly sat back against the leg of the bed, staying on the floor. What a strange dream. It had felt so real. Slowly she stood. She turned to the bed and froze. Fresh blood stained the coverlet, trailing to her feet. She looked down, gasping. The hem of her gown was stained. Her slippers were covered.

  “But it was a dream,” she whispered, shaking her head. Tears streamed down her face. It was too much. She couldn’t do it. On the floor was her knife. She picked it up and thought of her brothers. “My heart betrays them.”

  * * *

  Merrick watched Juliana disappear. His hall righted itself. The angel disappeared, taking the blood with it except for that on his clothing and hand. The banners waved, becoming black. Something wasn’t right and not just with the fact that Juliana had been on his throne. Or in the way she looked at him, her eyes passionless, dead. The blood had not been his doing, nor the angel. They had come from Juliana.

  “Iago,” Merrick bellowed.

  Iago’s short legs pumped as he ran to the king.

  “What happened while I was gone?” Merrick demanded.

  Iago cringed, holding his stubby fingers up over his face. His gruff voice echoed over the silent hall as he spoke. “I know not, my king. Lady Juliana has not been herself since before the battle. She paces the halls, mumbling, always mumbling. She goes mad, my king.”

  “You were supposed to be protecting her! Where did she get the power to move about the castle at will?” Merrick growled. The goblin made a weak noise and curled into a ball. Merrick slashed his hand through the air. He should have left a Berserk with her for protection. He’d just been so jealous over seeing her with Kalen that he couldn’t see straight. “Iago. Fetch me Lord Kalen.”

  “Aye, my king, aye,” Iago rasped, bowing profusely as he backed away.

  “And mind you don’t disappoint me again,” Merrick warned.

  “Aye. Aye, my king.” Iago ran from the hall as fast as his little legs would carry him. Merrick took a deep breath. His eyes turned up to the bedchamber. He sensed Juliana was there. He wanted to go to her, but there was something he had to do first.

  His body dissolved into a fine mist as he drifted down into the bowels of his castle—a place so dark even he stayed away from it. The dungeons were near empty since he’d begun his reign, though a few of the truly evil who had transgressed against the past Unblessed King were locked up behind iron doors to wither away their eternities. The curved ceilings were low and Merrick had to duck his head under the arched doorways to pass through. This was a place he did not dare rearrange with his magic, lest something slip from a cell and escape. The only way in or out was a small crack in the floor. Merrick could bring prisoners through with magic, but no other could pass.

  Coming to the end of the hall, he knocked on a metal door. It creaked on its hinges as an old, blind witch stuck her head out of the door. Her eyes were missing from her head. A band of white material covered the sockets, pulling tight to her short white hair. Still, in her blindness, she saw many things. The hem of her linen gown was tattered from years of wear.

  The woman did not move out of the way as she pointed her face at Merrick. When she spoke, her low words were enunciated and raw. “What you ask of me is to defy the King of the Damned. His demons guard the gates and do not let souls pass without a heavy price. You cannot bring him back without risking one of them attaching to his soul. It is better to leave him where he is. One does not see the other side without becoming tainted by it, good or bad.”

  “What price? Name it,” Merrick said softly. He folded his hands in front of his waist. He knew the risk.

  She considered his words and then nodded, opening the small door to let him
pass. The witch had lived beneath the castle for centuries, surviving in her little round room of magic. The large brick walls were overgrown with moss. Broken bottles littered the hearth. A stone ledge wound around the walls, filled with jars of herbs and vials of other mystical concoctions.

  In the center, on a cot, lay Thomas’ corpse. His face had turned a ghastly shade of bluish grey. The mangled limbs had been straightened and healed. Merrick looked down at the dead man. “Can you bring him back?”

  “Aye,” the witch answered, as if it was an everyday request that she reverse death. Then, cackling with laughter, she added, “But it will cost you, my king.”

  “Name your price, witch,” Merrick demanded. He knew Juliana cared for her brothers deeply. If she knew Thomas had died in a war she believed to be Merrick’s doing, she would never forgive him. Her grief alone would torment him, not to mention her hatred if she believed him responsible.

