The Goblin King by Shona Husk Page A

than Roan remembered the world ever having. He put his boots up on the seat in front of him. The theater in Mumbai was almost empty. The few patrons he shared with stayed clear of the back row of seats without knowing why. To them the dark was best avoided.
    The actors broke into song. Love and duty. Should the girl marry the man her father approved of, or take the chance and run away with her true love? That question was older than Roan and would never be answered in a ninety-minute film. The characters danced around. The women’s brilliant saris bled across the screen. Their gold jewelry was usually an untouchable torture that didn’t bother him today.
    Today, Bollywood didn’t fill the gap left by his departing humanity. It rubbed salt on the wound and then washed it clear with bitter wine. He couldn’t find enjoyment in others’ happiness. In laughter, or song, or light. He wanted to be happy. He’d never just lived. He’d been raised to be king from his first breath. With his father’s untimely death, he had stepped up as expected. He was killing before kids these days could drive. King before they could vote. Cursed before they could drink. His twenty-first celebrated in goblin blood.
    Roan chewed on the heavily buttered popcorn. It didn’t matter, none of it did. His life was ancient history that no one knew or cared about. The world had all but forgotten his tribe. Mercifully, most of them had forgotten about goblins too. The summons and commands died out as the centuries slid past in a blood-edged, golden blur.
    He sunk farther into the seat. He should’ve stayed in Texas and watched the shoot’em-up-cop-chase film. But in life, good never won. Evil was rewarded. Honor vanquished. Movies lied. Joyous chatter erupted as the young woman picked her suitor and made wedding plans. Popcorn stuck to his tongue like tasteless balls of polystyrene. The blackness that clung to him wasn’t just the normal dusting of shadows that eased his transition between realms as he slid through people’s nightmares.
    Eliza was getting married. To Steve. He shouldn’t have given a damn. She should’ve been his. His queen. If he closed his eyes, he could feel her presence like a hint of summer. A warmth he could almost touch. Her light followed him across the world not lessened by distance, as if she called to him with a constant beckon he couldn’t be free of. And one he wanted to answer. It was still night where she lived. He could watch her sleep. Watch her dream. Watch her wake to the face of a monster leaning over her bed.
    Soul be damned.
    Roan crushed the popcorn container. Exploded kernels rained onto the floor. It was easier to crave gold than a woman. Both would ruin him. But gold he could have. Gold would never leave. Gold didn’t care whether he looked goblin or man. Eliza did. He could never be the man she wanted, and she would never be the queen he needed.
    Today was a day for violence and the loss of life and hope. The only problem was what type? Beautiful-impossible-anime? Or brutal-bloody-slasher? He weighed the decision knowing the answer would be both. With his mind made up, Roan stood. First, he’d check out his favorite German art-house theatre, the one where Goths mingled with thugs looking for ideas.
    With only a thought he was leaving Mumbai for Berlin.
    ***
     
    “Welcome back, honey.”
    Steve’s voice cut into her sleep. Eliza kept her eyes closed, knowing he wouldn’t be put off that easily. He was too used to getting results to back down.
    The bed shifted as he sat down. “Wake up, Eliza.”
    His breath on her ear was hot like a dog sniffing out dinner. She blinked a couple of times, turned, and tried to look surprised to see her fiancé visiting. He smiled and kissed her forehead, but his eyes were cold, like rain-slicked steel. She could never find her footing with him. Never be in the right place, never be safe.
    Steve remained, leaning over her. “I’m so glad you decided to come