The Infernal King | 1 ✓

CHAPTER XVI | COSTUMES AND MURDERERS

       SHE SMOOTHED DOWN her old dressing gown, which just barely brushed past her knees, thinking that she was making a bold statement. Maarit refused to play dress-up with a murderer—or whatever it was that King Theodoracius was trying to do by providing her with gowns as luxurious as the rest of the castle. He clearly wanted something from her, but she just didn't know what.

Fiddling with her bracelet, she cocked her head towards the wardrobe. She had only just realized that her feet were still bare. Of course, the only shoes at her disposal were much too extravagant, so she grabbed a pair of long socks instead.

The thick tendrils of her silky obsidian hair tickled her arms. She opened her mouth and, out of pure habit, started to mutter a spell—until she realized that she couldn't cast it, and felt a disappointed pang in her chest.

Maarit twirled a strand of hair around her index finger and sighed, turning towards the mirror of the vanity. She stared at herself. She looked too refreshed for someone who had nearly bled to death. There should have been scars decorating her body and dark shadows powdering the skin beneath her eyes.

It was all incredibly bizarre. King Theodoracius had not hesitated to kill people in the past, yet she was still alive and being pampered. She was apprehensive about going to eat with him, but she also wanted to find out what he wanted from her. Biting her bottom lip nervously, she held her breath, turned to the door and knocked.

The lock clicked for the second time and Picard waited on the other side. His gaze trailed over her attire and he sighed. "His Majesty may murder me for allowing you to wear that. He enjoys extravagance very much and will take it as an insult that you did not wear what he gave you."

She tilted her head at him, trying to decide whether or not he was joking. However, he did not look afraid—and, in any case, the king needed the warlock. He would definitely not dispose of him so quickly. It seemed that Picard alone kept the castle alive.

"Good luck with that, Picard," Maarit replied tersely. "And I will be glad if he takes it as an insult. That is precisely what I was going for."

The warlock's mouth curled upwards almost imperceptibly. "Shall we, Madam?"

"It isn't as though I have a choice," she responded apathetically.

She reluctantly followed Picard into the hallway. This one was narrow and the walls were lined with painting after painting. They were all obscure and had been painted with striking dark colours. There were kings, queens, princes and princesses in some of them; on these canvases, thrones, crowns, swords, shields and armour were abundant. Some showed witches, warlocks, soothsayers, gods and goddesses. Maarit's eyes snagged on a particular one—it depicted a shadowy female figure with a billowing cloak standing over a crowned man with bloody hands. She found herself wondering what it meant and slowed her stride in front of it so as to be able to stare longer.

The witch and the warlock came to a winding staircase with carpeted burgundy steps. Once they reached the bottom, it poured into a much larger, much grander room that was so blindingly beautiful that Maarit had to squint.

"The dining hall," Picard presented indifferently.

The walls of this room were painted ghost white, laden with thin swirls of midnight blue. The dining hall was lit solely by natural light. There were large windows through which the sunlight rolled in. Decorative golden mouldings bedizened the ceiling as well as the four walls. The ceiling was in the shape of a dome and at the very middle of it, a huge chandelier hung over a long table.

With a jolt, Maarit realized that at the very head of the table, King Theodoracius was already seated. He was examining his own fingernails distractedly and looked as glorious as ever. As per usual, his hair was slicked back, without a single strand out of place. Upon hearing Picard's shoes clacking on the floor (Maarit's footsteps made no sound as she was wearing only socks), his gaze was lifted upwards and his face broke into a pleasant smile.

The smile—which looked unnatural and nefarious on his face—faded instantly when his eyes fell upon the raven-haired girl. His stark brown eyes grazed over her frail figure, the dressing gown and the long socks.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, darling," he said, taking slow strides forward.

"Are you entirely sure that's where I am? I assumed this was Hell was I saw you were here," Maarit spat back at him derisively.

Picard visibly tensed at the shoulders, but King Theodoracius allowed the comment to roll off of his back and let out a short bark of laughter.

Today, he wore royal blue robes that shimmered in the sunlight. The crown on his head caught the light depending on the angle he faced.

"Picard, did you not show her all of the clothes I provided?" King Theodoracius asked, though there was not a hint of inquisition in his voice.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I did, but she did not want them. She refused to leave the room unless she wore this."

"But why?" he questioned, addressing Maarit and feigning concern. "Do they not suit your fancy?"

Maarit scoffed, rolling her eyes. "What are you trying to turn me into? Your puppet?"

"No. I am simply keeping you here for my own ulterior motives. Although, I must confess that I did not believe you would actually attempt suicide," the king tutted.

She gritted her teeth angrily. "That wasn't a suicide attempt! I was going to c—"

She stopped herself abruptly, deciding against telling him what her plan had been. He was too quick.

"Cut your hand off?" he finished for her. "Yes, we figured as much. I must admit, it was a clever idea—but it was simply executed poorly. You required a sharper object that would be able to cut through flesh and bone in one blow, perhaps two. Fortunately, you will no longer be getting access to any sharp objects."

He winked at her, causing her to clench her fists at her sides in frustration.

"Well, I feel that is enough talk for now. Take a seat, take a seat," King Theodoracius ordered, turning on his heel and striding back to his seat quickly so that his cloak would billow dramatically. "We will dine!"

He resumed his place at the end of the table and stared at her expectantly. He even pulled the chair beside him out for her, his perfect lips turning up to form a triumphant smirk.