A/N: So... Here we go a little back in time... I just had to show the Demon War, didn't I? At least a little. Also, a bit on the boys before Diana found them (remember, this second scene in a year from the first chapter's events).
My Kingdom
3 – Haunt Me
The Queen, as her subjects had taken to call her, faced her last battle.
Her whole body tingled, excitement making her purple markings tingle, as her bloodlust threatened to tingle her sight with a red hue. She breathed, as Sergeant, one of her generals, had taught her, and she felt her control return strongly, her bloodlust a firm weapon in her arms, instead of a merely distracting emotion.
It had taken six days, to reach that perfect moment. Her whole body vibrated with the adrenaline that always seemed to fill her just before combat. There, at the top of a cliff, calling her army to arms... about to start the last battle against the Demon Lord, who she had so delectably cornered in his very own castle against the Decaying Sea.
The Queen had never felt more alive.
And so it began.
{0 0 0 0}
Dawn was already upon them, and the celebrations had finally given pass to contented rest, as her army's tiredness finally settled in.
With regards to the Queen herself, she lied in a bathtub, happy to be free at least from the bloody remains of the Demon Lord that had clanged to her skin, hit after hit after hit.
She knew she had lost herself in the frenzy, for Saero had had to literally tear her away from what remained of the corpse, telling her again and again about their victory, and how the Demon Lord was dead already and she could harm him no further.
She still didn't know why she had acted like that. But then, maybe seeing the corpses of Ezaeur's family had had a bigger impact on her than expected. As much as her feelings towards the succubus were a convoluted mess she still hadn't made any effort to start unravelling, she knew that Ezaeur was the closest thing to a mother she could ever claim to have. And, didn't that make those corpses her family, too?
Ezaeur had been the start of her own life as a succubus, and even if the Queen didn't know how or why (the details were blurry, and blurred further every passing day), she knew that that was a fact.
She was crowned the very next night, with the full moon at its peak, the Abyssal Plains united under her banner.
Thus, her reign, which would be noted as the most peaceful and prosper since Lilith, began.
{0 0 0 0}
Sam could honestly say that she still haunted him.
He was, of course, far from being the only one. And yet, all of them had found their own ways to keep themselves from dwelling on the past.
James had started his very own company, and Matthew chose freely to join him in said endeavour. Sam knew that his eldest brother liked to drown himself in papers, in his work, and that Matthew was happy to follow his lead in doing so, because it kept them rooted in place. It kept them from ever trying to go back to her, and it seemed that it made it easier for them to act as if they didn't miss her too.
Erik, as well, pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion, and the brothers acted as if they didn't know about the closet full of female clothes no one would ever wear, always present no matter in how many houses they lived in. He could have sold them, for they were indeed his absolute best works, but his brothers knew that Erik had sewn them for her, and thus wouldn't stand anyone else ever wearing them.
It bordered the most absolute ridiculousness, how quickly she had left her mark on them, and yet...
Maybe it was an overgrown sense of gratefulness, for she had indeed saved them, fed them, housed them, when they needed it the most. And yet, as much as he wished he could just tell himself that that was it, Sam knew it was more there was far more to it.
He, after all, still struggled to keep himself from going back to her, steal one last kiss, hold her again and never ever let go.
As much as he had tried to forget her, in a misguided attempt to stop the pain in his chest every time something reminded him of her, he quickly realized that trying to banish her memory was worse than being reminded of her.
One quiet afternoon, when they both had been temporally free from their respective jobs, Sam had finally asked Erik why he kept on drawing her, sewing her clothes she would never have any chance to wear, why did he keep getting lost in daydreams the few times he allowed himself to play the piano, her nickname on his lips and a fading smile when he realized she wasn't there.
Erik, who had in fact been drawing again, Katheryn, in a marvellous white dress he would never actually sew no matter how many times he drawn it, stopped as suddenly as if Sam had actually teared the sketchbook from his hands.
And Sam almost felt guilty, but he had to know.
Erik, of course, stayed quiet for a long time, long enough for his brother to wonder if he would ever actually answer, his gaze lost before the first word made its way through his lips, as if forced to do so.
"I need to apologize to her, somehow. You know it too, don't you? Feeling as if you'll never be full again, no matter how much you feed. Not without her. And feeding, from others, now feels like... a betrayal, in a sense? I know you feel it too, Sam. You and I, the only ones to taste her lips, we know. The others may eventually forget her, but she may as well have branded us. And I know we said we would leave her life, let her return to normalcy... But if she ever says my name, I know I'll go. I know you would, too, and really, in the end, can we even doubt for a second that Damien wouldn't do the same? Or Matthew, or James, as much as they like to pretend they're over her? She touched us. And maybe it's because she saved our lives, maybe it was because we all found each other at our most vulnerable moment, maybe it's because we all lost the very same important person in our lives, who knows... But she left a piece of herself with each one of us, and this... this is the only way I can acknowledge it. Until she calls my name. If she ever does."
His brother then proceeded to lock himself in his room, but Sam understood.
It seemed that Harold Anderson's granddaughter had left a mark in them only compared to her grandfather's. And wasn't that extremely ironic?