Two Monsters

Chapter 5️⃣

❤️ Two Monsters ❤️

Ironblood Kingdom:

King Malgron sat on his throne, looking every bit the immortal tyrant he was. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was maybe in his late twenties or early thirties at most. Handsome in that sharp, dangerous way that said "I could kill you and look good doing it." His long shoulder length green hair was left undone and freshly combed. He looked more like Kaelithra's older brother than her father, which was just one of the perks of being over a thousand years old and immortal.

Right now though, he didn't look very happy. He looked pissed off.

In front of him, sitting cross legged on the floor like she was meditating was the dark siren. She was middle aged but still beautiful. Her yellow hair was braided in intricate cornrows that fell down her back.

They were alone in the throne room, which was probably for the best considering what they were discussing.

"Well?" Malgron demanded, his fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest. "Do you know where she is hiding?"

The dark siren priestess didn't even open her eyes. "No. I have used all the dark spells I know to search for her but I cannot locate her, my King."

Malgron's eye twitched. Just a little, but it twitched.

Three years. Three goddamn years since his daughter had vanished into thin air like smoke. One moment she was there, the next she was gone, poof and disappeared.

The last time he'd seen Kaelithra was the day he'd sent her on a mission to kill some nobleman who'd been causing problems. She'd agreed, like she always did, because she was his perfect little weapon, his obedient daughter who never questioned his orders.

She'd left. And never came back.

At first, he thought maybe the mission had gone wrong. Maybe she'd been captured or injured. But then days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and there was no sign of her anywhere.

The thing was, he knew she wasn't dead. In their family, there was this bond, this connection between bloodlines. If someone died, especially someone as powerful as Kaelithra, the rest of the family would feel it. Like a snapping cord or a sudden emptiness.

He'd felt nothing.

Which meant she was alive. Out there somewhere. Hiding from him.

The little brat.

"This is unacceptable," Malgron growled.

"I know, my King," the priestess said, still calm as ever, which only irritated him more. "But it seems she has found a way to hide herself. Perhaps a cloaking spell. Or she has disguised her magical signature."

Malgron stood up and started pacing. This was bad. This was really bad.

He and the dark siren priestess had been working together for years, combining his werewolf power with her dark magic to make him stronger and more invincible. The plan was simple. Once Kaelithra turned one hundred years old, the age when her soul magic would be at its peak, they would perform the ritual. Sacrifice her under the Eclipse Moon, extract her skeleton, and use her power to make him immortal in a way that not even the gods could touch.

He'd raised her for this. Trained her. Shaped her into the perfect weapon and the perfect sacrifice.

But now his golden ticket was gone and he had no idea where to find her.

"Keep trying," he ordered. "Use whatever spell you need. Blood magic, bone magic, I don't care. Find her."

The priestess opened her mouth to respond but then her eyes went wide and she suddenly stood up.

"My King, someone is..."

Malgron felt it too. A presence. A powerful one. One that made even his ancient werewolf instincts scream danger.

Oh no. Not him. Not today.

"Leave," Malgron told the priestess quickly. "Now."

She didn't need to be told twice. She gathered her things and was gone.

Malgron barely had time to compose himself before the doors burst open and in walked Draevon, the mad king of Khyrador, looking like he owned the place.

Actually, the way he strolled in, you'd think he owned the entire kingdoms.

Draevon looked around the throne room with those dark, slightly unhinged eyes of his, a small smile playing on his lips. He was still covered in what looked like dried blood, which was just lovely. He had decided to strode in through the door than appeared up close to Malgron face.

"Malgron," Draevon said cheerfully as if they were best friends.

Before Malgron could respond, before he could even blink, Draevon flicked his hand casually, like he was swatting a fly.

And Malgron went flying.

One second he was sitting down on his throne, the next he was airborne, arms flailing, hair whipping around his face in a very undignified way. He hit the ground and rolled, literally rolled like a barrel, before crashing into the wall with a loud THUD.

When he looked up, dazed and definitely bruised, Draevon was sitting on his throne.

On. His. FUCKING Throne.

The bastard had his legs crossed, one arm draped over the armrest like he was posing for a portrait, looking completely comfortable.

"Much better," Draevon said, settling in. "This chair is actually quite nice. Comfortable. Good back support. I can see why you're so protective of it."

