❛WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MAKE THE TEN MOST POWERFUL GODS ALIVE PLAY A GAME OF MUSICAL CHAIRS WITH ONE SEAT?❜
They fight - to the death.
They fight over three crowns and a throne with steel spiked maces. They despair a little more everyday keeping thei...
And that was how the six Houses of Endollon united for the first time in the history of the world.
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CALCHESTER CITADEL, STEFFITH.
EDWINA
IT HAD BEEN HELIOS WHO had suggested that the immortals all stay in the neutral territory of Steffith, at Calchester Citadel. Having everyone in one place would be easier while forming the backbone of this cold, uneasy alliance. An alliance built on mistrust and blood and death, the tensions sliced the air, sharper than a knife.
As everyone had rustled and stood up to arrange for their belongings to be brought here, Tristan had been the first to rise, his face still cold, eyes emotionless.
"My wife and I will be staying at Bellhaven. Do not send the attendants. We can look after ourselves," he said frigidly, before turning on his heel and storming the door open, vanishing into thin air.
My heart sunk. A horrible wave of misery washed over me. Eric slumped into a vacant chair as the room began to empty, his eyes hollow. He warily watched me as I seethed at the smile on Drusilla's face, nearly ready to throttle her and tear her heart out. I tried to reign in my temper as I stormed to the doors, and Llewellyn held me back.
"Don't," he murmured quietly.
"He's mad at me."
"He'll come around-"
"-no. I have to go to him," my feet approached the doors of the chamber, pushing them open as I whirled myself into the darkness.
The room melted away.
Bellhaven was one of the quieter districts of Steffith, just a two minute walk from the Citadel. It had its own mansion, large enough to house more than fifty. Yet now it stood lifeless, empty in the glowing twilight.
I painfully trudged up the steps.
He was already perched on a stool at the mini bar, eyeing the labels on the very old bottles, a glass of scotch already in one hand. His hair was messed, his sleeves rolled to the forearms. The muscles in his arms tightened as my footsteps rang in the air.
"You're angry."
He took a sip of the scotch, slowly turning around.
"I'm not angry. I'm pissed," he spat.
His eyes were flickering with pitch black fire, blazing and thunderous. They gleamed like pits of obsidian in the darkness, frightfully contrasting against how white his face had become.
