Chapter 2: Anxiety And Frustration

The tall, impeccably dressed figure of my aide stood waiting for me in my quarters. Pagomaris came to my side the moment

I appeared, a constant in my life I wished at times would just go away and leave me alone. She was a reminder of my

position, of how important it was I present a specific face and polish to the residents of Demonicon. Seeing her

tightened the tension fist further.

A huge breath sat trapped in my chest as everything solidified, going rigid in anticipation. She smiled, her natural

state, though her hands wrung before me as my demon form reverted from human to my taller, more muscular self.

"Ruler," she bowed to me, gesturing for her helpers to come forward. "We don't have much time."

There would be no use in grumbling. I'd learned long ago while she came across as kind and supportive, my aide-who had

been Ahbi's aide before me-had an iron will equaling my grandmother's. I followed her with resignation to my dressing

room, shoulders back, though the dance of upset in the pit of my stomach continued its waltz. I knew by the time I was

dressed that dance would turn to a rapid tap and boogie, and hoped today, at least, I could avoid throwing up just before

going to court.

Pagomaris was the only one who knew about my moments of weakness. And Ahbi, of course. My aide was trustworthy, at least,

and kept my secret. Vomiting out my anxiety and frustration before each court appearance had become the norm, not the

exception.

It hadn't started this way. In fact, when I'd been heir, things were far different than they were now. I held out my

arms, allowed Pagomaris and her helpers to undress me as my mind remembered happier times. Being heir had been fabulous.

After Ahbi's death and Dad's ascension to First Seat, I'd been left to observe my father and his Second Seat, my

grandfather, Henemordonin, as they went about ruling Demonicon. I had the luxury then to disagree with Dad's choices, to

scoff at his idea of "deomonocracy" and the reduction of power of the aristocracy. I thought I had lots of time to

adjust, then. I believed Dad would be Ruler for centuries, at least. But only four years and I was thrust onto the throne

when Dad abandoned us for his own needs.

I exhaled as Pagomaris firmly jerked on the lacings of my black bodice and forced myself out of the self-pity that seemed

to be my regular state of mind. I was happy then, when Dad decided to hand over the throne. I wanted to be Ruler, stood

up to Henemordonin-no Grandfather title for him, either-and thought I could handle it. That I, at fourteen, could be

Ruler of Demonicon and undo the damage my well-meaning but desperately wrong father had done.

Your father, Ahbi hissed and not for the first time, is an idiot.

Ahbi wasn't far off my own feelings about Dad. A further four years of impossible all my own proved me wrong. Syd's

assertions I could handle it were so off base. Hayle or not, raised for rule or not, I should have paid closer attention

to Dad's laws, to Henemordonin's eagerness to accept my father's release of control, to the court's equal willingness to

seize as much power from the First Seat as they could. By the time I realized my mistake, it was far too late.

If you'd just listen to me, my grandmother snarled, we wouldn't be in this position.

Because challenging every single demon in court would make everything better. I held my temper with carefully balanced

practice.

That's how things are done, she sent.

No, Ahbi, I sent, sighing. They aren't. Not anymore.

I was growing very tired of her constant whining for the old days.

Pagomaris turned me around, clasping her hands under her chin, the shining black horns curving into her bright red tinted

hair gleaming as she smiled at me.

"Stunning, Ruler," she said, bowing again.

I glanced in the mirror at my own horns, just beginning to coil with age, my glowing amber eyes, how my thick, black

fingernails cut into the heavy skirt she'd draped around my hips. Gold and gemstones hung from everywhere, their weight

pulling at me as surely as the pressure of my position, though I often took comfort from the snugness of the corsets I

favored. At least they kept my backbone straight, my shoulders up. It was easier to face my doom with that bit of

support.

It may have been the visit home, Syd's pep talk, or perhaps I simply was growing used to the tight ball of burning

tension inside me at last, but I didn't throw up today. As I strode with confidence I didn't feel to the elevator that

would take me to the throne room, my chin rose, my face falling into a blank mask of nothing and I thanked the elements

for one day of reprieve. The birthday cake would have tasted worse coming up, I was certain.

