Élan: A Youngblood World

CHAPTER 12 A Daughter's Tale

       "THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!" King Damarius exclaimed, slamming a heavy fist against the handle of the throne, startling Stella. The knot of fearful rage finally exploded out of the dam inside him brimming with profound dilemma and utter frustration. "You dare burst through my doors and show yourself unprecedented with that unholy of an ... abomination before me?!"

       Allyson, however, remained unfazed. One would think he wore a flawless facade of nonchalance, but the surfacing grin on his glassy lips said otherwise. "Now there's no need to be rash, Your Majesty. I'm sure we can make an agreement that aligns both our interests." He leaned in close to the King, his lips a soft breeze to his aged ear like a demon perching on his shoulder, tempting him. Only except, they were, surely, not whispers that elicited the greatest desires. 

       The King's face grew mortified. His eyes bulged out its sockets like they were about to pop out. The vein on his head was jutting out of his oil-coated skin. Stella may not be able to discern it, but knowing her father, she was sure his limbs trembled against the cold metal of the throne. His slightly agape mouth opened to what seemed like a protest. But thought better against it. Even Stella felt the silent tension skewering her this far, accumulating a lump in her lungs that made it hard for her to breathe involuntarily. 

       Only when Allyson drew back to his usual space was she able to realize she was running out of air, pulling a deep, long breath out of her. 

       "That's something we can arrange for ourselves, isn't it?" Allyson said, the glint in his face had turned sharper. More confident.

       King Damarius dumbly gawked at him, wearing an ever-more disturbed expression. A picture Stella had never seen--or thought of seeing--of his formidable father, His Majesty. He looked at Allyson as if he had crazed eyes. As if breathing in his air would tick him off and his head would be at cost. 

       Without any further words, Father dipped his head, resigning in absolute defeat. "Very well." 

       At those simple words, Allyson bowed. "A most gracious thank you, Your Majesty. I can't express the depth of my gratitude enough. Your generous words are indeed the utmost melody of a native of Flaurella." He addressed the crew before him, his voice echoing like silk amidst the dire air. "It's a pleasure working with you, gentleman. I find that you'll enjoy your stay here on this side of the planet." 

       The goblin from the spar ambled back to his companion to help clean up the mess as if the impact of the throw had negligible damage. The abomination, now under the man's skin, obliged to walk back into its cell with no restraints. The latches on the metal cage strapped on. Its cloth was put back on with a few straightening done. It was clear they took the trail down the inclusive road leading up to the palace hill, as there was an absence of uproar from concerned civilians like any other private business to be taken up before the royal court.

       Allyson turned his head to the frail man behind him, whose head remained low. "I shall return next week to heed of your verdict. I pray for the Queen and the Princess's growth and health ... And when the time comes, their safety too."

       The King lifted his swollen eyes at Allyson, only to meet his retreating back as he and his companions departed for the open palace doors, resuming to stream in the cold of the night. 

       "Remember, Your Majesty, I'll be waiting." 

       At that, the towering doors closed, leaving behind an acrid sweep of undeniable agitation and indispensable melancholy. What once was an elegant room for royal decorum and fair formalities was now a heftier, direr expanse brought about by the price of the crown on the head of one who sat on its expensive throne.