A group of lower-ranking demons were clustered in one corner, their voices rising with excitement. They dissected battle strategies in hushed tones, debating the merits of a direct assault versus a more subtle approach. Aric suppressed a grim smile; they had no idea of the real plan Malekith had in store. And he would do everything in his power to ensure that the prince’s true intentions remained a secret.
Further into the throng, he caught sight of Jaz’lira, her serpentine coils draped over a chaise as she held court with a group of admirers. Her eyes locked with Aric’s for a brief, assessing moment, and he shivered in spite of himself. She knew something was amiss, even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Aric quickly looked away, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself.
He moved closer to General Vezara’s group. The savvy commander of House Ixion’s forces, Aric had found her more trustworthy than most of the demons, though he still couldn’t ascertain her true motives. Her voice carried over the hubbub of the crowd. “—but the question is, who stands to gain the most from such an alliance?”
The demon lord he was speaking to laughed, a cruel, grating sound. “In our world, there are no true allies, only enemies you have yet to betray. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept, General.”
General Vezara looked past his companion to where Aric stood, and a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “You may find that sentiment tested in the days to come.”
He tore his gaze away, his head swimming. These were not his people, not his kind, but even so, it was impossible not to be drawn into the intricate dance of politics and power that surrounded him. This was what he’d been searching for, in a way, for so long. A glimpse behind the curtain, a chance to see the true face of the enemy, unmasked.
But the more he saw, the more he realized how little he truly understood. The alliances and rivalries shifted like quicksand, impossible to pin down. Trust was a rare and precious commodity, something to be doled out in the smallest of measures. Even those who claimed to be acting in the best interests of demonkind were not above backstabbing and betrayal to further their own goals.
At the far end of the hall, a commotion near one of the banquet tables drew Aric’s attention. He wove his way through the crowd, the lingering haze of the drink making his movements slow and languid. As he drew closer, he saw two demon lords engaged in a contest of magical prowess, their spells creating dazzling displays of light and shadow that elicited cheers and gasps from the crowd.
Aric watched in awe as the very air around them seemed to warp and shudder with the force of their spells. Lances of raw power, crimson and emerald and inky black, lanced through the space, striking against shields of searing white and starry violet. The rich scents of ozone and burning flesh and something even deeper and more primal filled his nostrils.
It was a potent reminder of the forces he was up against, of the raw power that lurked just beneath the surface of this glittering, treacherous world. For all of his skill with magic, for all of his training and his resolve, Aric was still only human. He was still so small in the face of such vast, unknowable might.
And yet, even as he watched, he felt the familiar thrum of excitement deep in his blood, the lure of magic and the endless possibilities it held. He might not be able to match the demon lords in raw power, but he had other strengths, other gifts. It was only a matter of finding the right opportunity to use them.
Suddenly, the crowd parted, a hush falling over the great hall. Aric felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he knew with a seductive thrill of fear who was about to make his entrance.
Malekith, resplendent in black and silver, moved with a feline grace as he strode into the center of the hall. His very presence was a force of nature, commanding the attention of every being in the room. Jewel-toned eyes raked over the gathered demons, one hand resting casually on the hilt of the wickedly curved dagger at his hip.
Aric’s breath caught as Malekith’s gaze locked with his, a slow, knowing smile playing on those full, cruel lips. It was a look that spoke of secrets shared, of promises whispered in the dark. Aric felt a flush of heat rise to his cheeks, a jolt of recognition that raced through his veins. He was here for more than just Malekith, he reminded himself. But it was getting harder and harder to hold on to that certainty, especially when Malekith’s dark eyes were roaming over him with such open hunger.
There was no more denying the bond that connected them, no matter how hard Aric had tried to convince himself it was a trick of the demons’ magic. It was real, and it was dangerous, and it was so, so tempting. Malekith knew it, too, and he was taunting Aric with the promise of what could be, if only he dared.
Aric’s grip tightened on the empty goblet in his hand as Malekith finally turned away, turning to address his guests.
“My fellow demons,” Malekith said, his voice a low, seductive purr that still somehow carried to every corner of the hall. “Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate the imminent conquest of the human realm, but to honor the bonds of kinship and loyalty that sustain our kind. For too long, we have allowed petty rivalries and ambitions to divide us, but no longer. Tonight, we stand as one, united in purpose, in a way that has not been seen in eons.”
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, but Aric saw the glint of calculation in Malekith’s eyes. He knew the prince had his own agenda, his own reasons for forging this fragile alliance. Aric only hoped that, whatever the cost, it would be enough to save them both.
Malekith raised his own goblet high, the candlelight dancing off the shimmering, inky depths of the liquid within. “To victory,” he said, and the words seemed to linger in the air, heavy with portent.
“Victory!” the crowd roared in response, and Malekith downed the drink in a single smooth motion.
Aric let his sight wander over the assembled demons as Malekith moved through the crowd, greeting his guests with a predator’s smile. Aric could see the calculations in Malekith’s eyes, the way he was constantly assessing and reassessing the power dynamics at play. He was a master at this game, and it was a humbling, daunting reminder of just how far Aric had to go to match him.
“Lord Solarian,” a voice mewled from beside him, and Aric turned to see a demon noble, his skin a mottled green, regarding him with a toothy grin. “Aren’t you a long way from your little tower? I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Leaving your homeland is one thing, but toasting to its invasion . . .”
