Obsidian's Reign ¹

∷ Chapter 17 ∷

CLARA COULD NOT begin to comprehend what she was seeing. How was it possible for her to perceive the very duplicate of her grandfather standing before her when she had known him to be deceased for years?

She blinked, still in a daze, and asked almost hesitantly, "Grandpa . . . ?"

Time seemed to freeze in its frame the second the word left her lips—the king, bent forwards at the waist with his hand outstretched towards her, and the girl still sprawled on the floor before him.

Neither dared to move, the fragility of the situation evident in the way they could only afford to stare at each other in a silence torn between one that was strenuous and one of perturbation.

Lucan could hardly believe what he was hearing. He knew there was always a possibility of the king having a family of his own on the Surface—demons were known to fall recklessly for the charms humans possessed, despite their apparent tolerance for the species—but it was something the king never spoke of, much like the time he spent there.

Lucan never had reason to assume the king had left family behind, let alone that he had one in the first place. Besides, didn't he admit just a moment ago he had nothing waiting for him back on the Surface? So why was the human girl calling him her grandfather?

The matter in its truth was questionable, yet the king was far from denying what had been said. In fact, his eyes seemed to betray his innermost emotions, softening with affection upon hearing her words.

Lucan knew that interfering was out of the question. He did, after all, promised the king he would trust and support him. Still, it was frustrating, having to watch from the shadows and not being able to say what was on his mind. Despite his worries, he was well aware that if the matter concerned the well-being of the Underworld, the king would explain himself soon enough. With a shake of his head, Lucan decided to leave the two alone, turning away from the scene unfolding in the throne room before him.

Clara was left staring at the king, her eyes wide in shock and her mouth slightly agape. He looked exactly like her grandfather, albeit a few years younger, but otherwise, he was the exact replica.

It was the king who broke the silence first.

"Come now, child. You have to get up," he said, indicating her untoward position on the floor. He gestured once more with his hand and nodded, an unspoken reassurance that it was alright for her to take it.

Clara considered his offer for a few seconds before evidently deciding against his help. She felt uncomfortable at the prospect of the demon king sharing the same face as her grandfather and could not quell her growing suspicions just yet. She gathered herself and stood, brushing the skirts of her dress in a misplaced effort to smooth down the creases while avoiding looking the king in the eye.

The king, on the other hand, did not seem offended at her obvious discontent, and even if he did, he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and took a step away from her, giving her some space, and in turn, allowing him a minute to survey her. He kept his silence even as his eyes illuminated with pride, and a smile graced his features.

Unable to withstand the growing discomfort, Clara blurted, "Why do you look like my grandfather?"

The king remained unfazed despite the sudden conviction in her tone and the fiery tint in her eyes, aware that the same eyes held an insurmountable amount of confusion in them. He thought over her question for a minute before motioning towards their surroundings.

"Perhaps, it would be wise to take this conversation to a more private space. It is unwise to discuss important matters so openly."

As much as Clara did not wish to be alone with the king, she knew he was the only one capable of giving her the answers she sought for. Her bafflement concerning matters was a disadvantage she was only too willing to change.