  “I demand three things from you, King Merrick,” the witch said. She touched Thomas’ cheeks before running her wrinkled fingers down over his neck. Lifting his head, she cracked it one way and then the other. A loud, popping noise echoed in the room.

  “The first?” Merrick prompted, studying his fingernail.

  “A new gown,” the witch said. She gave a toothless smile, motioning down over her tattered clothing.

  Merrick sighed. Moving his hand, he gave her a new gown, just like the one she wore, only it was new and without holes. The witch felt down over the skirt and nodded in approval. Merrick again looked at Thomas, knowing they didn’t have much time before it was too late. “The second?”

  “A vial of your blood, my king,” the witch said, grinning evilly. With a vial of his blood she’d be able to do much mischief.

  “Two drops,” Merrick said. “That is a more than generous offer for this task.”

  The witch frowned and mumbled under her breath.

  “The third?” Merrick asked.

  The witch began to laugh. “That lady of yours, my king. She’s going to ask you if you love her. Your answer will greatly affect her actions.”

  Merrick’s breath caught. Juliana? She wished to know if he loved her? Did that mean…? Did she? Could she? He looked up toward his bedchamber where she still hid. Could Juliana love him?

  “You’re to tell her nay,” the witch said, laughing harshly, “regardless of what may happen.”

  Merrick watched her closely. “Why would this concern you?”

  “It doesn’t,” the witch laughed harder, cackling. She pointed in Merrick’s direction, wiggling her finger at him. “But I love to see misery.”

  “It matters not to me. Just do it, witch,” Merrick ordered. He turned to go.

  “Ah, the blood,” she said, breathing erratically in anticipation. She licked her chapped lips, moaning softly. “First the blood.”

  Merrick materialized a knife and poked the tip into his fingers. He let two drops fall onto the stone ledge. A vial grew around the drops, holding them in. “You have your blood, witch. Now bring that man back to life. No tricks.”

  “I am bound by my word, my king. Leave me now.” The witch ran her fingers over Thomas’ stomach and hips, feeling down his legs.

  Merrick watched for a brief moment before taking a deep breath. He again dissolved into mist, leaving Thomas alone with the witch. There was nothing more he could do for the man.

  * * *

  Juliana paced the bedchamber. Her clothes had dissolved, to be replaced by a clean gown of tight, black elfin silk. The revealing bodice reminded her of the corset top she had worn her first day in the Black Palace. The kohl lined her eyes and wrapped around her arm. The tight, straight skirt and high boots made it harder to walk back and forth, but she didn’t stop. Clutching her blade, her hands shook violently. It was time.

  * * *

  Lucien watched Mia kiss his chest. He didn’t move, enjoying the pleasure of her tongue as she flicked it against his nipple. Everything was working out as planned. He smiled as she moved lower over his body. Suddenly, a nagging feeling ate at him and he sat up, knocking Mia aside.

  “What is it?” she asked, clearly shocked by his abrupt action.

  “Lord Bellemare rides close to the Black Palace. He should be with Ean’s armies, not so close to the palace gates.”

  Mia reached for him. “You, yourself, said nothing can ruin your plans. Come back to bed. Let whatever happens happen.”

  Lucien glared at her. In his irritation, he flung his hand through the air. Mia was tossed to the head of the bed, knocking lightly against it. She gasped, her eyes round with surprise. Then, growling, he turned and stormed from the chamber.

  * * *

  Hugh glanced at Nicholas, reining in his stallion as he stopped to look at the Black Palace. A long stone bridge led up to the front gate. The spires curled like gnarled fingertips in the heavens, black against the grey night. Clouds drifted past the moon, shadowing the already dark earth.

  “Whatever happens, if one of us can get out with Juliana, we go,” Hugh said.

  “Aye,” Nicholas agreed.

  Hugh was a seasoned fighter, but his gut tightened in apprehension as he urged his horse slowly over the abandoned bridge. Mountains rose up over the distance as they came out of the forest and to the rock. The horses’ hooves clopped on the hard stone, punctuating the silence with their steps. Nearing the front gate, Hugh stopped. There was no guard along the wall, no way to get in.

