The Empress' Descent

Chapter 51 - First Signs

An hour came by. Derek paced in his bedroom, restless and anxious. He attempted to doze off earlier, but he was constantly tossing and turning. He could not get the feeling of needing to check on Clary. And for what? She seemed perfectly fine. He also couldn't make sense of this unease and where it had come from. Any more of this and he'd be sick and woozy due to the nerves.

"She'll be fine," Derek kept mumbling to himself. At this point, it had become a mantra. "She just needs space is all."

Clary would return to normal. She was brilliant, she would come up with a way to solve this. The more Derek dwelled on these thoughts, the more fear grew in him. For what, he would not know. He just felt it, like how some would expect for some unfortunate event to happen. Or maybe like how one could see the guillotine's blade dropping, sending a person's head toppling onto the ground. Simply put, it was a premonition.

Derek ran his fingers through his raven-black hair, as though it would comb away the darkness in his mind.

How could he think of Clary in that manner? Did he truly believe that she would do something bad? For one, she was not evil. Second, she was not the Empress, who'd mercilessly kill anyone who opposed her—

Gods above. The Empress. Derek's knees gave in and he slumped to the couch behind him. Now he realized why he had been so unsettled. It was too familiar. The deadly gleam in Clary's eyes after they'd gone vacant, that snakelike smile that cracked open like a cut to the throat—that was the same face Athelina would make whenever she thought there had to be no other way around but to go straight for the kill. He had sniffed bloodlust, and he denied it for what it was.

Derek was not accusing Clary, though, he knew she was not Athelina. They were similar in some places, but she was not the dead Empress. Then again, Clary was also as capable and lethal as she.

It wouldn't hurt to get it over with and simply see her... right? Until he'd confirmed that Clary was sleeping, he would never remain still. He had to eliminate this raging war within himself. He had only to lay his sights on her for a beat and at once, he'd scurry back to his bedroom.

That was supposed to be the plan. When he arrived in front of Clary's door, he had knocked and it wasn't she who answered but her maid, Anya. She told him that her Lady went out a few minutes after she arrived. It was as though his fears evolved threefold.

"Where is she?" Derek asked, unable to hide the alarm in his voice.

This alarm had reflected to Anya, who was already quite distressed when she opened the door. It seemed as though they sensed each other's dread, buzzing in the atmosphere in a mocking silence.

"I... I don't know. Honestly, Your Grace, she was acting a bit different." Her pitch was higher than normal. "S-she took something from her cabinet and ran off. I worry for her."

Derek's guts tied into knots. "I'll find her."

Anya instantly stepped forward. "Then I'll come with you—"

"No," Derek said firmly. "Stay here and wait. You can trust that when we return, your mistress will be safe and sound. Without a scratch on her."

'Without additional scratches, that is,' Derek debated on correcting himself.

Anya gaped at him blankly with a hint of scrutiny. "I am finding it hard to believe you. You sound unsure of what you're saying yourself."

Derek was taken aback of her bluntness. She had stated a fact, seemingly seeing right through him.

"Look, I promise I'll bring her to you in less than an hour." Derek heaved a breath. "For now, you will do as you're told."

She squinted, skeptical. "Not an hour longer. Beyond that and I'm going to search for her on my own."