Page 39 of Shadow King
The flat is dark except for the glow of the TV. I can hear voices, dramatic music, the particular cadence of a soap opera. I flip on the lights and Dis is sitting in his circle, cross-legged, leaning forward with the kind of intense focus that suggests he’s watching something genuinely important. His eyes are glued to the screen where someone is having a dramatic confrontation in what looks like a pub.
He doesn’t even glance at me when I come in. “Uh,” I say. “Hi?”
“Shh.” He waves a hand dismissively without looking away from the screen. “This is important.”
“It’s EastEnders.”
“Yes. And Sharon is about to discover that Phil has been lying to her. Again.” He says this with the gravity of someone discussing matters of state.
I blink, stare at the TV, then back at Dis. “You’re watching reruns of EastEnders.”
“I have watched many things today,” Dis says, still not looking away from the screen. “This morning I witnessed more of the competition involving cakes. Then a program about people buying houses and arguing about kitchens.Then something called This Morning, where humans discuss their problems while sitting on a sofa and drinking tea. And now this.” He gestures at the screen like he’s presenting evidence in court.
“Right.” I set my bag down, trying to process the image of an ancient shadow king spending his day watching daytime television.
“It is fascinating,” Dis continues. “The drama. The betrayal. The complex web of relationships and grudges that span generations. It’s not unlike court politics in the Shadow Realm, but with more prosaic concerns.”
“While some people might call daytime TV torture,” I say, not bothering to hide the snipe in my voice, “it’s not quite what I had in mind for revenge.”
Dis finally looks at me, those blue eyes gleaming with something that might be amusement. “You have failed spectacularly at making me suffer, Little Witch.”
“So I’m gathering.” I cross my arms. “You’ve taken to captivity well.”
He shrugs, elegant shoulders rising and falling. “I am finding a certain peace in not having to watch my back constantly.” The words are said casually, but there’s something raw underneath them, something honest that makes my chest feel tight.
In the Shadow Realm, he was a weapon. A king sitting on a stolen throne, surrounded by enemies and schemes and the constant threat of being overthrown. Then Hex did overthrow him, and who knows what’s been happening to him since?
Here, he’s trapped in a circle in a shitty flat above a coffee shop, unable to leave or do anything except sit and watch TV. And apparently, that’s less stressful than his actual life.I feel a flash of sympathy, sharp and unwelcome, and I’m immediately annoyed at myself for feeling it. Annoyed at him for making me feel it.
“Sit,” Dis commands, gesturing at the sofa like he owns the place. “A new episode of EastEnders will begin shortly. You should prepare yourself.”
I find myself obeying without even thinking about it, sinking onto the cushions and grabbing the throw pillow to hug to my chest. What am I doing? Why am I taking orders from my prisoner? This is absurd. I should be the one giving commands here.
Dis is still watching the screen as the opening credits start, that distinctive drum beat filling the flat. “I saw a Disney film,” he says suddenly.
“Oh.”
“Frozen. It was shown after the house program.” He glances at me, those blue eyes unreadable. “When you named me Disney, I heard the insult. The mockery. There were notes of pink in your intention. Frills. Soft princesses. Singing.”
I try not to smile. “Maybe.”
“However.” He turns back to the TV with regal finality. “Now I have witnessed the craftsmanship of Disney, I forgive you. The songs are exceptional. The storytelling competent. The ice magic particularly well-researched.”
Stunned silence fills the room. I don’t know what to say to that, don’t know how to respond to an ancient shadow king forgiving me for comparing him to a corporation that makes animated musicals, because he’s decided they demonstrate adequate craftsmanship.
“Good to know,” I manage finally.
The show starts. Someone is arguing with someone else about something that seems very important to them but means absolutely nothing to me. I have no context for what’s happening, but Dis seems completely absorbed, his eyes tracking every movement on screen.
“Have you eaten?” he asks suddenly, not looking away from the TV.
The question catches me completely off guard. “What?”
“Have you consumed food today?” He says it like he’s asking about the weather, casual and unconcerned.
“I had a sandwich at lunch. Why?” There’s a warm feeling starting to bloom in my chest, because he’s concerned about me and that’s almost sweet.
“That is insufficient.” He finally tears his gaze from the TV to look at me properly. “You must keep your strength up so you can feed me.”
