By the First Flame, he was a mess, and the festivities hadn’t even started.
When he emerged from his chambers and began the long descent down the grand staircase to the Ebon Spire’s main entrance, the view awaiting him at the bottom nearly stole the remainder of his breath.
The ornate crystal chandeliers flared with the magic of colored flames, vivid and dancing. Tables were groaning beneath the weight of exotic delicacies, foodstuffs he’d never seen before or even dared to imagine. The sharp scents of roasting meat, heady spices, and something almost sweet lingered in the air, and Aric’s stomach growled despite himself.
But it was the demons gathered in their finery that most captured Aric’s attention, dressed in garments that ranged from the opulent and ridiculous to the seductively sparse. Their scales, their skin, their horns glimmered with powders and oils, their eyes painted and lined, and their expressions ranged from smiles to sneers to wicked grins.
And, all around him, they were looking at him.
A pair of female demons whispered to one another, their forked tongues flicking out as they both turned away. A group of men eyed him speculatively as they drank from cut crystal goblets, their laughter a harsh rattle. One of the servers, a sinuous, red-skinned being with a tray of spiced meats, stumbled past him, and Aric caught the look of hunger in their eyes before they straightened and moved on.
He forced himself to stand tall, to not falter under their stares. They believed him to be one of their own now, and he refused to be cowed by the foes who were, in theory, his allies tonight. Malekith had assured him of his safety, and Aric was determined to believe him.
“Excuse me, milord.”
A servant appeared at Aric’s elbow, their head lowered respectfully. Aric forced himself to relax, the confrontation at the gates with the sentries already weighing on him. He couldn’t afford to draw any more attention than he already had, and that meant blending in, at least for now.
The servant lifted a cut crystal goblet brimming with a shimmering, dark liquid. Aric’s mouth watered at the sight, and he realized with a start just how long it had been since he’d eaten. Aric took the goblet with a nod of thanks, careful to keep his movements slow and deliberate, and waited until the servant had disappeared into the crowd before he brought it to his lips.
The first sip was like liquid fire, burning a path down his throat and spreading warmth through his chest. The flavors were unlike anything he’d ever tasted—rich, complex, and with an underlying note of danger that made his pulse quicken. Aric took another sip, savoring the sweetness that lingered on his tongue, and closed his eyes.
It was far too easy to imagine he was back in his chambers, back in Malekith’s embrace, and not surrounded by enemies on all sides. He let out a soft exhale, his mind already beginning to cloud with the drink’s potent magic, and the tenseness in his shoulders started to unravel. Malekith had wanted him to relax, to enjoy himself, and Aric would be a fool to deny the prince’s wishes.
With each swallow, the magic of the drink worked its way through him, loosening the tight bands of worry and guilt that had plagued him since their meeting with the council. The demons around him blurred and softened, their harsh edges melting away. Aric’s senses sharpened, the perfume of spice and exotic fruits dancing in his nostrils, the rich strains of music and lewd laughter caressing his ears. The cool tile floor shifted under his boots, and he swayed slightly, his head dizzy.
Aric tried to refocus. He had agreed to this, all of this—had wanted it, at least in part. Malekith had promised him that no harm would come to him tonight, not on this night of celebration. Aric was safer here, arguably, than he was in his own suite. He just needed to remember that, to keep his wits about him.
Aric’s head felt light as he wove through the crowd, the gauzy layers of his tunic and the intoxicating magic of the drink propelling him forward. He caught snippets of hushed conversations, his hearing honing with every step.
The demon prince’s new pet.
I heard he went to Malekith willingly.
A bold move, taking him in full view of the council like that. I think it’s a distraction, one he can ill afford.
Malekith will get careless, mark my words4.
Aric’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep moving. If his presence here could unnerve the other demons, could plant the seed of doubt in their minds, then he would consider it a success. They didn’t know the truth of what had passed between him and Malekith, and Aric was more than happy to let them speculate.
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.