Malgron slowly got to his feet, brushing dust and probably some of his dignity off his clothes. Every instinct in him screamed to attack, to shift into his wolf form and rip this arrogant little shit apart.

But he didn't.

Because despite being a thousand year old Alpha Tyrant who'd terrorized kingdoms and bathed in the blood of his enemies, Malgron wasn't stupid.

Three years ago, Draevon had been softhearted and very kind. He was the type of king who negotiated peace instead of conquering, who showed mercy instead of delivering death. Everyone had called him weak behind his back because he minded his own business.

Then something changed.

Overnight, Draevon became something else. Something darker. Something that made even Malgron's instincts tell him not to look for trouble.

Looking at him now, sitting on that throne with blood on his clothes and madness in his eyes, Malgron wondered why Draevon had changed so much because he, Malgron, wanted to be the only one with such madness.

"What do you want, Draevon?" Malgron asked through gritted teeth.

"Want?" Draevon tilted his head, like he was genuinely thinking about it. "Kingdom peace? A good night's sleep? Maybe some decent wine?" He paused, his smile widening. "Oh, and I want to know where your daughter is."

Malgron's blood went cold.

This wasn't the first time Draevon had asked about Kaelithra. Over the past few months, the mad king had been dropping hints, asking questions, showing up unannounced to "visit" and somehow the conversation always circled back to his missing daughter.

Malgron had no idea why Draevon was suddenly so interested in Kaelithra. The two kingdoms had never been close. His daughter had done missions all over the realm, but as far as he knew, she'd never been to Khyrador. Never had any dealings with Draevon.

So why the hell was this lunatic so obsessed with finding her?

"I already told you the last hundred times you asked," Malgron said carefully. "I don't know where she is."

"Hmm." Draevon leaned back on the throne, studying his nails like he was bored. "Still missing, is she? Three years and counting. That must be so frustrating for you."

"What do you want with my daughter?" Malgron demanded. It wasn't the first time he'd asked this question either, but Draevon never gave him a straight answer.

"Oh, this and that," Draevon said vaguely, waving his hand dismissively. "Personal reasons. Very personal and none of your business, really."

"She's MY daughter. That makes it my business."

Draevon's eyes went cold and the temperature in the room dropped. "Let me be very clear, Malgron. Your daughter stopped being just YOUR business the moment she became relevant to ME. Now, I'm going to ask you one more time, and I suggest you think very carefully before you answer."

He leaned forward, his voice soft but deadly.

"Do you know where Kaelithra is hiding?"

Malgron wanted to lie. Wanted to say he knew exactly where his daughter was just to keep this madman away from her. Not because he cared about her safety, but because she was HIS. His weapon. His sacrifice and his path to ultimate power.

But he couldn't lie. Not to Draevon. The bastard would know.

"No," he admitted, the word tasting like ash. "I don't know where she is. She disappeared three years ago and I haven't been able to find her since."

"And you've been trying, haven't you?" Draevon stood up from the throne and started walking toward him. "Sending out trackers. Using that creepy dark siren priestess of yours. Probably offering rewards for information."

How did he know all this?

"Of course I've been trying," Malgron snapped. "She's my daughter. She belongs to me."

"Belongs to you," Draevon repeated, something dark and amused flickering in his eyes. "Interesting choice of words."

He stopped right in front of Malgron, so close they were almost nose to nose.

"Here's what's going to happen," Draevon said quietly. "You're going to keep looking for her. And when you find her, or even get the tiniest hint of where she might be, you're going to tell me. Immediately. Understood?"

"And why would I do that?" Malgron challenged. "You still haven't told me why you want her so badly. What could my daughter possibly mean to you?"

Draevon smiled, slow and dangerous. "That's for me to know and for you to desperately wonder about. But if you refuse to help me, or if you try to find her first and hide her from me, I'll burn Ironblood to the ground. Every houses, every person and every tree. I'll turn your precious kingdom into ash and you'll have nothing."

The room went silent.

Malgron stood there, fists clenched, absolutely furious but also terrified.

"Why?" he asked again, his voice rough. "Just tell me why you want her. What did she do to you?"

Draevon's smile widened, but his eyes stayed cold. "She made the mistake of being unforgettable. That's all you need to know."

He stood up and stretched like they'd just had a pleasant chat about the weather.