Chapter 18 The king's bed is quite soft. Death sits on its edge, of course, not tucked beneath the covers beside a dozing Kitt. Though, she does wish to remember what that feels like-a strong arm tugging her close, warm breath tickling her neck. But perhaps all Azers feel the same. Perhaps she has already loved and loathed this king a lifetime before. Perhaps there is no need to do so again. (Or perhaps this time could be different.) Mara watches a crease form between the king's brows, moonlight pooling in that splinter of tension marring his skin. She is frequently fascinated by sleep, for it is the art of balancing Life and Death (you see, they don't often enjoy each other's company). Such blissful stillness allows one to hide within a state of pure existence. And Mara envies such limbo, such nothingness at all. Kitt wakes with a jolt, shoving covers from his sticky skin. Those green eyes (the ones that recklessly wandered in a past life) find Death's in the darkness, and he startles again at the sight of her. It is understandable, really, such a reaction to her perched on one's bed. Mara does not have a good reputation for leaving souls alive once she has visited them in the night. "M-Mara?" The king sounds surprised, but not afraid. Never afraid of her. (And Death likes that very much.) "You were having a nightmare," Mara informs, as though he is unaware. "Your distress summoned me." (This is partially true. Death had already made herself comfortable at his bedside before his unease called to her, but that is neither here nor there.) Kitt nods groggily. "I'm sorry." "Sorry?" Mara tilts her head, a habit that refused to die when she did. "What for?" "It must be..." The king scours his muddled mind before shrugging sluggishly. "It must be annoying. You know, constantly being summoned but not seen." He blinks blearily at her through the shadows. "You're forced to feel everything, but never for yourself." The words are uttered with such sincerity, such innocence in the face of iniquity, that Death fears her cold heart might beg to beat once again. For it wishes to recall the simplicity of assuming goodness in everyone, everything. But this is a luxury for the living alone. Naivety-a blessing and a curse-is precisely what had Mara stumbling into Death so long ago. Now Kitt has done the same. So human, this man before Mara. He sits within the coiled sheets, awaiting a docile answer from an unassumingly savage creature. Death watches him (always, but especially now) look at her like a misunderstanding, like more than a monster of the Mors. And she quite likes to be thought of as such-a girl deserving of a boy's attention, because he wishes to give it to her, not because he fears what will happen otherwise. "I would not wish this afterlife on my worst enemy," Mara finally offers the king. For his kindness, his bizarre understanding of her, has something swelling in Death's chest. She promptly ignores it, of course. For his sake. Kitt nods. His gaze is heavy on the face of Death. (Regrettably, she likes that as well.) They sit among the shadows, content to bask within their shared stillness. Mara, you see, is now old enough to appreciate peaceful solidarity. There was once a time-when she was young and, well, quite alive-when such silence was cynical. But now she relishes the comfort of simply existing alongside another. "What were you dreaming about?" Death finally asks after retreating from her thoughts. The king's heavy sigh is followed by a sharp cough. "My deepest fear becoming reality." "And what is that?" There is no hiding from Death. The king knows this, and that is why he answers. "Becoming a monster." Mara considers this. "You fear your plans for Ilya and the kingdoms will make others believe you to be a monster?" There is a beat of silence before a choked "yes" forms on Kitt's lips. "You worry what Kai will think of you," Death observes plainly, as she always does. "So why go through with it all?" The king hangs his head, hair still ruffled with the remnants of sleep. "I want to be greater than my father, yes. But more than that, I... I don't want anyone to feel the way I did, the way I have, my whole life." His eyes lift then, wild with sudden determination, to meet Mara's gaze. "If I do this-make us all Elites, even the playing field-then there will be nothing else to live up to. No son or daughter will ever be disregarded, used. Because as long as there are Ordinaries and Elites"-Kitt breathes-"there will always be divide, always some hard, terrible decision to make. But I won't let anyone else be raised to simply carry out some legacy." He laughs, the sound quivering with emotion. "No, I'll do that for them. I'm finishing this for good." Death studies this resolute royal. "You really have thought this through." "I know people think I'm mad," Kitt admits. "And if they don't already, then they certainly will." He swallows thickly. "But before I was a king, I was a boy who begged to be loved by one. All because my father was too focused on the power Ordinaries lacked. And look at how I turned out-broken." Another trembling laugh. "We don't need any more Kitts in this kingdom. No, I will be the beginning of something better. Something whole." That comfortable silence returns. The moon leans in through the window, peering down at Death and her willing victim. They wait for whatever words follow, expectant but not entirely hurried. Rather, it is quite nice to linger, together, between this moment and the next. "You will not reap the benefits of this new world," Mara eventually reminds him, ever the pessimist. "But Kai will." The king drags an ink-stained hand over his drawn face. "For once, I will do the dirty work for him. In the end, this future will be far kinder than his past." "That's admirable." This does not mean much coming from Death, but she says it nonetheless. Kitt looks startlingly hopeful at her words. "You don't think I'm a monster?" "I don't think you know what a monster is yet." "Maybe not." He then inches closer to Death (in more ways than one), his eyes flicking over her. "Because you certainly don't look like one." "What is it I look like?" "A trap." Kitt smiles-genuine and boyish. The way only an Azer knows how. "But I don't think that is what you are. Not really." Death's voice is steady despite her anticipation. "Go on." "I think you are a beautiful being forced to do ugly things." The king looks suddenly serious. "You're not malicious-no. You're obedient." Mara, if she had any blood pumping through her veins, might have blushed. But her voice, predictably, remains dull. "So, what do you think? Am I a monster?" "I'm not afraid of you." "That is not what I asked." Green eyes behold Death, more gently than she deserves. "You don't look like him. So no, I do not think you are a monster." But Kitt does not stop there. If he had, perhaps things would have been different. But if you give Death hope, she will surely kill you with it. "In fact," he says slowly, "I would have believed you were a deity, if only you said so. I wouldn't have questioned worshiping something so divine." In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...