Chapter One

A demon falling from the ceiling was not what Eial expected when he looked at the dome shaped glass above. In a room surrounded by elves, nonetheless, all murmuring, shuffling in shock and fear. Familiar amber and green eyes met, the depth within their eyes unknown. However,

that is a tale for the future...

~~~

Click clack of heels tap tap tapping on the marble tile. Long hallways stretched with oil lanterns every few steps. They shook violently, casting shadows on the plastered walls and the feet of the demon who walked past.

A forceful charge past a crimson dyed door and a focused pace to his plump black velvet chair framed in gold. Sitting down, settled in, an array of documents spread across in front of him. Without a moment to spare, a hand gripped a quill dipped in ink with slight tension. Tapping off the excess black liquid, words started to appear on the pages.

Flip,

Flip,

Flip.

One by one a stack of papers grew in height, all touched by the deep ink.

When the quill was finally set down, the rising yellow sun that had filtered layers of light into the palace windows had turned a pale orange. Days like this were played on record,

And repeated,

Repeated.

A long table stretched the length of a dining room, and on one end sat an icy presence. Next to him sat a demon younger, unaffected. With stiff shoulders, the palace waiters carefully set down each plate of food, worried of the smallest chime or misstep that could draw his ire.

This brittle air was the norm around the castle of late, those around the demon unaware of when he would snap. A brutal king had been defeated and replaced by a cold, withdrawn king. The passion of his speech before their overthrow of the former royal felt foreign. Yet, rather than hatefulness, the palace staff only looked at the demon in pity. For it was whispered well around the palace that an elf, the creature of his bond and the one who had changed his selfishness, had left him.

"They said it's for formality, but who's going to know? Do I have to eat here in the dining room when I can comfortably eat in my own room?" Tagharyn, the younger brother to the present king, whined, finally breaking the clinking sounds of cutlery which echoed the room.

The king slightly narrowed his eyes before responding, not making eye contact with the other. "Our father is no longer above us. There's no one else's words we have to listen to."

"Oh," Tagharyn responded, a slight arch to his eyebrows. "You're right, huh?" The demon clasped the arms of his chair, pleased, ready to lazily saunter to his room at the soonest opportunity. But as he leaned forward, his eyes took notice of the long table, full of unseated chairs. A quick glance at the only other demon beside him —the demon with his back straight with upheld pride, yet his eyes dull and sunken— Tagharyn's unheld the wooden curves next to him and settled back within his chair.

Everyday, advisors met with the king, assisting his transition to the role and moving forward with the changes needed in the demon territory. Most of the meetings included K'ra, a demon of the rebellion met in the outskirts of the territory. K'ra was present first and foremost as a mediator to the two strangers to secure a bridge of trust. However, secondly, any member of staff was desperate to have them present, as they were one of the only few who was not affected by the thin ice around the demon king.

[Are you okay?] K'ra wrote down on a piece of parchment and revealed it to the king after the advisor had taken his leave.

"Why would I not be?" Even the king's deep voice held a chill, untouchable and fragile as glass.

[Do you not know where Eial is?]

Seeing the despicably familiar name of the past skipped a beat of the demon's heart. Immediately, he glared at the horned being across from him and hissed, "Never speak of his name again, K'ra, or I won't forgive even you."

After his words, the demon king was met back with a saddening smile.

A few days continued to pass, where the demon king kept himself busy without a moment to spare for thought. The palace staff and members of the rebellion were pleased with the copious amount of progress to their ideal goals of the lands. Yet, the more they were pleased, the more their worry grew along.

Taking no audience from outsiders, the demon had stuffed himself in the palace, visiting to only a few rooms of necessity. As if a puppet, his arms and legs moved, yet his heart did not.

One night, he had sat on his bed, his darkened, sunken eyes ready for slumber. In the midst of his heavy, drowsy mind, he gazed at his bedside drawer. It was a random thought. He hadn't opened that drawer recently. When was the last he had opened it? What was in there again?

His hand reached out. On a whim, really. Mindlessness overcoming his thoughts, until...

Until.

Scraping and screeching on its unoiled wheels, the contents of the inside slowly revealed itself. The drawer was empty. Empty except for a particular red braided ribbon that was once given to him.

Quickly, heartbeats became aware of its own presence drumming loudly against his chest, his ears. Trembling fingers lightly grazed the top of the crimson before he picked it up, bringing it closer.

"Drokn."

A voice chimed within the thoughts of his ears.

And then a soft giggle,

twinkling eyes,

a lovely blush of cheeks.

Suddenly, a dam was broken and filled the King Drokn's heart of a deep, deep rush of thick tar. Knees clicked, he fell to the ground, screaming voicelessly as he clenched the red fabric close, yet away from the blanket of tears that draped his skin and dampened his robe. His horns scraped the front of the drawer until it fell lower and lower and met with the ground.

His empty thoughts were poured with buckets of emotion and memories. The meaningful words, the soft touch.

The questions.

Why did he leave?

How could he leave me?

Hunched over on the floor, unbecoming a king, he roared his voice dry- not comprehending the anger, the sorrow, the desperate need of something.

Foolish, the young demon king did not know

That he simply missed the elf.