1. Seraphic

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. the perfect plan

a z r i e l

☽ ☾

Azriel watched the doors to his chambers angrily, a frown on his face.

He'd asked everyone to arrive promptly at five in the evening, and it was almost six. The only one who'd arrived was Malachai, who was wandering around the war room with one of the figurines that had been placed on the table.

"This isn't important, is it?" he asked, holding it up.

"No," he replied. He sighed a breath of relief. "Unless you count showing us necessary battle positions as being unimportant."

Malachai slowly set the figurine back. "Noted."

Now, more than ever, defence was important.

It had been a week since Morana had almost been attacked. They were no closer to finding out who the man had been working for, but that no longer mattered anymore.

The royal family's time was running out. And soon.

"Here!" Morana called out as she walked in, followed by Kol who was snacking on a bowl of grapes, their mother, and their father. "You may commence your meeting, oh big brother."

Azriel scowled at her. "Shut up."

"Rude."

"Maybe stop wasting time, then. I would not have to be so curt all the time."

"Like anything would stop you from being this way, anyway." He gave her a look. She raised her hands. "Okay, okay. Can you get to your point?"

"Patience," Kol said, closing the doors behind them.

"Grouch," she added.

Azriel scowled at her.

Kol and Malachai sniggered between themselves.

"You know, had you not been my sister and a woman, your neck would have been broken a few years ago."

"Stop being so violent," she said, playfully glaring.

"I cannot. I am Orphim."

Everyone laughed between themselves.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Morana gasped. "Did you just make another joke?"

"Another?" Kol and Malachai asked, their eyes widening. "What—"

"I know. Impossible, isn't it? Yet somehow this thing defied all odds," she retorted, waving her hand around his figure to gesture towards him. He rolled his eyes.

"Behave," their mother said, her voice slightly stern but more so amused. "You still have important things to do. Azriel?"

With those words, she and their father left.

How symbolic of their childhood, he thought.

"Follow me," Azriel said, heading for the war room.

He gestured for them to a take a seat around the oval table and assumed his seat at the head of it, frowning at all the fuss that came from the others. He rolled the sleeves of his tunic up, reaching for one of the reports on the table and opening it to reread it for the umpteenth time that day.

Whenever he received reports, or drew up any, he'd made sure to go over them over and over again until he was not only sick of it, but had memorised the words and could recite them by heart.

What good was a general if not an efficient one?

"What's the plan?" Kol asked.

"They are throwing another one of their balls." Malachai tensed slightly. "We go in, we get out. You all do not get seen—make sure of it."