Vizra’s frown deepened, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line, but she said nothing.

“And there you have it.” Malekith surveyed the chamber, and for a brief, fleeting moment, his eyes locked with Aric’s. “With your approval, Sovereign, we shall bring this war to a swift and decisive end.”

Zaxos regarded him for a long moment, and Aric held his breath. The ancient demon lord was a mystery, a force of nature beyond Aric’s comprehension. If he was swayed by Malekith’s words, he gave no sign, and Aric was left to wonder what lay behind that molten gaze.

“You have my blessing.” Zaxos said at last. “May your victory be swift, and the blood of your enemies flow in rivers.”

And with that, the fate of two worlds was set in motion.

It was only after the council had dispersed, with a tentative approval of Malekith’s plans and Zaxos permitting Aric to be unshackled, that the true undercurrents began to make themselves known.

As the demon lords filed out of the chamber, there were hushed conversations, furtive glances, the occasional flash of bared teeth. Vizra in particular seemed to be at the center of it, her honeyed voice laced with poison as she spoke with one lord after another. Aric couldn’t make out their words, but he didn’t need to. The meaning was clear, the threat hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Aric’s heart pounded in his ears, and he forced himself to take a slow, steadying breath. This was not his world, not his place. He was a pawn, nothing more, and whatever happened here was out of his hands.

But it did nothing to stop the feeling of unease that coiled deep in his soul.

Aric let out a long, slow breath as the last of the demon lords departed, leaving only Malekith and Aric himself in the council chamber. His muscles ached with the tension that had held him rigid throughout the meeting, and he longed to run his hands through his hair, to let out the breath he’d been holding. But he dared not move, not yet. Not while the demon prince’s gaze was fixed on him, those dark eyes giving nothing away.

A shiver ran down Aric’s spine. He should be relieved, he knew. The council had approved Malekith’s plan, and the threat of Zaxos’s wrath had been temporarily averted. But now he was alone with the demon prince, and that could only mean one thing.

Malekith’s long, slow smile sent a chill through Aric, and he fought to keep the panic at bay. He was overthinking it, he told himself. Malekith had gotten what he wanted. There was no need for further games, further manipulation. But Aric knew better than to let his guard down, even for a moment.

“Come, little mage,” Malekith said, his voice a velvet caress with steel at its core. “Our work here is done.”

A soft tug to the golden cord at Aric’s throat. Aric forced his legs to move, and with each step he took towards Malekith, a thousand wary eyes seemed to follow. He was a traitor now, in the eyes of his own people, and a pawn in Malekith’s game. He was alone, with no one left to trust, and the weight of it threatened to crush him.

Aric followed in Malekith’s wake as he swept out of the council chamber, the guards falling into step behind them. Malekith’s gait was long and sinuous, his movements a dark, sensual dance, and Aric couldn’t tear his eyes away, even as a shiver ran down his spine. There was a raw power to Malekith, an unstoppable magic that drew Aric in despite his better instincts. He moved through the world like he owned it, and in a way, he did.

They wound their way through the labyrinthine corridors of the Wrathforge, the air heavy with the acrid scent of brimstone and the distant clang of forges hard at work. Aric’s senses were hyper-focused, every sound, every scent, every flicker of movement registering with painful clarity. But it was Malekith who held his attention, the heat of his body, the rich, smoky scent of his skin, the low rumble of his voice echoing in Aric’s bones.

“Aric.” His name was a caress, a dark promise on Malekith’s lips, and Aric felt himself being drawn in, helpless to resist. “You did well in there.”

Did it matter that Malekith was lying? Aric was a pawn, a pawn who had served his purpose. He’d outlived his usefulness, and Malekith was merely biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make his move.

“Thank you, my prince.” Aric’s voice sounded thin, even to his own ears. He was trying to be brave, but he knew what awaited him, and the thought of it turned his blood to ice.

They reached the private wing of the fortress, and the guards fell back, leaving Malekith and Aric alone. The door to Malekith’s chambers swung open, and a wave of dark, spicy air washed over Aric, enveloping him in Malekith’s scent. Malekith gestured for Aric to enter, and with a trembling hand, Aric did as he was bid.

“Aric.” Malekith’s voice was a low rumble, and Aric shivered, feeling the intensity of those eyes on him. “Look at me.”

Aric took a deep breath and turned to face Malekith, trying to steady himself. Malekith was standing only a few paces away, his pale skin glowing in the dim light of the chamber, his eyes dark and unreadable. He was a clever spider, Aric knew, and Aric was his prey, caught in his web.

“You have something to say.” It wasn’t a question. Malekith’s gaze was a challenge, a dare, and Aric knew he had no choice but to meet it.

“Yes, my prince.” Aric’s tone shook, but he forced the words out. “I would ask you a question.”

“Then ask.”

Aric’s throat felt dry, his words a whisper. “Is this necessary? The full-on invasion of the human realm. I know we had to reveal the wards to Zaxos, but is there no other way?”

