Shadow of the Moon

Chapter 15

Estella

King Phoenix was everything I had imagined, and more. A towering figure, he wore loose white linen clothing that were parted down to his waist, exposing the muscle of his stomach, his dark brown skin a stark contrast to the white fabric.

His hair was a rich shade of golden brown, braided back into thick strands that ran down his scalp, each thick rope of hair adorned with golden jewelry. His eyes, a piercing blue, were ringed with a stark white iris. He was a creature of the sun, a stark contrast to the pale skin and shadows I was used to. His arched ears were a strange sight to behold, especially on one holding the title of King.

Age shown on the Kings face, age that was foreign to me. A-pa was nearly 600 years old and he barely looked 50 years old. Pheonix was a mere child at 75, yet the signs of aging hit him hard, his face looked nearly as old as A-pa. The fae blood running in his veins gifted him with an extended life, but it was nothing compared to the lives of the full-blooded fae.

His sons, dressed in similar white linen, stood beside him, their forms imposing and their expressions haughty. Each of the Princes shared their father's arched ears. I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine, a primal fear had my teeth grinding.

Seeing all of them standing beside their father only drove home the differences I had noted in Kyros. Why was he so different? How could he be full-blooded fae, but none of his siblings were?

Thallia seemed unfazed by the male's ostentatious display. She stood tall, her form elegant and graceful. Her deep purple gown, embroidered with shimmering starlight, shimmered in the soft light of the torches. She was a vision of ethereal beauty, a stark contrast to the harsh, sunbaked aesthetic of the Elorian. She had been the only one to wear formal attire, Cyrus had worn black leathers, A-pa and I were in similar simple black tunics and pants.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. Thallia, with her quiet strength and unwavering confidence, seemed so at ease in this foreign environment. She was always put together, nothing seeming to bother her.

“Twin?” The prince standing beside Atlas hissed, his lips curling into a sneer. The malice in his eyes, the venom in his voice, sent a shiver down my spine. I assumed this was Raedon, his light brown skin shone, as if he had oiled himself. His golden-brown hair was close-cropped on the sides, the tips spiked up. His eyes locked onto me, the blue of them as cold as ice.

Kyros had not been exaggerating about his brother's cruelty. He definitely had the instincts inherited from their mother.

My gaze swept across the dais, taking in the arrangement of the princes. Atlas stood beside his father, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable. Raedon was on his other side, his features twisted into a sneer that was settled on me.

But it was the other prince, standing slightly apart from the others, who captured my attention. He was positioned near the vacant Queen's throne, his head bowed slightly, his expression a mixture of sadness and defiance. He gripped the arm of the chair, as if it anchored him.

That must be Kaelen. He bore a striking resemblance to Kyros, with the same warm golden eyes and gentle features, though his complexion was darker, his hair a shade closer to crimson. A shade brighter than Kyros's.

My gaze lingered on the distance between Kaelen and his brothers, how he clung to the Queen's empty throne. The placement seemed purposeful. This arrangement must be due to the inheritance of powers, the brothers divided down the middle. Kyros and Kaelen on their mothers right and Raedon and Atlas on their fathers left.

Kyros had warned me about his families malice, the tendency towards cruelty. Raedon was a year younger than Kyros, I recalled, and noticeably shorter, his stature somehow amplifying his air of aggression. He stood beside Atlas, his arms crossed, his lips curled into a sneer, his icy eyes radiating cruel intentions that made my blood run cold.

Seeing the three brothers together, I couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between them. Atlas, the eldest, bore a striking resemblance to their father, with the same stern features and commanding presence. was a disturbing resemblance, a chilling reminder of the power and ruthlessness that ran in their bloodline.

But Kaelen. was different. With his gentle demeanor and kind eyes, he seemed out of place among his brothers. He was clearly more like their mother, and I couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason for King Phoenix's apparent disdain.

Kaelen's golden eyes met mine, and something flickered between us. He knew me. I don’t know how, but that was recognition in his eyes. But beneath the warmth of his gaze, I saw a deep well of sadness, a weariness that seemed out of place on someone so young. He was only twelve, the same age as Lynx, yet his eyes held a depth of emotion that spoke of experiences far beyond his years.

My heart ached for him. I saw a reflection of my own pain in his eyes, a shared understanding of loss and grief. What had he witnessed, this gentle boy with the sorrowful gaze? What shadows had darkened his young life?

“Twins are impossible!” Raedon snarled, taking a menacing step towards us. His face contorted with disbelief and rage, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at his belt.

The air crackled with tension as Cyrus straightened, his posture a pure threat. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a primal warning that echoed through the hall. He bared his teeth, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.

“The Goddess blessed us with two lives that day,” A-pa boomed, his voice unwavering. "Believe what you will, but there is no denying the fact that Estella and Astra were identical." He released my arm, his gaze fixed on King Phoenix with a challenge that could not be ignored. I shuffled to hide behind Cyrus, Thallia coming up behind me.

