“Another attack of her illness.” He whispered. That did it. Maelthra jumped up and stormed out to the hallway and noticed her there. He then observed where she clutched and her gasping and sighed, internally cursing himself for what he was about to do.
He approached her calmly, and picked her up and used his magic to teleport to her room and set her down on her bed, as his eyes turned yellow and his hands glow a soft purple. It was the Unseelie version of a healing spell as he targeted her chest and allowed the glow to softly ease out the stressed lungs to relax.
When she would either look at him confused or ask why when he was done, he heaved a very tired sigh. “You’re both right, and wrong about me... as far as what I am. My... Ancestor, four hundred years ago, was Maelthra, first of his name. I’m his descendant. And his spirit is latched onto mine and mixed in like bread dough to yeast, giving me his powers. Because in the end, I wanted the same thing he wanted. To not be something he detested.”
He looked down sadly, “A man, King of Nothing.” His eyes were slightly misty as he spoke. “I never amounted to anything before all that I am now. You have every right to hate me Clara. Maybe I was better off as King of nothing.” He stood up, almost mechanically and child like as if Maelthra, second of his name, was in control of his body for the first time in awhile. He began heading for the door.