The silence of the chamber was nearly deafening. Diavolo stood too rigidly for a child his age- atleast, too rigidly for anybody not of house Daegon. Father was intolerant of bad posture.
He was perfect and thus his heir too must be perfect. He was a diamond and he had every intention of molding his children into diamonds too- those that cracked under the formation process were a waste. A waste of time, energy, resources and dna. If time could not be turned back on their birth, it was only natural to erase the problem before they caused any more waste.
The room was silent with the exception of the clock at the very back of the room, its ticking too loud in the otherwise silent room. Diavolo felt his nanny's hand squeeze his shoulder. Miss Annora was the head nanny in charge of his care, the nearest thing to a mother for the seventh son. The more time passed, the harder Annora's grip on Diavolo's shoulder grew. The little fae was careful not to flinch. Flinching was a weakness. Weakness was not to be tolerated. Not unless you wanted to end up like...
Diavolo rasied his head to look at his older brother in front of him. Zagan was bound in rope that dug into his skin. A strip of it was placed atop his mouth to prevent his cries- not that it was very useful right now, not without Zagon unconscious the way he was. Zagan had failed one too many times- perhaps his nannies had been coddling him too much. After all, from what Diavolo heard, they always kept him in a soft bed and fed him regardless of his scores. They went so far as to celebrate him regardless of how well he did, prioritising his comfort over father's demands.
They even held him close when he cried as though he were a small child despite Zagan being roughly tweleve in human years. Diavolo couldn't even dream of being treated like that when he was twelve months. For somebody to be babied to such an extent despite his age was, quite frankly, pathetic.
Diavolo was not privy to all the details, having only picked up on bits and pieces of this overly sensitive treatment through the gossiping of his own nannies. But from the first time he had heard whispers about Zagan, he could already guess his brother would not last long. Blood trickled down his forehead, staining his hair and clothes. It was a sight father would certainly find most unsightly in its messiness but Diavolo thought it was most fascinating.
He wished to approach and examine him more thoroughly but his instructions were clear- he was not to touch his brother till his father arrived for he wanted to see his son's blade technique with his own eyes. Luckily for Diavolo, Zagan wasn't the only one present. Beside his limp form lay his twin sister, Jezebel, sprawled on the floor. Her blood soaked blonde hair stood as a stark contrast to the dark colours of the room. Both her and her twin brother's. Diavolo could only assume it was a trait they had inherited from their mother, having never truly seen her himself.
Isabeau Daegon was little more than the woman who gave birth to them, having rejected all her children apart from her first born and (according to rumours) gallivanting across the world with her husband's money. Apart from Azazel, none of them were privy to her visage, they could only make assumptions by comparing their features to their father's. Diavolo was quite certain he looked near identical to his mother- from his ashen grey skin to his gold eyes to the raven features he treasured so. The only thing separating him from her was the colour of his hair.
Most of the Daegon children inherited their father's hair colour, matching the plumes of a raven. Their mother's, he deduced, was more akin to the colour of a sandy beach. Only four of the twenty one children inherited her hair: Zagan, Jezebel, Naamah and Eisheth.
The door opened and the noise elicited a similar reaction in Diavolo and Annora, both fae stiffening and rushing to check their posture for any fault for lord Daegon would be certain to point it out. Diavolo bit back a wince as her grip grew strong enough to bruise his shoulder, just barely controlling his far too expressive ear wings from giving him away.
But it was not the nobleman who walked through the doors, merely one of the maids charged with cleaning the estate. Both of them relaxed visibly as she bowed and began informing Annora of- Well Diavolo didn't know what, he took advantage of the distraction to slip away from his nanny's grip towards Jezebel's prone body. When he knelt bsside her, he realised she was conscious, merely held in place by a spell.
Her gaze met his, panic and pleading obvious without words. Diavolo held her gaze but made no moves to touch the open wounds. He was careful to be silent and to not disturb her body too much so as to prevent the blood from staining his hands as he examined areas from which the blood poured out the best he could in the unfavourable manner in which she lay.
