To Bewitch a Devil

243 Sooner than you think

Her lips had turned a purplish blue, like the color of a fresh bruise. She was slipping away, and his fingers tightened around her hand, the reality of her loss causing an iron grip of pain in his heart.

There was always a saying that one doesn’t know what he has until he loses it, and that couldn’t have been more true for Zavian. He had been sufficient with the knowledge of Freya as a great fighter who harm could never touch, and he had been too comfortable having her around. As she was lying before him, barely alive, he knew grief and regret would be there to consume his own life if anything ever happened to her.

“What about the Queen?” The doctor asked tactfully.

“She’s still asleep.”

“For how long now, your Majesty?”

“An entire day now,” Zavian answered. “Her sleep deprivation was bad.”

“Indeed, it was,” the demon agreed. “She should be better when she awakes.”

“I hope so,” Zavian said quietly.

The demon, noticing the somber mood of the King, excused himself and left him. Zavian took a look at Freya’s skin again, and he could feel the sense of something breaking inside him.

.....

“Don’t leave me, Freya,” he said. “I need you, please.”

His words belied all the emotional plea he could carry, and yet Freya didn’t even twitch a finger in response.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Zavian continued. “But you have to get up. You have to know how sorry I am for the way I treated you. You have to come back, Freya. Do you understand?”

He covered up her body with the thick blanket and stood to leave the room. He had guards looking for any clawed creature all over the Kingdom. The attacker could have been a demon, a witch, but he still had to hope they would somehow be found through some means, their name sneaked into market stall conversations and bar gossip.

Zavian hoped the next few days he stepped through Freya’s doors, she would still be breathing.

....

He was growing impatient.

Being patient for centuries had not been that much of a hassle. At first, he had raged and cursed, trying everything he could to escape the Underworld, but it all proved futile. Aloysius had long given up when he fought, or so he thought until he discovered Aloysius had been plotting all along.

But having patience when the taste of victory was so close was torturous. All those centuries of waiting didn’t carry the heavy urgency of the little time more that they had to be patient.

Aloysius met him, isolated at the edge of the world, overlooking the massive destruction of nature, like a disaster had occurred and messed up the beauty of the place if it ever had any to begin with.

From his periphery, he saw Aloysius sit next to him, his breathing heavy like his presence.

“How much longer?” He asked Aloysius.

“Soon.”

“How much longer is soon?”

“Just like you, I want to tear Zavian apart,” Aloysius said. “But a minute too early or too late would ruin centuries of planning.”

“But we have our enemies ready, we have all our weapons. We have honed powers we didn’t think were possible while we were on earth,” he hissed. “No one stands a chance against us. We could wipe all seven Kingdoms in a day and rule.”

Aloysius looked at him then.

“Soon, Uriel. Sooner than you think.”

....

Azriel tottered into his estate with his men, the day wearing them down with patrol. He had gone to search the parameters of the forest where Freya had been hunting, the acres of land spanning as far as Grenao, thick with tall trees and land dense with bushes.

It would be a lie if he wasn’t worried. Azriel had been worried since the time he first laid eyes on Freya, battered to near death, and he didn’t relent in ensuring his men and women kept training. He had gone to see the training in other Kingdoms as well, and he hoped, with all his being, that there was only one of what attacked Freya.

He didn’t want to think of what an army of them could do.

“I could use some good food,” one of his men said, leaning forward on his horse, his body shaky from overworking.

“If I as much as see stacks of hay, I’m calling it a night.” Another said.

“Go to the dining room, the maids would have set up dinner for you all,” Azriel said. “Go ahead before me. Eat to your fill, you won’t be exempt from training tomorrow.”

The men chorused a cherry hail, and sped their horses ahead, jumping off and hurrying into the building. Azriel hopped off, and a groom was there to take his stallion.

“You should get some rest too,” he patted the stallion’s neck. “Get you some nice hay and water, and you have the whole day tomorrow, you lucky one.”

He left the horse to be taken care of and went ahead to join his men in the dining hall.

Inside, boisterous noises arose from them, the food aroma was welcoming, and a variety of dishes were laid out for them. Plates were passed, glasses were filled, and more food was being brought in.

It was then Azriel spotted Penelope, carrying a large tray of roasted duck, and much to his dismay, she was still in her maid frock.

She set the tray down, and her eyes met his from across the table. She gave him a bow and quickly left the room.

But while the others craved food and drinks and sleep upon return, Azriel had found a craving for her, and the little view he got was barely enough to satisfy him.

He went after her and caught up to her. A gasp escaped her when he held her hand.

“What...what is it, my Lord?” She asked him, her eyes going around, aware that there will be maids watching from behind them.