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Buckling.
The image of a youngling being taken against their will, and broken in ways no angel should ever experience, flashed behind my eyes. I shuddered in an icy rage at the insult. I took a deep breath. Let my eyes fall shut.
I ignored my royal title. Ignored my unworn crown. I pushed past the judgement, hatred, and wrath hurled at me. I was once a High Prince, but the king saw fit to break me before I could don the crown. So I left the Cloud Castle and became a pirate. Oily rage snaked through my chest. I thought I had squashed all disrespect at my choice with Urnael. Now I would need to make an example out of this fool.
The ayèn barked out a laugh, his masculine pride on full display.
"Don't tell me the little princeling is scared." Growing laughter washed over me, squeezing my temples, beating at my chest. I felt the peals of laughter sink into my bones, grating on my last nerve. "He's far from home without his little guards, throwing tantrums across Mistwind with hope his payè will finally give him attention. Because he's still a buckling?—"
All sound around me grew quiet. I heard nothing as my spirit plane grew dark. An eery melody played in the silence. Then something unhinged in me snapped. I flared out my wings, launched myself forward, and collided with the angel. Hard. His body flew across the tavern, slamming into the end wall of the connected chamber.
Without thinking, I catapulted myself at an angle with my wings still spread wide. Sharpening each feathered point like a blade, I pounced on the crumpled form of the angel and swiped across his torso, cutting through the fabric until I tore into his thick skin. He screamed. His golden blood gushed out of his chest, coating his tunic and breeches, and getting into my clothes and cloak.
The ayèn unwound from his broken position on the floor and shot into the air, almost ramming himself against the ceiling. He raged belligerently. It was a terrifying sight.
I watched him, nonplussed. I blinked, eyeing every exposed pain point on his body where I would unleash unmitigated anguish.
He lunged for me with a wing as he pulled out two crosswords. I ducked, dodged his blows, spun over myself with my wings tucked tight, then flew above him in the chamber. The angels looked on. I noted Engèli, Nyala, and Jabari still watching the angel's lackeys, waiting for them to make a move so they could have a viable reason to drench the carpet with their blood.
I looked back to my opponent, lunged as he tried to dive out of the way, and slammed down the heel of my boot over his head, breaking the skin of his forehead. The crack at his temple barely registered. I barrelled into him again, going for an uppercut. I slapped my wings upside his head, the sound like boulders colliding into mountains. Warm blood trickled onto my knuckles and dripped to my exposed chest in my tunic, but I didn’t stop.
I pounded into his head. Rammed my wings into his body. Cut him with the taloned points of my wings like a dagger. Midnight swam in my vision. I lost sight of the Darkwing Kiss. I only saw the massive ox of an angel and my relentless need to pulverize him.
I lost track of time.
Of sense.
Of self.
Eventually, something tight inside of my chest deflated. I heaved a sigh, breathing deeply. A firm hand gripped my shoulder. Another pulled me back from an unmoving body crumpled in a heap like dynamited rock. A third pair of hands gently gripped my arms, holding me still.
"Breathe, Cap. Breathe."
I blinked, chest heaving, unable to process where I was. What just happened?
Then I found the pool of blood snaking through the Darkwing Kiss. And the mess of a body left contorted in the middle of it.
The tavern was quiet. Music ceased playing. No wings were beating. No one was drinking. All eyes danced between me and the lifeless angel. My eyes fluttered shut. I could hardly face what I'd done.
Images flashed behind my eyes. They were all younger versions of me, locked away in a chamber with King Izakaya, his heavy hand, and his "special tools" needed for discipline. It always happened after I bested my bayè in yet another competition. He didn't take kindly to me embarrassing my brother, and I needed to be taught long, hard lessons as a warning to not do it again.
I shook with a torrent of emotions ripping through my hearts. My mind. I ran away from the monster in the Cloud Castle only to turn around and become him. I breathed heavily, fighting back the sting of restrained tears.
Nyala rubbed my back. She gently brought me from the disheveled chamber into another, sitting me down at a table where others of my crew were waiting. Engèli stayed close behind, eyes scanning the friends of the dead angel, daring them to make a challenge. All seven looked between themselves and their dead friend before rushing out of the tavern, leaving the angel's broken body behind.
"We could use some music in here," Jabari barked.
Instantly, a jovial tune started up. The paid entertainment of the Darkwing Kiss launched back into a song as if nothing had just happened.
An extended amount of time passed before I could regulate my breathing. Before I could suppress my anger. Leash my darkness. A mug of skywine was shoved into my hand. I put back the entire mug in three large gulps. It was refilled before I could think to ask for more.
I drank and drank, growing increasingly numb. A familiar touch, dainty but firm, massaged my shoulders. A soft kiss at the winged tip of my ear sharpened my senses. Something unfettered loosed within me.
"Masaiya," I breathed.
My worries deflated, replaced by something else. Something raw and writhing. She nibbled on my ear, tugging. I turned to her, answering her silent demands. My lips crushed against hers, hungry and devouring. I scooped her up in front of all the staring angels in the tavern.
With Masaiya in my arms, I few across the Darkwing Kiss, rushing up the spiral ramp to our favorite suite. Before I could reach the chambers, she was singing my favorite melody of pleasure, freeing me of bothersome thoughts about kings, crowns, and courtly creeds.
