“Oh, thank goodness,” Iyla said.
“Butter.
No, cheese.”
The dragon happily drifted about the bed to service him.
“Today’s itinerary: packing, choosing which servants to bring with you, then a bath.”
“To Hell with all of that.
Except the bath.”
“Oh, but Harsen dearest, you must prepare.”
He grew curt.
“Preparing means acceptance.
I’m not there yet.”
Iyla blinked at him.
“What…what do you intend to do?”
“I haven’t given up hope on dying.”
“You’re still suicidal, sweetheart?”
He degloved a drumstick, chewed and swallowed.
“Blasted duty squashed that privilege.
I’ve been too pious too long to forfeit my reward.
No, pet, I’m fixated on just expiring through some divine gift.
Like this meal here.
Is it too much to ask for some bastard to poison me?
Can’t these lazy servants even manage that?”
“Are you being silly?”
“If only.”
He went to the chapel only to find his first source of comfort already drained.
Harsen felt like smashing the bottle, but each ceramic tile of the floor had be painstakingly crafted to his specifications.
He grabbed
The Songs of Blada
from his bookshelf and took it to the window seat.
There he turned to a well-worn page with lyrics that made him think of Leeta when she was barely out of the nursery.
Iyla remained perched on his bookshelf.
The stone fixture had been carved into the wall and held nearly a thousand tomes.
Harsen eyed her.
“My dear, darling Harsen…”
“Spit it out.”
She pouted as much as her hooked snout would allow.
“Servants should be packing these books now.
The same with the ones in your study.”
“To Hell with it.”
“Sweetheart, you know you won’t be content without them.”
Harsen scoffed with exasperation.
Iyla lowered her head onto her crossed front legs.
“Why must you abet your misery?”
He slammed the book closed beside him.
His anger begged for a greater release.
That led to a feeling of helplessness.
What was the point of any of it?
There was nothing he could do.
Nothing, except to march below a death knell towards his hideous fate.
Now the tears came.
He let his face contort.
“I can’t do it.”
Iyla flew to his shoulder.
Her voice matched his emotion.
“You can, my dear.
I swear it.”
“I can’t…not even if I wished it.
The walls are too high…too…sturdy.”
He snuffled.
Then he gestured out to the room.
“You think this gave me pleasure?
It was protection.
What good is it to me now?”
“It’s your identity, Harsen.”
He looked at her.
Those words struck a chord.
He remembered Esther’s explanation of his mother’s insanity.
The dragon probably spied during their audience, but no matter.
She was right.
He took a deep breath.
“Go…go tell them to pack it, then.”
Iyla floated up.
“Of course, darling.”
He leaned against the side wall.
“My study, too.
Everything I might or might not want.
Just pack it all.
I can sort it out if I ever come back to my right mind.”
“Leave it to me, my love.
You spend this time saying farewell to the castle.
That’s one thing you can’t pack, after all.”
She left.
Harsen didn’t make a move in her wake.
He stared blankly into the chapel.
It might have looked as though he meant to enjoy the ambiance there for a final time.
In truth he’d gone numb again.
Every motion that led him towards Darkhelm scraped his insides raw.
Perhaps the stress would kill him.
One could hope.
Servants came in with barrels.
They looked surprised to see him.
He dragged himself up so he wouldn’t witness the disassembly of his life.
The same chaos would be in his study and chamber, he imagined.
Harsen opted to go to the main castle library.
Perhaps there was some book in the general collection he couldn’t live without in Hell.
He stepped onto a mezzanine above the towering walls of books and froze.
Prince Romi stood in front of a shelf with his back to him.
Harsen stared.
The fact he’d be wed to the youth had somehow eluded his thoughts, as though it were the least important part of the equation.
It was, in fact, the very crux of his disaster.
He should despise this demon…wasn’t that right?
Romi stood eerily still for several moments, and then turned to smile up at him.
Harsen did not allow himself to be agitated.
The prince’s goofy smile stirred up a myriad of judgments.
He might have been a demon, but he was surely awkward for any race.
There was also an effete quality to him that Harsen would have tormented him for when he was school-aged.
Still, these characteristics compelled him.
He had no fear of his fiancé, but rather found his vulnerability disarming.
He stared a moment more.
Romi’s smile made it easier for Harsen to see past his demonic features.
If he were mortal he’d be a cute enough lad for his sister to fancy.
In a sense their tastes ran the same: big eyes, luscious hair, a slender frame.
He searched for something repellant in the boy’s face that would match his awkwardness.
No, there was nothing to find.
At least his intended was a pretty thing.
Harsen descended the stairs leading down into the library.
Romi’s visage was like a magnet beckoning confrontation.
Harsen didn’t even try to resist.
Perhaps there was still a trace of childhood bully in him.
Romi greeted him with his adoring smile and his hands cupped together below his chin.
Harsen walked a semi-circle around him first.
His face was fine enough—now Harsen inspected his body.
He was somewhat curvy for a male, but that was not a detriment.
His buttocks were pronounced with a deep central grove.
Once they became more familiar Harsen would give in to the urge to grope him.
Hadn’t he that right as his betrothed?
Once he’d leered to his content he stepped two paces back to a long reading table and leaned against the edge.
He crossed his arms and kept his eyes locked with Romi’s dark orbs.
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