Malekith’s expression didn’t change, but the air in the chamber shifted, charged with a dangerous current. Aric held his breath, waiting, but Malekith said nothing.

“I know what you said to the council, but there must be another path.” Aric’s words tumbled out in a rush. “Some way to avert this bloodshed. I cannot stand by and watch my people die, nor can I be the one to bring death to yours.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and cloying. Malekith’s eyes bored into him, searching, weighing, and Aric fought to hold them, to not flinch away. He had laid his cards on the table, and now all he could do was wait.

Malekith looked away, wounded. “You know the answer to that.”

And he did. Aric had known from the moment he set foot in the demon realm, but he had tried to ignore it, to convince himself that there was another way. He had given everything he had to give, and it still hadn’t been enough.

“Our peoples’ fates hang in the balance,” Malekith said, his tone a seductive caress. “And you are the key to it all.”

Aric closed his eyes, trying not to feel like his lungs were crushing in. “I only wish I knew what that meant.”

Malekith’s hand was warm on his cheek, and Aric started, his eyes flying open. He had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even heard the demon prince move. Malekith’s thumb brushed over Aric’s skin, a gentle, coaxing touch, and Aric couldn’t help but lean into it, despite himself.

“Trust me, little mage,” Malekith said. “I will not let any harm come to you. You have my word.”

Aric searched his face, looking for any sign of deceit, but Malekith’s expression was a mask. He was a master of deception, Aric knew, able to bend the truth to his will. But Aric wanted to believe him, with a desperation that frightened him. He needed to believe that there was some other way, that he didn’t have to be the instrument of so much death and destruction. He’d exposed hints of it, here and there, that he was playing a longer game than even Aric could imagine—a delicate web of strategy to bring about the end of the war, and allow humans and demons to live side by side. It was a beautiful dream, and one Aric wanted to share with him. One Aric hoped might actually bear fruit.

But he was afraid to hope.

Malekith’s stare was like fire on his skin, and despite the warning bells that were going off in the back of his mind, Aric found himself stepping closer, unable to look away. Malekith’s heat drew him in, and before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out, his fingers brushing against the soft, cool skin of Malekith’s throat.

Malekith’s pulse fluttered beneath his touch, and Aric’s own heart leapt in response. They’d been separated for too long after Darioth’s death and the resulting maelstrom of questioning, but he was tired of holding back, of denying the pull he felt towards Malekith, even in the face of everything he’d done.

Malekith’s eyes fell shut, and he let out a slow, shuddering breath. “Aric,” he whispered, and the sound of his name on Malekith’s lips was a caress in itself, a spark that set his skin ablaze.

Aric’s hand moved of its own volition, trailing up Malekith’s jaw, his thumb brushing over the soft curve of Malekith’s lower lip. Malekith’s eyes flew open, and the look in them sent a jolt of raw heat straight to Aric’s core. It was a hunger, a need, and despite everything, Aric found himself aching to satisfy it.

He leaned in, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Malekith’s scent surrounded him, heady, intoxicating, and he was falling into it, losing himself in the dark, seductive tangle of it. Their lips were so close now, and Aric’s pulse was a deafening roar in his ears. He should stop, he knew, but the thought was distant, muffled, drowned out by the rush of his own blood.

And then their lips met, and it was like a bolt of lightning, searing and white-hot. Malekith’s mouth was a dark, velvety promise, and Aric melted into it, unable to resist. He tasted of shadows and spice, a flavor that was uniquely, intoxicatingly Malekith, and Aric never wanted it to end.

His hands dipped into that dark, silken hair, and he tugged Malekith closer, wanting to erase the space between them. Malekith’s body was hard, unyielding, and he moved with a predator’s grace even as he kissed Aric with a desperate, searing hunger.

Malekith’s hands were everywhere, sliding under Aric’s tunic to caress his skin, tangle in his hair, and Aric’s breath caught in his throat. He was a man possessed, caught in Malekith’s dark, seductive web, and he never wanted to find his way out.

They stumbled towards the bed, Malekith’s long fingers working at the lacings of Aric’s tunic, and the cool silk of the bedding enveloped them as they fell. Malekith’s body was a heavy, searing weight on top of him, and Aric arched up into it, aching for more. Malekith’s kisses were a heady poison, and Aric drank deeply, unable to stop himself.

“Aric,” Malekith whispered, his voice a dark, velvety caress against Aric’s ear. “Are you sure?”

The question cut through the fog of lust that had clouded Aric’s mind, and he forced himself to focus, to remember why he was here. He was a pawn, he reminded himself, a means to an end. But for now, he could pretend that things were different, that he was more than that. He could lose himself in Malekith, if only for a little while.

Malekith had pledged to protect him not so long ago. Nothing had changed that. Nothing could change the ache he felt for this man, demon or not. Aric craved him, needed him, and with Malekith, they could find a better way.