The day of punishment had arrived.
He’d known his recent actions would get him in trouble and he hadn’t cared. Still didn’t. Annabelle had become the most important part of his life, and he would endure the worst of the worst for her.
At least most of the damage done to the temple had been cleaned away, the grass and flowers tended, the rivers purified. Blood no longer decorated the walls or steps. Lysander’s army formed a gate around the edge of the perimeter, stopping anyone who approached.
All but him, that is. He sailed through with only a nod of affirmation. He landed on the last step, striding forward without a hitch. To his surprise, Lysander met him at the huge, arching doors and entered alongside him. With his pale hair, dark eyes and wings of the most magnificent gold, Lysander was the standard most angels were measured against. Beauty personified, once cut from the same emotionless cloth as Zacharel.
“You were expected,” his friend said, voice echoing through the foyer. The domed ceiling was not painted to resemble the night sky, but actually revealed it. Stars twinkled from their black velvet perches, so close stardust danced through the air like diamonds.
He tried not to let the announcement rattle him. Gaze on a thick column comprised of shimmery crystals, smoothed and polished to reflect all the colors of the rainbow, he said, “I’m…sorry I left you to defend the temple.”
Lysander slapped his shoulder. “When your woman has need of you, nothing else matters. This I know well.”
He could only hope the Deity felt the same way. They rounded several corners and finally came to another set of doors. The large, arching entrance was guarded, for it led straight into the throne room.
“Any advice?” he asked.
“You are a good leader, with sharp instincts,” Lysander said. “Trust yourself, and you’ll come out of this just fine.”
The two angel guards, bigger and taller than most, threw open the double doors and Zacharel strode past without his friend. The room was emptied out, no guards, no orchestra, no decorations, only a solid gold throne on top of the dais.
Upon that throne sat the Deity, and as usual his appearance amazed Zacharel. He looked as innocent and frail as an aged human, with deeply lined skin, silver hair and shaky hands.
Zacharel bowed his head and dropped to his knees, his wings tucked into his sides. Of all the meetings he’d had here, this was the most important, yet he had no idea how to begin.
“I am surprised you came without a summons.” The unassuming voice was soft and gentle.
And yet you expected me, anyway. “I need your help.”
“And you expect me to give it?”
“I know I’ve done wrong, but I will not apologize.” He would never offer a token apology again. Like Annabelle, he would stand for what he believed in and never back down. “I did what I had to do to protect my woman, and I would do it all over again.”
Eyes of the deepest black swirled, oil glistening in the sun. “Did I hear you correctly? You’ll do anything to protect a human?”
He nodded. “My human.”
Trembling fingers tapped against a weathered chin. “You say that now, but I wonder…. You thought you would come here, state your case, ask for what you desire, and that would be that. Well, once upon a time, I would have allowed such a thing. But no longer. I cannot baby you forever.”
Baby? “I am a warrior,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “I know I am due several whippings first, and I willingly accept them.”
“You are due, yes. You took responsibility of Annabelle, and yet you allowed harm to come to her on more than one occasion. You even caused her harm yourself. Then you sat back as she harmed others.”
“Yes. And I accept whatever you decide to do, but I ask that you help me, too.”
A pause.
Such a thick silence.
Then, “You desire my help with Annabelle even though she is a demon’s consort?”