“My lord,” the messenger said, bowing low. “I bring word from the Sovereign.”
Malekith sat up, suddenly alert. “Speak.”
“The Sovereign has ordered an immediate retreat. All forces are to fall back to Drindal.” The messenger swallowed hard. “And . . . the Sovereign will be awaiting you there.”
Malekith’s face was a mask of stone, betraying nothing of the turmoil Aric knew must be churning beneath the surface. “Very well. You may go.”
The messenger bowed again and hurried out, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
Aric turned to Malekith, his heart pounding. Their eyes met, and in that moment, a look of shared dread passed between them. All their careful planning, all the risks they had taken—it had come to this.
The Sovereign was calling them to account, and there was no telling what price they might have to pay.
Nine
Aric and Malekith led the army’s retreat back to Drindal in grim silence.
The soldiers marched with heads bowed, nursing their wounds and their wounded pride. They’d put every bit of their blackest hearts and their hardest work into the campaign, and in the end, it had all been for nothing. The demons had lost more than they’d gained, Malekith’s bargains and Aric’s scheming merely blunting the human’s victory rather than truly achieving one of their own.
Drindal’s hot springs still wafted in the air around them, a bitter memory of the rest and restoration they’d been so close to claiming. Aric itched to peer over his shoulder, to see if the soldiers felt the same emptiness in their core that he did. But he didn’t dare. His place was here, at Malekith’s side.
The demon prince rode with a stony expression, but the weight of his worry settled on Aric’s skin like a shroud. Aric wished he knew the right words to say, the spells to weave, to banish the doubts that clouded Malekith’s eyes. But he was only human, and his own heart was heavy with the knowledge of the danger they were riding towards. Aric could almost taste it, a bitter tang on the back of his tongue. Sovereign Zaxos’s fury was a force of nature, and they were but insects, helpless before it.
As dusk began to settle around them and it became evident that even the demons in retreat would have to stop for the night, Malekith finally reached out. His gloved hand brushed against Aric’s, the contact as fleeting as a moth’s wing. But in that touch, Aric felt the silent words passing between them.
I will protect you, Malekith was saying, even though it was the last thing he could promise. Even though Aric’s own actions might have put them both in jeopardy. It didn’t matter. Malekith’s vow lingered in the air, a bright ember of hope against the encroaching darkness.
Aric squeezed Malekith’s hand before letting go. He couldn’t promise the same, not when he didn’t know what lay ahead. But he would stand with Malekith, no matter what storms were brewing on the horizon.
“It is the best we could hope for,” Malekith said quietly.
But his words did not dispel the gnawing emptiness in Aric’s belly, but he returned the smile nonetheless. His heart ached, and he knew that it would only get worse; he’d fallen in love with a nightmare of a man, and somehow, that man had shown him love, too. Just a taste, just a glimpse of who he was in those quiet, vulnerable moments, and Aric had wanted nothing more than to see him defenseless like that forever.
But he was the prince of House Ixion, and Aric knew better than to hope for such things. Even if they somehow made it out of this alive—and the closer they came to the borderlands, the more impossible that seemed—Malekith’s first duty would be to his people. He could not shatter everything he’d ever known, betray his entire realm, just for a fleeting taste of something different. The thought of asking it of him, of even making such a selfish wish—Aric would never forgive himself.
And so he drank Malekith in, and tried to memorize every detail. The way the demon held himself, powerful and fluid. The sharp angles of his face, now dappled gold in the late afternoon sun. His eyes, that had so captured Aric’s attention even through the glamor, turning Aric’s blood to fire and storm. How, as Aric watched him, they shifted from their usual cool black depths to something warmer, softer. Like oil catching flame; like a shadow stretching out to caress him. Aric ached for him. Ached to reach for him, to feel the curve of his waist beneath his leathers, the softness of his lips, the promises of his tongue. Ached to love him, somehow, even as he knew it was foolish to want what he could never have.