The glint of something caught his eye as he (metaphorically, mostly) prodded at her. Diavolo reached into her pockets and drew out a handful of ovals in wrinkled, shining wrappers. Candy. His stomach made a low noise. Jezebel watched him and he merely stared back while popping in one sweet after another as quickly as he could before stuffing their wrappers back into her jacket pocket.
They were often not allowed too much sugar, only a set amount monthly, father said they could only have them if they were good. But merely good behavior wasn't enough, for that usually determined wether or not they were fed at all. In the end, it was usually up to the whims of their nannies and Diavolo hadn't gotten his share of sugar in the past two months.
He relished the mixture of sweetness and bitter coffee melting on his tounge as he gulped down candy after candy. Though he would greatly love to savour it, he wasn't fool enough to do something so reckless.
Diavolo knew this was against the rules. Diavolo also knew that the rules were utter nonsense. After all, they were made up by an arrogant, senile man and enforced by maids scrambling to get their greedy hands on his fortune. He knew if he were to ever voice his disdainful thoughts on his caretakers aloud, he was certain to recieve two months of daily lashings and isolation. They would take his wings too, like they did Azazel's. Ofcourse, that was assuming everybody he badmouthed was in a good mood and he got lucky enough for the best case scenario.
A yelp tore from Diavolo's throat, nearly causing the child to choke on his candies as a foot pressed down on his wing- specifically the left one on his lower back which often lay against the ground when he sat on the floor due to its size and position. Annora dug the sharper ends of her heels further into Diavolo's wings, staring him down. "Spit it out" she demanded. Diavolo almost obeyed reflexively but stopped himself. If he spit it out, she had proof to show that he broke the rules and ate. Despite the candy being barely chewed, he forced himself to choke it down. No sooner than it had gone down his throat did Diavolo feel her hands grabbing his horns.
They were still developing meaning they were both small and more tender, far too easy to break in this stage and even easier to use to cause pain. Though he was used to pain, he had still not properly mastered the ability to swallow his scream when it took him by surprise. Diavolo twisted himself in her grip.
He didn't care if he risked breaking one of his horns, Annora was going to regardless. His teeth closed around her arm as he bit at it with all his strength, tasting the metalic tang of blood against his tounge. He felt a scream before the hand clutching his horns released him. He didn't get much of a reprieve before a sharp, stinging sensation landed on his cheek and threw him backwards onto Jezebel.
Diavolo moved one hand to his cheek, gingerly touching the reddened skin. Staring up at a visibly angered Annora, he braced himself for more when the tapping of a cane caught their attention. The lord of the house was here. Spat forgotten, the both of them scrambled to pick themselves back up like nothing had ever happened. Annora covered the wound made by Diavolo's fangs with her sleeve. They managed to return to their original positions just as the door opened and Bréanainn Daegon entered. His right hand's cane stopped in the doorway as she stood stiffly at the ready for his commands.
Bréanainn stood there for a few moments, analysing their postures and body language, the room growing tenser as he did before finally "Go on" he made a dismissive gesture towards his twins. The right hand moved forward, presenting Diavolo with a set of intricate throwing knives. The seventh son reached for them, his movements confident and unhesitant before turning to the bound twins.
At some point- either during the conflict with Annora or the arrival of Bréanainn, Zagan had awoken. When Diavolo met his pleading gaze, the first thing that struck him was how similar Zagan's eyes were to Jezebel's. Large and soft, searching desperately, clinging to the tiniest sliver of a false hope. Unlike Jezebel, Zagan realised when he did not find what he was looking for in Diavolo's gaze. The seventh son's eyes were cold and apathetic, the message clear without words "Better you than I" Diavolo's knife first struck Jezebel, lodging itself in her throat as a mercy to quicken her inevitable end.
He reached for the second knife but Zagan's defeated gaze was no longer on him, instead it was trained on his twin sister. Not that the direction in which he looked changed anything when Diavolo's second knife lodged itself in his skull.