You're a Hayle, Syd's voice whispered in my head.

You are Ruler, Ahbi chanted over my sister's memory as the platform ascended, Pagomaris behind me, two guards flanking my

lead. Her pep talks always felt like orders. Take control. You are Ruler.

Made for power, Syd said. I believe in you.

Tears tingled as my sister's words drowned out my grandmother's voice. Syd believed in me, even when I didn't believe in

myself. If only she knew the truth.

I braced myself for another round of humiliation and frustration as the platform came to a halt and deposited me at the

top of the Seat. The porter bowed to me before turning to the gathered court, his power flaring.

"Her Royal Majesty," his words echoed back from the polished black stone and the invisible barrier leaving the sky open

to the massive room, "Ruler of all Demonicon, Senne Hathenemeira."

I began my approach as the last word left his mouth, eyes forward, ignoring the stares of the gathered family, the

whispers. I, instead, kept my gaze locked on my grandfather where he already sat in his throne, Second Seat just below

mine.

What is he doing? Ahbi hissed in my head.

The need to vomit returned and, for a terrifying moment, I felt certain the birthday cake was coming up regardless of

what I wanted.

Now, more than ever, you need to take control. Ahbi's harsh words slapped against my mind, suppressing my need to throw

up just in time. Burning bile choked me, though my feet continued their long, steady stride, my hands unclenched at my

side, expression unchanged. There were times I resented Ahbi completely, wished she would leave me. And then, there were

times like this one I knew I would never survive this role without her.

What should I do? I wanted to hit him hard with all the power I could muster, the full pressure of Demonicon's magic

square in his frowning face. How surprised he would be to suddenly find himself on the ground, pinned down by the energy

at my disposal. How satisfying such an act, crushing him into dust beneath my feet. An image surged in my head, of doing

just that. Of stripping him of his power, turning then on the gathered family and seizing control of my throne once more.

Do it, Ahbi sent. Do it!

It would be delicious and so satisfying. But fear quavered inside me, held me back as the consequences unfolded past the

original idea.

What if I fail? I refused to meet my grandfather's eyes, to acknowledge him in any way as I approached, as though his

lack of respect by remaining in his throne instead of rising to greet me meant nothing. I swept past him, spun and sat on

First Seat and smoothly crossed my legs, hands settling on the familiar, cold stone of the throne while Ahbi raged at me.

At least you would have tried, she sent. And turned her back on me.

There has to be another way, I sent to her. And we'll find it.

We've spent four years being weak and losing control at every turn, she sent. Until you grow up and accept the fact

nothing will change unless you act, we've lost. Just let him take First Seat and go back to playing at being someone

important.

Grandfather's power pressed down on me, his displeasure and judgment heavier than my own anxiety. I instantly blocked

him, though the constant need to protect myself from him wore at me, the insistent chipping away at my resolve and nerve

driving bile to the back of my throat once again.

What are you afraid of? Ahbi's scorn just made things worse.

Because I was afraid. Dad left things in such a mess and I was so-

"Now that Ruler has deigned to join us," Henemordonin said, voice heavy with disapproval, "court can commence."

My entire being clenched and hate engulfed me in arms of fury. I would never have considered myself a dark person, or one

who acted on such emotional impulse. But the last four years had taken a toll on me and, as often happened when he pushed

me too hard these days, the cracks let anger through despite my need to keep my head.

The power of Demonicon crackled out, slamming into him and washing over the court. Their collective gasp and stares tied

to Henemordonin's eye-twitch didn't deliver the satisfaction I wished I'd felt from such a retaliation.

Instead, I just felt like a bully.

Now who's the idiot? Ahbi's mind shattered into rage. Not that way, you young fool.

And that was the core of it, the reason I was afraid. No matter what I did, I only made things worse.

Shock turned to muttering as my grandfather's mind tried to crush mine.

WE WILL SPEAK OF YOUR IMPERTINECE LATER. IN PRIVATE. He turned away from me then and waved to the gathered family as

though he were Ruler.

And, choking on my mixed desire to kill him then and there hamstrung by my crippling fear of making things worse, I let

him.

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