Shatters. Smatters. Crashes. Every other day in this very chamber.
A sigh escaped my lips, my gaze fixed on the wooden ceiling of my enormous chamber.
Ten days. Locked away because my powers had spun out of control. They were no longer as they used to be. The only control I had left over destroying everything I came in contact with was my emotions.
When I was angry, it showed in the intensity of my powers. My powers exposed my sadness.
And happiness? It never came.
Ever since the earthquake—the gruesome deaths of Father and Ryker.
They hadn't found their bodies. It had been years since their deaths, yet they remained missing.
That was because they lay beneath me—in my chamber.
They sleep with me. They wake with me. They are sad with me. They are furious with me.
They lie beneath me. They help me through my days. Whenever I am furious or sad, all I have to do is hold onto the beautiful skull of my father and kiss the skeletal fingers of my sweet Ryker.
Dear Ryker and Father.
What would I have done without them?
Would I still be here, chained to the frame of my queen-sized bed, if not for them?
If they had just showered me with love, would I have become the villain of my own people?
Would I have been hated and plotted against by them?
If not for their presence in my life, would the Kings of the Five Empyrean Cities still seek to destroy me and my reign?
Their love had brought nothing but ruin to my life, hadn't it?
The chains rattled noisily as I sat up.
The room was a complete mess. Every corner held something shattered or destroyed—vases, flowers, wood, frames, even the strong walls.
The walls had been built by one of the Realm's best. They proclaimed their tenacity and spoke highly of their authenticity. Yet just my fingers resting against them had shattered them violently, creating a large hole that exposed a passage leading to the city's border.
My fingers moved over the chains that bound me, and with one motion, they shattered, pieces clattering to the floor.
Not a single servant remained in my Palace, popularly known as the House of Chantel. Their fear and distrust had driven them to flee for safety. Once they'd seen how many servants I had killed from a simple touch, they had known better than to remain within these walls and risk being the next victim of my ruin.
I had no one to manage my chores. Every cleaning of my chamber, every bath, every dress to pick, every meal to prepare—all were mine to manage alone.
It was a sad, lonely life.
Would it not be better to have the Kings of the Five Empyrean Cities end my life for good?
But they couldn't, even if they wanted to.
Still, I had an inkling in the deep pit of my stomach that they were up to something sinister. They had been quiet for too long. It was unlike those five nuisances to stay put. Their animosity had lasted since the day I ascended the throne; it was impossible for them to change their tone now that my powers had become more of a threat than ever.
And so, I summoned Vivienne.
Body-fitted, sweetheart neckline, off-the-shoulder sleeves, a dazzling shade that transitioned from light lavender to deep purple at the hem—shimmering tulle embellished with glittering golden sequins. The sequins outlined the ruffles and layers of the skirt. Why would I need a servant to help me choose a dress when I could select the best myself?
My long silver hair caught the light slicing through the minuscule windows of the hallway as I strolled through, walking over broken vases, shattered lanterns, and scattered bricks.
My craft.
The cycle was constant, and I soon realized that my attempts to fix everything I had ruined were futile. I was meant to ruin, not to fix.
So, I gave up, letting myself be surrounded by the destruction I had caused.
The kitchen, however, had not fallen victim to my powers. That was because Vivienne had put away everything that belonged there.
It was hard, using just sticks and spoons to prepare my meals. That was why I always ended up with bread and stew—or just meat pies.
As soon as I stepped through the threshold of the passageway leading to the kitchen, the strong scent of meat stock assaulted my nostrils.
With each careful step, the fragrance grew stronger, drawing me deeper into the passage until I burst into the kitchen.
A startling figure awaited—bending over the worktable, dicing onions skillfully on the wooden surface.
"Veloria?" I echoed.
She spun around, her long dark brown hair—styled in a mix of braids and loose waves—flying over her broad shoulder.
Her hazel eyes sparkled. "Love, are you awake?"
"What are you doing here?" I asked, itching to walk up to her and throw my arms around her. But if I did that, I would only watch her body split into two as though struck by lightning—or burst into a million pieces, as if a grenade had been buried in her stomach.
I winced at the gory image that flashed through my mind.
"What? I can't pay my dear sister a visit anymore?" she said, returning to dicing onions, her hazel eyes already stinging.
"Veloria, if you do not tell me exactly why you are here, I will cross this threshold and hold you tight until you shatter into uncountable pieces." My tone was deadly, the threat explicit in every word I spat.
This was another symptom that accompanied my powers—my emotions were heightened by them. If a situation warranted a small spark of anger, my power could ignite hundreds of times the intended fury.
"Honestly, I just dropped by to see how you are faring—"
I didn't let her finish. I moved with swift intent, my hand hovering over her neck, ready to grab it and act on my threat.
Veloria's eyes widened with alarm, her gaze darting to my hand where it hung still.
"Spill," I spat, breathing down on her face.
She was bare-faced. Veloria had never stepped out bare. Even for a brief walk, she would never forget to cake her face with powder and style her hair to perfection.
"I—I," she stammered. "There are whispers, Chantel. The Kings of the Five Empyrean Cities have gathered. They've plotted, in fact."
I stepped back, creating a generous space between us.
"And what is this plot about?"
She hesitated but met my icy glare and immediately spilled out, "They gathered some skilled people to—"
"What skilled people?" My patience was wearing perilously thin.
"Chantel, you're scaring me, I—"
"What skilled people?!"
She flinched and swallowed.
"T-t-t-the Celestians."
My world crumbled.
I knew Talvah was a cunning bastard, but I had underestimated him.
That sick bastard was employing the Celestians to murder me.
He had sought out the most powerful figures to end me—from the Great Priestess of Sheketh to the Priest of Ynel.
And now, the Celestians.