I felt a surge of gratitude for A-pa and Cyrus's protectiveness. I lowered my head, my fists clenching as a low growl escaped my lips, a mournful sound that only they could hear. The mere mention of Astra's name reopened the wound in my heart, the pain of her loss a constant ache in my soul.

The throne room buzzed with confusion and disbelief. Twins were a rare occurrence in either realm. It was near impossible for mothers to survive the birth, let alone still being able to bear more offspring. Their skepticism was palpable, their whispers filling the hall like a swarm of angry wasps. I felt their gazes piercing me, their disbelief a tangible force that threatened to suffocate me.

“I believe there has been some sort of mistake.” A smooth voice drawled from behind us. We turned as one slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. Who was this newcomer who dared to interrupt the tense confrontation between the two kings?

A hush fell over the throne room as a tall, imposing male emerged from the shadows. He was younger than King Phoenix, perhaps by a decade or two, but he carried himself with a regal bearing that commanded attention. He may have been younger, but he looked identical to Phoenix.

His golden-brown hair was swept back from his forehead, revealing sharp, intelligent eyes that scanned the room with a calculating gaze. He wore a simple tunic of deep blue, the fabric adorned with an intricate silver pin that hinted at his position.

But it was the figure he escorted that truly captured my attention. The male was short, his long black hair a tangled mess, his face a patchwork of bruises and healing scabs. He cowered, his eyes darting around the room with a mixture of fear and defiance. It was the scent of honey and citrus that clung to him, the missing left arm that had my teeth bared in fury. Astra's blood clung to him like a shroud, a testament to his heinous crime.

I recoiled, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a cry of anguish. My vision blurred with tears, and my body trembled with a fury I had never known before. This was him. This was the monster who had murdered my sister, who had shattered our world.

Beside me, Cyrus let out a low, guttural growl, his eyes narrowing into slits. He took a step forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword at his hip. The air crackled with tension, the Elorian court sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere. I gripped Cyrus’s arm as my knees began to give out.

My heart pounded with a primal thirst for vengeance. I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands, to make him pay for the pain he had inflicted, for the life he had stolen. But Thallia whispers close to my ear that this was not the time, not the place.

"Ah, Taurus, perfect timing," King Phoenix boomed, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Rigel, allow me to introduce my younger brother, my trusted advisor."

But his words were met with a stunned silence. All eyes were fixed on the prisoner, his ragged breathing and the cloying stench of his fear filling the tense atmosphere of the throne room.

Taurus, a cruel smile twisting his lips, shoved the man forward. "Of course, my presence pales in comparison to this esteemed guest," he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oberon," he addressed the prisoner, "allow me to introduce the esteemed royals of Tenebris."

Oberon, his face a mask of bruises and dried blood, his eyes filled with a chilling rage, turned towards me. His gaze locked onto mine, and a spark of recognition ignited in his eyes, quickly replaced by a glacial hatred.

“You!” he rasped, his voice hoarse with rage. “You are supposed to be dead! What wicked magic is this?”

His words pierced my heart like a dagger, twisting the blade of my grief. “This is your fault!” he spat, his voice laced with venom. Hearing the words aloud after thinking them for days was like a slap to the face.

He lunged towards me, his chains dragging and clanking against the ground. Before he could reach me, a flash of steel sliced through the air. A sickening thud echoed through the hall as a blade plunged into Oberon's throat, and he crumpled to the ground. His blood pooled on the polished marble floor around his lifeless form.

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a cry of horror. My stomach churned, and a wave of dizziness washed over me. I had witnessed death before, but never like this, never so brutal, so calculated. Beside me, Cyrus let out a strangled gasp, his a mask with shock. Even A-pa seemed momentarily stunned by the sudden violence.

Raedon, who had moved with a silent, predatory grace from the dais, now stood before us, a chilling smile playing on his lips. He meticulously cleaned the blood from his knife, the sharp blade glinting in the torchlight, a symbol of the violence to come. With a flick of his wrist, he sheathed the weapon, his eyes locking onto me with a cruel satisfaction that made my blood run cold.

Then, with a subtle nod, a barely perceptible signal, he unleashed chaos.

The room erupted. Elorian guards surged forward, their swords drawn, their faces contorted with rage. The courtiers screamed and scattered, their cries echoing off the high vaulted ceilings.

My heart hammered in my chest as I clung to Cyrus, my fingers white with how hard I gripped his arm. He pushed me behind him, the arm I gripped angled back to encircle me, holding me against him. His other arm drew his sword, his face a mask of grim determination as he positioned himself between us and the oncoming guards. A-pa roared, his shadow magic swirling around him like a storm, his claws extended, ready to fight.

Thallia spun her back to me as she watched the guards behind us.

But we were outnumbered, surrounded by enemies who thirsted for our blood. My gaze darted around the chaotic scene, searching for an escape, a way out of this deadly trap. But the doors were blocked, the windows barred. We were trapped, caught in a web of deceit and violence, our lives hanging in the balance.