Shadow Queen - Azriel x oc

↳ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 14 - ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵘⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿ

゜✧*̣̩☽⋆ SHADOW QUEEN ✧*̣̩☽⋆゜

𝒰𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃

★¸.• 505 уєαяѕ ℓαтєя ⡀.•☆

"How the mighty have fallen..." a voice whispered. Sombra was in and out of sleep. The Queen Under the Mountain always had something happening down where the Protectress was.

More steps approached.

"Not so mighty if some bracelets render them powerless, huh?" The cuffs wrapping around her wrist were more like shackles: thick, bulky, tight, and had left marks around her wrists after 45 years of use.

Nothing like what the Illyrian had once insulted for being a bracelet. Simpler times.

"Pathetic. I still wonder what he saw in you. I should've been queen, not you."

"Careful, Amarantha. Your jealousy is showing," Sombra spat from her spot on the floor with a raspy voice.

The redheaded female spat back, "You watch your tone. Wouldn't want something to happen to poor Rhysand." Sombra sighed.

It pained her that after everything, she still looked out for him. There was no ounce of hate for him in her; she just couldn't. She still was his Protector.

"Ready to tell us where the rest are, 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝓃𝒾𝒶𝓃?" One of the fae kneeled next to her with a dagger in hand and twisted it.

𝓜𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓪𝓷, mother in Dhaenin. The three fae with a knack for darkness never felt like her children. They were the sons and the daughter of the King—they even took after him in looks.

"What others?" she replied tiredly. She felt weak, not remembering the last time she had a proper meal. She only knew 45 had passed because, each year, the self-pronounced High Queen celebrated a ball to commemorate the start of her reign.

She had never trusted the General; she had always been after her husband and crown. She accomplished half of her wish. The golden piece on her head was a mockery and a reminder. Her thirst for power naturally aligned with the three offspring; it was a natural alliance.

If only Rhysand hadn't been so foolish and listened to me-

"We're not stupid. Stop playing games! We know you did something to our memory." The dark-haired female was losing her patience. She had always been power-hungry, much like her father.

"I'm not Daemati. You know that." Sombra coughed from the punch delivered to her stomach. What a lovely gesture from her not very patient son today.

What they didn't know was that it would hurt if she could feel it. She had gone numb long ago. The red blood falling to the ground, the sounds of a child's screams and... silence. The pain that followed had been like no other. And it wasn't one she wanted to relive.

They couldn't kill her either, no matter what they did. Only three people knew how, and they weren't those people.

There wasn't much else they could take from her. They'd lost their leverage ten years ago. Torturing Rhys could only go so far since he was crucial in Amarantha being strong. She would lose too much power—physical and the little she had to keep her Court submitted to her. A High Lord's assassination would ensue a rebellion she couldn't withstand.

And if they killed him, they were as good as dead—her children or not. Amarantha had signed her death sentence when she first threatened the Night Court to bend Rhysand's arm.