The guard leaves and I'm left staring at the brown, oak door. I take another deep breath and slowly turn the door handle, after carefully setting my expression into one of confidence, of course. My father sits behind his desk, black eyes focused on a sheet of paper. He does not even spare me a glance and my knees shake slightly. He looks furious.
"I though I told you to guard it at all times," he says, his eyes cold and hard, like glittering marbles. I stare at him, confusion taking over me. I don't know what he's talking about and I open my mouth to tell him just that, when my eyes fall upon a figure clothed in all-black. He kneels at the foot of my father's chair, face pressed against the itchy carpet, knees digging into the floor. A feeling of relief washes through me but it quickly turns to sympathy as I watch my father's expression get harder.
"Get up, Jonathan," Lord Azazel says, his voice hard as nails. My father is the King of all the Shadow-Dwellers who live in The Dwelling which makes me, as one might say, a princess. I absolutely hate it when people show respect to me for that, though. Being a princess should not be the reason for being respected by people. Respect should be earned.
The figure, Jonathan, rises and I am shocked at how young he looks - my age, perhaps a year older. His dark brown, almost black hair spill onto his forehead and his eyes are so light that had they been a shade lighter, they would be hazel. He has full lips, and he keeps them slightly pursed, as if disapproving of something. His lithe body is covered with snug black clothes and I think I detect a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he bows his head before my father.
"Forgive me, my lord. We underestimated their intellect. It appears the Bi-Elementists are not the oafs we assumed they were," at this, I think I hear a smirk in his voice, "the ring we were guarding was a fake all along. They created an illusion, slipped right past us."
I'm not sure whether I should laugh or be afraid at his bold words. I have never heard anyone talk to my father like that before. It's refreshing, I must say. A second later, the humor drains out of me as my father raises his hand and slashes it through thin air. I flinch as the boy is thrown back. He crashes into the bookshelf beside me and I see a cut on his forehead begin to bleed. He's breathing heavily as he pulls himself to his feet with some difficulty. His gaze rests on me for a second and an electric shock runs through me as those brown eyes stare at me. But then he looks away, locking his eyes with my father's.
"My lord, I must say, beating me up will not change the truth," his breaths come faster now and I can see him wiping his forehead as more blood collects there.
"You dare speak to me like that?" my father hisses through his teeth, his eyes murderous. I'm shaking from head to toe as my father lashes out again and this time, Jonathan is thrown to the floor, his body arching as balls of blue light float into him. I need to stop it. I can't watch my father torture people like that. I have to divert his attention, even if it means that he'll take his anger out on me. I set my fears aside and take a step sideways, so that now my body shields the boy's. The flow of blue stops immediately and behind me, Jonathan stops thrashing. My father's gaze shifts to me and I see something in his eyes change. The murderous rage dulls and his face softens slightly. A moment later, the expression is gone and his eyes are blank again.
"You sent for me," I say, my voice rough and thick. I swallow as he stares at me for a long moment; I want to look away but I stubbornly refuse to. Finally, he inclines his head towards the chair opposite him and I sigh with relief, taking a seat. I observe my father quietly, noticing his dishevelled appearance. His hair stands up slightly, as if he's run his hands through it too much. His face is paler than usual - he looks older than his usual thirty years. Shadow-Dwellers stop aging when they are in their prime. My father's was thirty-two. I wonder what mine will be. Will I forever look like a young woman or an old woman in her sixties? That'd be awful!
"I'm afraid," I look up at my father's voice and see that his gaze is averted from my face, "I'm afraid I have to leave. I'll be back in a month or so."
"What do you mean leave? Leave for where?" I stare at my father - he never goes away for more than a day. Except that one time after my mother's death. He went away for two days only, though.
"Something important has come up - something that must be dealt with immediately," at this, his gaze travels behind me, resting on the unconscious Jonathan.
I want to tell my father I'll go with him. The way he's looking at me scares me and I'm afraid I'll never see him again. My father is my everything. He might hit me and leave marks on my body but most of the time, it's for my betterment. I can't imagine my life without him. All these years, he's been my teacher, my parent, my best friend, my mentor. He takes care of me when I'm sick and helps me out and talks to me when I'm upset about something. Our relationship is very weird, to say the least. One could say my father is bi-polar. At the moment, I want to hug him. But I stopped doing that when I turned seven.
"Why?" it's the only word I am able to force out. He shakes his head and I don't argue any further.
"Father, may I...go along with you?" I dare to say, even though I already know what the answer is going to be.
"You're too young, Juliana."
I feel the irritation welling up within me, "I'm not a child anymore, father. You've trained me for more than ten years. isn't that preparation enough?"
"War is coming Juliana. Whatever I have taught you, it is not enough. You shall stay here and carry on with your training until you are ready."
"Pray tell me then, father. Who's going to teach me in your absence?"
He smiles faintly and nods behind me, at the passed out Jonathan, "He is capable enough."
I turn around to look at the young man sprawled out unconscious on the floor. His eyes are closed, his long, black lashes resting on pale white skin, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath he takes. I wonder how someone, who cannot even bear a minute of my father's torture, could possibly teach me anything. I am startled out of my thoughts as a hand rests on my shoulder. My father stands beside me, black misty shadows already wrapping around his lower torso.
"I'll see you soon, my daughter," and he bends down and drops a kiss on the top of my head. I am frozen with shock -he never shows affection so openly- as shadows engulf him whole and then he's gone. I hear a chuckle from behind me and I jump. I look behind me to see Jonathan pulling himself up with some difficulty. I stare at him as he smirks at me, holding the bookshelf for support, "never thought I'd see Lord Azazel kissing his daughter."
I continue to gape at him as he brings a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. A rush of power flows through him and I see the cut slowly close up. He opens his eyes and looks at me questioningly.
"What...how did you...?"
He smirks, walking towards where I sit slowly. He settles himself in my father's chair, "Torturing unconscious people who can't respond to the pain is no fun. And your father knows that."
I feel laughter bubbling within me but I suppress it. I don't want to laugh with this person - I don't like him.
"You didn't have to step in, princess. I was doing fine," the air of haughtiness surrounding him angers me.
"If by fine you mean getting your life slowly drained out of you, then I apologize for intervening. Should've just let him kill you, right?"
His mouth twists and my heart flutters nervously. I tell myself it's from exhaustion. Jonathan leans back in my father's chair, observing me, "Your father wouldn't have killed me. Who else will protect his baby daughter in his absence then?"
I glare at him, all flutters forgotten, "Firstly, I am not a child. I do not need anyone's protection. Least of all yours. Secondly, fuck off."
He gets up suddenly, walking around the desk to stand behind me. He lowers his head, until his mouth is level with my ear, "Firstly, your life is in danger, princess. You need all the protection you can get. Especially mine. And secondly, I'm not going anywhere. Not until your father returns. If he comes back, that is."
I feel a shiver crawl up my spine. Whether it is due to his closeness or whether it is the threatening edge to his words, I do not know. All I know is that dealing with Jonathan is going to be difficult, perhaps even impossible.
