The Infernal King | 1 ✓

CHAPTER XVII | BENDING HELL

       THERE HAD TO be over two dozen seats in total. They were each empty and seemed as though they had hardly even been sat in. Perhaps their sole purpose was to remind King Theodoracius of how alone he truly was. Maarit imagined ghosts occupying the vacant seats. He could very well have been surrounded by ghosts—the ghosts of his dead father, his mother, his sibling that had died at birth.

Each of the places were already set with forks, soup spoons, napkins, goblets, plates and bowls, but—as King Theodoracius had promised—no knives.

Eyeing him in an outraged manner, Maarit strutted forward purposefully. Rather than taking the chair that the king had pulled out for her, she took the seat that was the farthest from him: the one on the opposite end of the table. She assumed this was where the queen would have sat, if he had had one.

The thought of such a horrible man ever getting a woman to marry him nearly made her scoff out loud in utter disbelief.

"Why so far away?" he said, pouting. His roseate lips were pulled downwards and the icy pulchritude in his eyes looked as though it was nearly melting. "If you would like to attempt to kill me a third time, you are much more likely to fail the farther you are."

The way his mouth morphed into a teasing smile almost made him appear to be a regular human being.

Then it was gone.

"Picard," he suddenly barked at the warlock, "fetch Brickenden for me."

Maarit's stomach churned nervously; she hoped that Brickenden was not one of the two guardsmen that she had had the misfortune of meeting.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the warlock responded, bowing before swiftly darting off.

He climbed up the stairs, and King Theodoracius watched him leave idly. Once Picard was finally out of sight, the king turned back to Maarit. He absently adjusted the crown atop his head, despite the fact that it had not even seemed out of place in the slightest.

"What is your name?" King Theodoracius asked her, his booming voice echoing throughout the large dining hall.

Maarit blinked at him, furrowing her eyebrows. She was unsure as to why he even cared, but she could not think of a reason not to tell him the truth. "Maarit Pheraios," she said to him. "Now it's my turn."

"Your turn for what, exactly?" he questioned.

"It is my turn to ask you a question," she stated, drumming her fingers against the table. "And you must answer it."

"Oh, so I answer to you now, Maarit? Am I to speak at your behest?"

She hated hearing her own name on his tongue and suddenly felt a deep regret for ever having told him. Still, she found her cheeks burning with embarrassment. He was right—he did not have to answer to her. She felt foolish. What king bowed to their prisoner?

Maarit decided to speak anyway, because the question was one that she had been yearning to ask ever since that fateful day when he had first captured her. "Why haven't you killed me yet?" she said inquisitively.

From across the table, she could plainly see that King Theodoracius had raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in his seat. "Killed you?" he scoffed dubiously.

"Yes, killed me. Kill—as in murder. Execute. Slaughter. Slay. It is rather hypocritical if you, of all people, pretended that you didn't know what it meant. Perhaps if I explain in more morbid terms, you'll better understand," Maarit snarled. "Why haven't you yet made me bleed, ripped me limb from limb, butchered me like a cow and removed my head with a blunt axe? Or at least ordered one of your many servants to do it for you, so that your crown and impeccable robes would stay clean? You did not even hesitate to do so with the servant and with..."

Keion.

His name caught in her throat and nearly choked her.

King Theodoracius waited for her to continue speaking; but once he finally understood that she had trailed off, he laughed. "Oh, no. No, no, no. You are much too valuable to be killed. A witch who is openly practicing soothsaying? That is something I have never come across before. Now that I have, there is no way I could ever let you evade me."

"Why would you even think that I would do that for you?" she demanded. "Not every human being is malleable and bends to your will."

"I can be very... coercive," he said, baring his teeth at her in a sardonic grin.

Maarit didn't give in. "I certainly hope that you realize I cannot practice soothsaying with this bracelet on," she mused, lifting her left arm to show him the Sorcerer's Tenebrium.

Her heart began pounding frantically—she just needed him to take the wretched thing off. Once he did, she would be able to kill him and flee to somewhere, anywhere. She could teleport out of the castle and never be seen again. She would change her appearance so as to never be recognized again, and then she would disappear. Maybe she could live out her life in one of the neighbouring kingdoms.

She was only dreaming. It was never that easy.

"Would you like me to provide you with another knife? A sharper one this time?" he articulated scathingly.

"No. What I am suggesting is that you allow Picard to remove the bracelet. Once he does so, I will tell you anything that you need to know," Maarit professed convincingly. Every word spewing from between her lips was a fib, but she continued speaking in the hope that any part of what she said would interest him. "We can even make a vow, sealed by magic, that I will predict whatever you desire to know about your future. Afterwards, I will be free to leave, and you can do as you so please with the information I have given you."

After she had finished speaking, she held her breath. Her dusky brown eyes were wide as she waited for his response. He did not speak for the longest time. The silence that hung in the air was tangible. Maarit wondered if he truly was ruminating on what she had told him, or simply making her wait to torture her.

He lacerated the silence to shreds with two phrases.

"Darling, darling, darling—if I were you, I would not be trying to negotiate with the king. I may not be able to turn every being malleable for me," he asserted, "but I can irrefutably cause Hell to bend at my command."