Chapter 301: Blame, Glitter, and the King Who Woke Up Too Late
Chapter 301: Blame, Glitter, and the King Who Woke Up Too Late
Elyn’s POV
The silence lasted exactly three seconds.
Then Thalira and Retheris pointed at each other simultaneously, their fingers accusing, their voices overlapping in a desperate attempt to shift blame.
"She started it," Retheris said.
"He started it," Thalira said at the exact same time.
They glared at each other.
"You summoned water first," Retheris accused.
"Only because you were being annoying about the dress," Thalira shot back.
"I picked it out for myself!"
"You didn’t call dibs!"
"Since when do we call dibs on clothes?"
"Since now!"
Velira pouted from her corner, still holding the gown with the plunging neckline. Her lower lip jutted out so far I was surprised it didn’t detach from her face.
"I still haven’t gotten my dress," she said.
Brixton turned to her, his expression severe. "Forget about your dress with the nonexistent boobs first. Retheris and Thalira have made the Queen angry."
Velira’s pout deepened, but she said nothing.
Aziren sniffled. His amber eyes were wet, and his flames had dimmed to almost nothing. His small voice came out soft and wobbling.
"I don’t want it to end," he said.
I did not care.
I was soaked. My hair was dripping. My dress was clinging to my skin in ways that were deeply uncomfortable. There was a puddle forming around my feet.
"You should have thought of all that," I said, my voice still calm, still soft, still carrying that edge that had made the room go cold, "before you made this outing a disaster."
The children flinched.
"We were all supposed to be on our best behaviour," I continued. "Every single one of you agreed. And now I’ve been drenched in water."
No one met my eyes.
"So I’m sending you all back to your parents," I said.
Azerion, instead of answering, started shoving snacks into his pockets.
Cron’s Pops. Pastries. Small wrapped candies. He moved with the speed and desperation of someone who knew this was his last chance, his small hands darting from tray to pocket with impressive efficiency.
"Azerion," I said.
He did not stop.
"Azerion."
His hands kept moving.
"If you pick up any more snacks," I said, my voice dropping even lower, "I will make sure you never step foot in the palace again."
His mouth hung open at that, and Cron’s Pops poured from it.
They tumbled out in a golden stream, bouncing off his chin and landing on the floor, and he stared at me with wide, betrayed eyes, his cheeks still puffed out with what he had not yet swallowed.
I did not feel bad for him.
Retheris stepped forward, his hands raised in what I assumed was meant to be a placating gesture.
"I can help get rid of the water," he said quickly. "I can take it away. Make you dry. If I do that, then maybe you wouldn’t be angry anymore?"
Before I could even open my mouth to respond, Retheris rushed toward me.
His hands glowed faintly, and I felt a pull, a warmth, a sense that something was happening.
And honestly, I thought he was going to surprise me and make me dry... yeah, that did not happen.
I did not become dry.
If anything, I became wetter.
The water on my clothes seemed to multiply, spreading across the fabric, seeping deeper into the layers. My hair, which had been merely dripping, now streamed water down my back and shoulders. I blinked droplets from my eyelashes.
Retheris stared at his hands in horror.
"That’s not how it’s done," Thalira said, pushing past her brother. "Let me try."
She did not wait for permission either.
Her hands glowed too — a different colour, a different feel — and she concentrated, her brow furrowed, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration.
The water got worse.
And then little demons appeared.
They were black in colour, tiny, each one no bigger than my thumb, and they had a single eye in the centre of their round bodies. They popped into existence with soft popping sounds — pop, pop, pop — like bubbles breaking the surface of water.
They landed on the floor, blinked their single eyes, and immediately turned toward the snacks.
"No, no, no — those are mine!" Azerion screamed.
He tried to shoo them away with his hands, but the little demons were persistent. They crawled over his fingers, climbed up his arms, and made straight for the Cron’s Pops still scattered on the floor and the pastries still sitting on the trays.
One of them bit into a pastry larger than itself and dragged it across the floor.
Another sat on a Cron’s Pop and rolled away like it was riding a wheel.
Azerion chased after them, his voice rising in despair.
"Give those back! Those are mine! I saw them first!"
The demons did not care.
Zayrion, meanwhile, had decided to help.
He stepped forward, his tails lifting behind him, and began moving them in a rapid, fanning motion. Back and forth, back and forth, like he was trying to create a breeze to dry me off.
It did not dry me off.
Instead, glitter filled the air.
Tiny, shimmering particles of gold and silver and pink erupted from his tails, swirling around me in a sparkling cloud. They caught the light and stuck to my wet skin and my wet hair and my wet dress, and when I looked down at myself, I was no longer just soaked.
I was sparkling soaked.
Zayrion adjusted his glasses then and gave a slight wince.
"I forgot," he said, his voice small, "that I hid glitter in my tails earlier."
I stared at him, but he did not meet my eyes.
Velira sighed heavily, like she was being forced to do something beneath her. She stepped forward, her small wings spreading behind her, and her eyes began to glow — a soft pink light that pulsed gently in the dim room.
"Since it’s come to this," she said, "I’ll use my power."
Her power was the ability to make people feel things. Lust or love to the point that one forgot everything — every anger they felt at the one who used the gift and perhaps the others she wanted to protect.
She focused on me, her glowing eyes locked onto mine, and she pushed.
But I felt nothing and only perceived a very faint perfume that was now clouding my vision due to the pink dust in the air.
Velira’s frown deepened.
"Why isn’t it working?" she asked, her voice uncertain.
No one answered her.
I moved my head slowly from left to right, as if stretching my neck, as if preparing for something. The movement was deliberate, almost mechanical, and the children watched me with wide eyes.
I stopped, then looked at them.
"Do you even want to keep coming to the Palace?" I asked.
They dropped to their knees immediately.
"Yes," they said in unison.
"We’re sorry," Velira added.
"It’s Retheris’s fault," Thalira said.
"It’s Thalira’s fault," Retheris said at the same time.
Aziren started crying.
His tears were hot — actual steam rose from them when they splashed onto the floor, adding to the puddle I was already in. His small shoulders shook, and his voice came out in hiccupping sobs.
"I don’t want to go yet," he wailed. "I want to stay. I want to see the shadows again. I want to see the King."
Azerion, who had been battling the little demons, looked up.
I wondered what they were called.
"I still want snacks," he said. "And I don’t want to go yet."
I did not care.
"I’ve had enough," I said to them.
Just then, shadows moved.
They rose from the floor, dark and sudden, and then Zorathys appeared beside me.
He was yawning.
His hand was pressed lazily against his mouth, and his eyes were half-closed, still heavy with sleep. He rubbed them with the back of his hand, then he paused.
His eyes took in the scene before him.
"What’s going on?" he asked.
I looked at him, my voice calm.
"The outing is over," I said.