The fury was spent, and all that was left was the soul-deep bitterness.
Shattered ceramics littered the floor and crunched beneath his bare feet, pictures hunt askew on the walls, the curtains flapped, tattered, in the wind through the smashed window. The bar at the end of the canopied bed had the imprint of his clenched hands around it. Down floated to the thick black carpet like snow, soundlessly, the deflated carcass of the pillow torn open and cast aside.
Daemon was crumpled in a heap on the floor, shuddering and gasping, trying to hold back the screams that would rip him apart. He ground the heel of one hand ruthlessly into his eye, trying to erase the image imprinted there.
The unicorn's horn – the scepter – broken, twisted, shattered –
He flinched from it, feeling the sharp edges of the memory twist in his belly, the ashes of disillusionment flat in his mouth. A soft noise slipped from between clamped lips. If he lingered too long on that memory, he knew his mind would shatter into as many pieces as the vases he'd broken, and this time no one would be able to bring him back. Because Jaenelle was gone.
"The Queen of the Darkness is gone…"
He couldn't recognize his own raw voice as it ripped out of his throat in a scream of horror and despair.
"The Dark Court no longer exists."
The wind grew stronger, howled through the window and whipped around him, raising goosebumps on his neck as the howls faded into agonized sobs. He locked his hands on the rail of the bed and dragged himself to his feet, stumbling over to the door that he hadn't dared to open, clawing at the doorknob until it creaked inward.
The wash of psychic scent made his knees wobble. Clutching at the ebony chest-of-drawers to stay upright, he closed the door to his room quietly behind him and took a deep breath of the cool, clean air in this room, free of the smell of pain and despair that permeated the destroyed room behind the door.
He closed his golden eyes in mingled pain and bliss. This room still smelled like her.
He opened his inner barriers and let the dark psychic scent wash over and through him, soothing him and also sweeping away the nonfeeling cold of the sedative that had been in his food for days. He hadn't tried to avoid them, welcoming the peaceful numbness it gave him. But has he stood and breathed the sweet smell of her, as he dark psychic scent washed over and around him like a breaking wave, that lack of feeling was swept away.
He wobbled, but forced himself to remain upright. She's not here. It truly hit home again here in the fading of her scent. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. "Steady, old son," he murmured, locking his knees and walking over to the small blackwood desk, trying not to look at the too perfectly made bed as he sat down at the desk. He stared blankly at the elegant stationary, imagining Jaenelle sitting here, writing…
His gaze wandered and snagged on the folded slip of paper, his name inscribed on it in calligraphic script. His hand shook as he reached for it, picked it up, broke the seal of wax that held it closed.
Daemon, he read, dearest Daemon – a chunk of crossed out scribbling. I'm sorry. I know I told you – more scribbles. It was the only way. I had to save the land. Please understand… A blot of black ink marred the page and a line of blurred, tear-stained parchment. He could see her writing, late at night – as he tormented his brother and witnessed the bleak despair in his father's eyes – his hand twitched involuntarily. Further down the paper in a reckless, hurried scrawl. Goodbye. I love you.
He felt his shoulders spasm. The paper crumpled too easily in his hand. "Damn you, Jaenelle," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Damn you –" He choked on the words, swallowed hard, threw the paper across the room and into the ashes of the fireplace that hadn't burned for weeks. "You promised to marry me – I sacrificed everything for you and you just leave me?"
But he could not summon the anger back. All that was left was the soul-searing bitterness.
And the loneliness.
He stumbled to the bed and fell onto it, burying his face in the pillows, breathing in the smell of her hair, imagining that she was only away, that any moment she would be back…
He curled up into himself and cried.
I love you.
"Damn you, Jaenelle," he sobbed, "Come back. Come back to me."