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Chapter20
–Rose’s POV–
We walked…well I limped, into the kingdom while the citizens stopped and turned to look at Michaelangelo and I as we entered through the gates of the palace.
Almost immediately, servants were on either side of me rushing us into the palace as quickly as I
could hobble along.
“Set her down on the bed.”
I heard Michaelangelo say, everything was a little fuzzy although the pain in my body was starting to subside bit by bit.
My head rested on a plush pillow as someone pried the shoes from my feet and ripped the shirt from my drenched body.
It was neither rain nor sweat, so what could it have been?
As I lifted my hands up to eye level I saw red…literally.
I had blood on my hands, my blood.
Had I been coated in my blood all this time?
I guess I knew why Michaelangelo was so eager to get through the portal.
How long was I bleeding for?
What was I bleeding from?
So many questions raced through my mind at the speed of light, I didn’t realize the cold towel being placed over my forehead or Michaelangelo’s pleas as he was literally held back by five or more doctors and servants until I could no longer see him.
“Welcome…‘
“Don’t be frightened, you’re not dead I promise…no I have a very special plan for you.”
As I turned to face who I thought I was to be facing I felt my palms run slick with sweat.
“Malachi…”
She smiled and extended her hand which I hesitantly took, and with that…she showed me a new world.
Chapter20
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The story behind Malachi began thousands of years ago, she was betrothed to the most horrible and
cruelest of men.
His name?
Marak Tokono.
The most powerful of tribe leaders, he had many women in his life but none like Malachi.
Some say that she was the fire and he was the ice, the perfect combination to the perfect weapon.
Once they were married, Malachi’s sister, Nuromi, jealous of her sister, tried to soil their relationship by seducing Marak but he wasn’t having it and so he had her executed.
Malachi, naturally was furious and heartbroken, furious that she didn’t have the chance to slay her own sister for the crimes she had committed and heartbroken because of her sister’s intentions.
As their relationship progressed, Marak no longer needed to share his bed with other women and instead vowed his loyalty to his wife.
Along came their first born child, although technically Marak had many children but all were mothered by countless women.
Malachi’s son, Nonotoka was the first prince of the Firomi tribe.
Marak, fearing that his true son would be overthrown by one of his bastard children, had his men go to every house of every woman he had slept with and kill his offspring.
In the end, a total of fourteen children were slain.
As Nonotoka grew he followed his father’s footsteps, strong, powerful yet graceful and somber.
In the winter of Nonotoka’s fifteenth year a war came upon the tribe of Firomi.
Marak and Nonotoka set out with five hundred men and boys aged fourteen and older.
Malachi stayed with the tribe and her four other children that Marak had given her, all boys.
He did not promise that he would return, for he knew not if he would.
The night that the men set out, Malachi was in the tent with her children when a woman appeared, one of Marak’s women.
Her son was alive, she had hidden him and given the guard her husband’s bastard child.
Upon her husband’s return she had told him that he was taken by wolves, she felt that Marak’s son
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was more important than a bastard of a whore.
Belifta had the boy trained to hate his blood father and his queen, she made him believe that Nonotoka was not Marak’s true son and that Malachi was the one who ordered his death, not the
king.
When the boy neared the tent, spear in hand, ready to kill, Malachi charged him and broke the spear over the boy’s head, knocking him unconscious, Belifta fearing for her own safety, fled.
Malachi dragged him into the tent, tied him up and waited.
After the boy’s confession of his mother’s orders Malachi decided to have the tribe burn the boy for his attempted crimes, if his true mother cared about her son, the bastard of Marak, she would stop them…but she did not.
She watched as the flames engulfed her son, she heard the screams spill from his mouth and saw as everyone kicked the ashes of her son away as if they hadn’t just burned someone alive.
Belifta killed herself the following day of her son’s death, to her having to face Marak’s wrath was far worse than taking her own life.
Upon Marak’s return Nonotoka had been injured and beaten almost to the point of death but since his return his eyes were older, his face scarred and body stronger.
Nonotoka was no longer a boy, he was a ma
