Chapter 174: Shadows, Wine, and an Inconvenient Realization
Chapter 174: Shadows, Wine, and an Inconvenient Realization
Zorathys’s bedroom was drowned in darkness.
Not the gentle, ambient kind that suggested rest or sleep—but the thick, deliberate sort, the kind that swallowed light whole and left nothing behind. The shadows in the room did not merely exist; they moved. They clung to the walls, pooled on the ceiling, stretched languidly across the floor.
It seemed like they too were resting, just as Zorathys was. There was no single light in the room at all, and that wasn’t surprising. Zorathys did whatever he liked in his bedroom, as did his shadows.
Zorathys lay comfortably atop his massive bed, propped against the dark headboard, a glass of deep red wine resting loosely in his hand, swirling as he rotated the glass with lazy precision.
Naviel stood at a distance from the foot of the bed. Uncomfortable was an understatement regarding what he was feeling right now.
His posture was stiff, and for a water demon that didn’t normally sweat, he was sweating.
Ignivar stood beside him.
Or rather, tried to.
Ignivar’s hair, which was normally a living crown of flame, barely flickered. The fire clung weakly to his head like it was afraid to exist too loudly. The tips dimmed and dulled, as though the darkness itself was leeching the heat from them.
That alone was unsettling.
No one spoke at first.
The shadows shifted.
Zorathys took a slow sip of his wine.
Ignivar cleared his throat.
"Your Majesty," he said carefully, the sound echoing oddly, as though the room itself was listening. "Is... anything the matter?"
Zorathys didn’t look at him.
The glass rotated again. The wine inside followed obediently.
Naviel exchanged a brief glance with Ignivar, his unease deepening. They had been in the office just minutes ago—working. Actual work. The kind Zorathys usually avoided with impressive dedication.
The introductory ball was approaching quickly. Invitations had been sent, yes—even without their knowledge, especially for people who worked closely with the king—but that was only the beginning. There were numerous things to be put in place for this ball.
Things Zorathys would obviously not do. If it were left to Zorathys, he would just place anyone wherever he felt they should be during the ball, and that alone could bring wars.
The Queen was also absent from the office—though that was expected. She was still new to the realm, still learning etiquette, still being bombarded by traditions that made no sense and rules that contradicted each other. She would help where she could, but she was occupied.
Although she wasn’t occupied with those specific things at the moment. But she had been, and she needed the rest... more than Zorathys himself.
Which left Naviel and Ignivar.
And now they were here. They had been teleported into Zorathys’s bedroom, hence why they were currently standing in places they would absolutely rather not stand in.
Zorathys snapped his fingers before the other two could speak.
The shadows in front of the bed twisted, peeled apart, and then flattened—stretching into a smooth, reflective surface suspended in the air.
A scrying veil—a spell that allowed one to observe another place in real time, unfiltered and unaltered.
Ignivar stiffened, and Naviel inhaled sharply.
The veil cleared, and the image that formed was painfully bright in contrast to the darkness of the room.
It was the palace garden.
Sunlight filtered through towering trees, dappling the grass in gold. A large blanket was spread across the ground, dishes and covered trays arranged neatly atop it.
The Queen sat at the center.
She was laughing.
Aziren sat beside her, his small legs tucked under him, his face lit with delight as she leaned forward and gently bopped his nose. He burst into giggles, the sound visible even without hearing it—mouth wide, eyes crinkled with pure joy.
Azerion lay on his stomach nearby, chin propped on his hands, watching a cake with obvious fascination as he kicked his legs suspended in the air. His nose was stained with frosting, but he didn’t care. He was having the time of his life, after all.
Ignivar swallowed. There was something deeply unsettling about how Zorathys chose to show them this. His senses were on high alert.
Naviel shifted beside Ignivar. "Why are we watching this?"
Zorathys didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he watched the veil.
Aziren leaned into the Queen now, pressing close as she spoke animatedly, clearly explaining something with exaggerated gestures. He nodded along as though every word was important. Azerion had moved to another cake, his cheeks bulging as he ate with joy.
Ignivar’s jaw tightened.
Ignivar turned away from the veil and looked directly at the King. "Your Majesty—if something is wrong, please say it plainly."
Zorathys turned fully toward him.
His ruby eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.
"Can you not see what is wrong?" he asked.
Ignivar frowned and glanced back at the veil.
He saw his son laughing.
He saw the Queen smiling down at him, brushing grass from his sleeve, adjusting his collar with gentle care. He saw how comfortable Aziren was—how unguarded.
Ignivar turned back and shook his head. "I see my son enjoying a picnic with the Queen."
Zorathys sighed.
It was a long, heavy sound, weighted with disappointment.
"That is the only thing you can see?" he asked Ignivar.
"Yes."
"You too?" He turned to Naviel.
Naviel studied the veil, but just like Ignivar, he did not see anything wrong at all. There was nothing suspicious or threatening.
"There is nothing wrong from what I can see," he told Zorathys.
"Very well," Zorathys said, setting the wine glass aside at last. "Since you both insist on being blind, I will spell it out for you."
Ignivar’s shoulders stiffened.
Zorathys leaned forward slightly, shadows coiling behind him like attentive beasts.
"Your nuisance," Zorathys said calmly to Ignivar, "—whom you insist on calling a child—is currently with my wife."
Ignivar opened his mouth.
"And," Zorathys continued smoothly, "from what I am seeing, your son appears to be attempting to steal her from me."