King of Pain - Tasha Black Page 0,1
night with a midnight ball in this very room.
The king of this mansion could not leave its walls.
And now that duty fell to him.
He glanced at the throne in the corner of the conservatory, where they would expect him to sit and overlook their endless revels.
The room was already beginning to fill. A group of musicians in rust-colored uniforms squabbled over their instruments until they saw him and went quiet.
The rustling hush of ballgowns in motion poured in from all three doors.
“Your majesty, allow me to accompany you to your throne,” Golda purred.
He nodded his head in assent and followed her without meaning to.
He even stood on the dais.
In twos and threes, the denizens of the mansion, who fancied themselves his subjects, went quiet as they entered and saw him.
The magnificent clock in the foyer struck once.
They all scurried off, as if getting into place for their nightly dance.
“No,” he said.
They all froze, looking back at him.
The clock struck again.
He still surged with raw power from the battle with his brothers. He would never have a chance to resist once he let that magic fade. Nothing in this palace of apathy could ever feed his hunger like the pain he’d caused his brother’s mortal queen.
Miranda…
Of course she was more than just his brother’s consort. She had been Cullen’s own loyal servant for years before turning on him. And now she knew the price of her betrayal.
He pushed the thoughts aside and steeled himself for the task at hand.
“I will not be your King of Midnight,” he told the gathered crowd. “There will be no ball.”
“What?” an older lady in an emerald gown asked. “What did he say?”
“He says there won’t be a midnight ball,” her partner whispered back loudly as the clock struck a third time.
“Why not?” the woman whined “He wouldn’t be this way if that Jessica were still here.”
“What did you say?” Cullen asked, allowing the glint of danger into his voice.
The clock sounded again.
“N-nothing,” the woman answered, her lavender eyes widening.
“Did you say if Jessica were still here?” he asked, his voice cutting through the fog of ballgowns, cutting her with icy cold.
The clock sounded again as the woman shivered miserably and nodded.
“Where is she?” Cullen demanded.
“I-I,” the woman stammered.
The clock sounded for the sixth time.
Cullen leapt from the dais and strode through the stunned crowd.
“Where is my Jessica?” he asked her.
The clock struck again, and the woman cringed.
“Speak, mongrel,” Cullen spat, his patience at its end.
But the woman was paralyzed with terror.
“Are you a woman or a statue?” His voice was light, teasing. But as he spoke, he reached for her with his mind.
She glanced down at her feet, now rooted into the floor as solid stone.
He watched as the stone traveled up her body, overtaking her knees.
The clock struck again.
He had to get out soon.
“Th-the Queen of Silence took her,” the woman managed as she watched her legs turn to granite.
“Took her where?” Cullen asked calmly.
The clock struck for the ninth time.
“T-to the countryside,” the woman stammered. “Please, your majesty.”
“I don’t have all day,” Cullen said briskly. “And you have considerably less than that. Where in the countryside?”
The stone inched up her torso.
“The north, your majesty,” the woman’s partner told him hurriedly. “She didn’t say where, only that she would bring her to a cottage in the north.”
The clock struck for the tenth time.
But Cullen knew where she was, at least roughly. It would have to be enough.
He flicked his wrist, ceasing the spell just as the woman’s chin turned to stone.
She tipped into her partner’s arms, and he nearly toppled under the weight of her.
“Please, your majesty,” the man wailed. “Please turn her back.”
The spell would wear off in a few hours, but for now their pain was feeding him, replenishing the energy he’d used for the spell, giving him what he needed to make it out.
The clock struck for the eleventh time.
Cullen turned back to the throne.
“So, are we going to dance?” Golda asked flirtatiously, following him.
He could see the fear in her eyes, and it fed him, adding to his fuel until he felt almost sick with the excess.
“Do whatever you want,” he murmured to her, moving faster now.
As the clock struck twelve, he grabbed the throne in both fists and heaved it with all his might, expelling all the magic he had collected with a crash like thunder.
For a horrible heartbeat he was afraid he was wrong, that he had carried none of his heightened powers across the veil.
Then the throne