But even if it could only be this once, at least Malekith knew how he felt. At least Aric could revel in these waning moments of their fleeting bond, drawing them out as long as he dared—barely acknowledging the hushed, fearful whispers that spread through the demon ranks. He and Malekith were isolated for now, but there was no telling what condemnation and rebuke awaited them at the Wrathforge, so he tried to keep himself in the now, in this stolen time.
It was all that he had left.
It wasn’t until the sun had fully set, and the demon scouts had returned, that he found another opportunity to speak with Malekith. The demon’s eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, his movements stiff and strained as he dismounted from his horse. Aric had a sudden, vivid memory of the last time he’d seen Malekith in his arms, the demon’s body pressed close to his own, and had to bite back a whimper.
“Aric.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down Aric’s spine. “There are things you must know, before we reach Drindal.”
Aric nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He had a thousand questions, a thousand doubts and fears, but he held his tongue, waiting for Malekith to speak.
“It is not just Vizra who will be a danger to us in the days to come. The Sovereign—Zaxos—he is a shrewd and cunning adversary. He will be watching us, testing us, looking for any weakness he can exploit.”
“How do you know this?” Aric asked, his voice a mere whisper.
Malekith’s grip tightened, his nails digging into Aric’s palm. “Because I know how he thinks. I know the games he plays. And I will not let him win.”
“What can we do?” Aric asked. “We are vastly outnumbered. If he wants to take us down—”
“Then we will make it costly for him. But our best defense is to present a united front. Whatever happens, do not let them separate us. Zaxos will use any weakness against me, and you—”
He stopped, the unspoken truth hanging in the air between them. Aric winced, but nodded. He knew what he was to Malekith, and it was a bitter pill to swallow, to know that he was now Malekith’s greatest vulnerability. But he would do whatever it took to keep them both alive. Even if it meant surrendering himself to the demons, in the end.
It was not enough, though. Their stolen time was over, and a terrible fate awaited them all. And Aric could only wonder what Zaxos might have in store for them. Execution was always a threat, though whether it would be swift and cruel, Aric did not know. Used as some kind of sacrifice, perhaps, to power a new army or spell.
He squeezed Malekith’s hand, and tried to channel a fraction of the demon’s icy composure. “As you command.”
Malekith’s face softened, and he squeezed back before reluctantly letting go. “Now. Let’s rejoin the main host.”
The demon army was like a black tide as it closed in on Drindal, devouring the countryside. But the further they advanced, the more Aric noticed the signs of recent battle and chaos, the wreckage of the human and demon forces that had clashed here before. Malekith was called forward to confer with the general while the rest of the army began the grim work of reclaiming their makeshift camp from the human forces that had ousted them, and Aric stole a glance towards the town gates. Had Zaxos pushed back the human forces already, or were they still holding out in the town?
Malekith caught his glance, and gave a slight shake of his head before dismounting and approaching the gates. The demon guards that appeared on the other side only served to answer Aric’s question for him.
The town was a fortress once more, the previously bucolic resort town now transformed into a military stronghold. The demon army moved through the streets, taking up defensive positions and fortifying the existing structures. The hot springs, now cold and neglected, steamed gently in the night, shrouding the town in a hazy glow.
Aric couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him as they marched further in, the guards manning the gates giving them a wide berth as they passed. The thick smell of sulfur hung in the air, and the demon courtiers and soldiers they passed stared at the human prisoners with open hostility. Aric did his best to ignore it, keeping his shoulders back and his chin held high, but he couldn’t silence the voice in the back of his mind that whispered of the fate that awaited them.
They headed for the grand building that served as the demon’s temporary headquarters—the town hall, Aric remembered from his childhood visits to Drindal. The doors swung open, and the sounds of the army outside were muffled by the thick stone walls. Torches blazed in sconces along the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced and flickered. A line of demon guards in their silvered armor and glossy leather arrayed themselves along the walls, and Aric suppressed a whimper at the sight of their weapons—a variety of spellswords, each honed to a razor’s edge.
And then Zaxos appeared from within, the demon sovereign’s robes trailing behind him like a river of black flame. His gaze fixed on Aric and Malekith, and it was all Aric could do not to flinch under the weight of that stare.