Aric forced a smile, his heart racing. “I am, uh, happy to see House Ixion’s success, that’s all.”
“Ah, I see.” The demon’s smile never wavered, but his eyes were cold, calculating. “A precarious position to be in, I should think. I do hope you are playing your cards wisely, dear boy.”
Before Aric could respond, the demon was swept away by the press of the crowd, leaving Aric with a chill running down his spine. He was not the only one keeping a close eye on Malekith’s new pet, and he suspected not all of them would be content to merely watch from the shadows.
Further along, a pair of succubi regarded him with open hostility, their serpentine smiles baring rows of needle-sharp teeth. Aric forced himself to meet them without flinching, projecting an air of cool confidence even as his heart hammered in his chest.
“I would be very careful, if I were you,” one of them hissed as she slithered past. “Malekith grows bored with his playthings quickly. And he is a cruel master to those who disappoint him.”
Aric refused to let her see the tremor in his hand as he raised it to his throat, where the marks of Malekith’s bite still lingered. “I am not so easily broken.”
She offered him a mocking bow before vanishing into the crowd, and a cold knot of unease settled in his belly. He’d all but told her about his indiscretion with the prince—had she known it already, or was she only guessing? And what other traps lay ahead for him, for them both?
He sought out Malekith’s figure in the crowd, the demon prince’s presence like a weight on his shoulders. Whether it was a comfort or a threat, Aric couldn’t say.
The festivities continued well into the night, a dizzying blur of music, food, and drink. Aric lost himself in the crowd, nodding politely to those who greeted him, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the unsettling encounters he’d had. He was an outsider here, that much was clear, and no matter what bond he shared with the prince, it might not be enough to keep him safe.
As the night wore on, the atmosphere in the great hall began to shift, taking on a darker, more ominous undercurrent. The music took on a frenzied edge, the dancers’ movements becoming more wild and uninhibited. Torches flickered and sputtered, casting eerie, shifting shadows on the stone walls.
And then there was the game.
A group of demons had gathered in a circle, cackling and jeering as they egged each other on. In the center of the circle, a human soldier was bound, his eyes wide with terror. The demon who had brought him as a “gift” to Malekith advanced on him, his claws extended, and a fresh wave of terror reeking from the human’s sweat.
Aric’s instincts screamed at him to do something, anything, to stop the cruelty that was about to unfold. His hand moved, his muscles tensing with the first words of a binding spell. But then the human spotted Aric in the crowd, and Aric stilled.
There was no hope for him. Aric saw that now, and he knew with a sickening certainty that Malekith was right. There would be no reprieve, no last-minute rescue. Once you were in the demons’ grasp, there was no escape.
The soldier’s cries echoed off the stone walls as the demons set upon him, their forms blurring with inhuman speed. Aric’s stomach roiled as he caught glimpses of claws and teeth, of scales and bone. It was a savage, brutal display, and it took all of Aric’s willpower to keep from retching.
He was no use to anyone if he fainted, though. But as the screams went on, Aric felt a numbing coldness seeping through him. A sense of dread and inevitability. Even the sight of that human, barely a boy, being ripped apart by the creatures around him was becoming just one more drop in the ocean.
He was becoming inured to the violence. And that was a far more dangerous trap than anything the demons might lay for him.
He stumbled away from the crowd, the taste of bile rising in his throat. What was he doing here? What possible hope did he have of making a difference in this world of predators and prey? He was hopelessly outmatched, a lamb wandering into the wolves’ den.
“Aric.”
The voice was a cool touch against his fevered skin, and he turned towards it almost instinctively. Malekith stood at his side, regarding him with an inscrutable look. His skin was flushed, his eyes fever-bright, and yet he moved with his customary grace, as if he were in perfect control.
“Is this really what you wish to spend your time on?” Malekith asked. He kept his tone light, as if the words were merely a question, but Aric heard the warning beneath them.
“What are you suggesting?” Aric asked, just as carefully.
Another demon cast a glance in their direction, and Malekith lowered his head to speak in a low, almost inaudible murmur. “The library might offer you a quieter refuge from the predations of the others.”
“The library.” Aric stared at him, that possessiveness in his tone echoing in Aric’s head. The feeling of those fangs sinking into his throat, claiming him. A shiver ran through Aric, but he wasn’t sure if it was revulsion or something else.
“Why are you telling me this?” Aric asked.
Malekith’s eyes narrowed, but his smile didn’t falter. “I would not see anything happen to my . . . pet,” Malekith said, and then he was gone, disappearing into the writhing mass of demons.
Aric lingered for a few more moments at the edge of the revelry before allowing himself to drift towards the library. The demon court had opened its doors to the darkest and most dangerous of their kin, and they flooded the great hall of the Ebon Spire like a plague of locusts. The pounding of the music, the flash of the bloody, writhing bodies engaged in their macabre dance, the stench of sex and violence hanging in the air . . . It was all too much for Aric to take in. Even if he’d been in the mood for company, the thought of threading his way through the sea of demons, most of whom eyed him with thinly veiled curiosity or contempt, was more than he could bear.
A pair of felhounds growled at each other in a silent brawl, their fangs and claws leaving trails of noxious smoke in the air as they collided. A pack of ghouls tore into the raw flesh of some unfortunate victim on a nearby banquet table, their tattered limbs and gaping maws a horrific blur. The shadows themselves seemed to gather and pulse in time with the music, threatening to reach out and swallow him whole.