  “Look around,” Hugh ordered Nicholas, pointing along the wall. “There has to be a way inside. We’ll climb the walls if we have to.”

  Hugh dismounted, joining Nicholas as they tried to find a way inside.

  Juliana found herself in the main hall. She thought of it and somehow she was just there. Such things had been happening a lot lately. Though in her grief it was possible she’d just walked the distance, too preoccupied to remember doing it. Aside from the abnormally quiet goblins, the hall was empty. She drew the knife behind her back, holding it out of sight of the throne.

  “Merrick,” Juliana whispered, staring at his throne. “Show yourself to me.”

  Almost immediately he appeared, materializing as mist trailing on the floor as he went to his throne. When he solidified, his legs lounged over the side as his body draped lazily across the seat. Tight black breeches molded to his legs, matching the loose linen shirt. His blond hair spilled over his chest. Dark eyes met her from across the hall. Slowly, she stepped forward, crossing the distance until she was before him.

  “I went to the garden beyond the maze,” Juliana said quietly, never once looking away.

  Merrick quirked a brow. “How did you make it through?”

  “I didn’t at first. Then I cut my arm. My blood parted the stone and I was able to pass.”

  Merrick instantly sat up, his eyes widening. He looked her over, questioningly, as if he sought to find some answer by doing so. His hand reached out as if to touch her. Whispering, he sounded stunned as he said, “Juliana?”

  Juliana wondered at his strange reaction to her words. “I saw the basin, Merrick.”

  The king’s eyes again roamed over her. His fingers shook. Then, drawing his hand back, he balled the fingers into a fist, rested his chin on it. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  “I saw you kill him,” Juliana stated.

  His head tilted to the side. “Who? Gregor?”

  Juliana stepped closer. She felt like crying, but she held back, instead forcing herself to remember her brothers. “I know what you did. Why?”

  “Juli—”

  “I asked why?” she screeched, interrupting his soft tone. Her breath came in hard gasps as she stepped closer. “I begged you not to start a war. I begged you to send me back to Bellemare and end it. Your vanity has brought us to this place, Merrick.”

  “I told you, I cannot release you,” he answered. “It is truer now more than ever. You are bound to this place as much as I.”

  “You broke your promise to me.”

/>   “What promise?”

  “You have killed me with what you’ve done to me. You promised not to hurt them if I bound myself to you.” Juliana felt empty, hollow. “All I would know is why. Why, Merrick? You could’ve left me at Bellemare. You could’ve let me have my foolish dreams of this place, never knowing the immortal realm was real.”

  Merrick stood. He looked at the ground for a long moment before stepping down the platform. Coming before her, he asked, “Is that what you would have? Truly? Your mortal life at Bellemare?”

  Juliana looked at him, searching his face. Before she could answer, she heard footsteps behind her.

  “I cannot give you the past, Juliana, but I will let you have the future. So be it. I can no longer fight you on it.” Merrick glanced over her shoulder. “I release you. You’re free of me.”

  “Juliana?” It was Hugh’s voice. The knife fell from her hand. Merrick glanced down in question. When he looked up, realization dawned in his eyes. He took a step back from her, knowing that she’d meant to kill him. Juliana opened her mouth to speak, but Hugh’s voice again broke into her thoughts. “Juliana, is that you?”

  “Hugh?” Juliana turned. She stared at Hugh. He was alive. Feeling returned to her numbed heart.

  Hugh rushed forward, Nicholas more cautiously behind him. Their eyes roamed over her strange attire and she knew she must look strange in the dark elfin gown. Grabbing her in his arms, Hugh hugged her to his side, keeping her close as he pointed his sword at Merrick. “Step back. I’m taking her with me.”

  Juliana glanced at Merrick. He ignored Hugh and the sword as he stared at her. Merrick bowed his head. He was truly letting her go. Her chest tightened. She didn’t want to be free. Turning back to her brother, Juliana pulled his sword arm down. Tears streamed her cheeks as she said, “Methought you were dead. I saw you laying in the forest and methought you dead.”