He needed to get away, if only for a little while. He needed to think. To breathe.

When he reached the library, he paused in the doorway, savoring the sudden hush of quiet that surrounded him. The vast chamber was lined from floor to ceiling with ancient tomes, scrolls, and other, less identifiable things. The otherworldly shimmer of the spire’s barrier was visible through the high arched windows, casting the only light in the library at this hour. The moon looked so small and far away, an indifferent witness to the darkness that lurked within the demon fortress. The heavy scent of old paper and the crackle of candlelight flooded his senses, and he closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment of respite. It was one of the few parts of the fortress that felt familiar to him, a place where he had spent countless hours poring over dusty tomes and ancient scrolls in his quest to unravel the secrets of demon magic, and he felt a pang of nostalgia for the life he had left behind.

Aric moved towards the back of the library, where a large wooden desk sat, piled high with scrolls and books, some opened to display intricate diagrams and formulas. Curiosity piqued, Aric drew closer, careful to make no sound as he moved the chaotic layers aside. The diagrams seemed to be some kind of magical ritual, but he couldn’t make sense of the details. Instead, he turned to the papers spread out across the desk.

His breath caught in his throat as he scanned the words. They were troop requisition orders for House Ixion, for the same campaign Malekith had just outlined at the war council—and yet the numbers and placements detailed here bore little resemblance to the plan the prince had presented. The requisitions listed here were far more modest in scale, targeting more defensible areas, and the deployment plan was entirely different.

Aric’s heart pounded in his ears as he flipped through the papers, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. Had Malekith lied to the war council, or was this some kind of ruse, a misdirection to throw off any spies who might be lurking in the fortress? Aric’s mind raced, his thoughts spinning in the darkness of the library. If Malekith’s own commanders didn’t know the true plan, what did that say about his chances of success? Would the humans be able to counter whatever deception the prince had in mind and turn it to their advantage instead?

His grip on the papers tightened, threatening to tear them, as he struggled to breathe. The library walls were closing in around him, the dark stone smothering him. The air was too thin, the room too vast. The eyes of the Vizra were surely watching him, waiting to pounce. Or had she said that she had other prey to hunt, that she was not looking to torment him?

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Aric’s head snapped up, and he whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat. Vizra was standing in the doorway of the library, her gaze raking over him with open amusement. She was a vision in red and gold, her skin the color of honey, her eyes molten gold as she studied him. She moved towards him with a sinuous grace, her hips swaying with each step.

“What are you doing here, little mage?” she asked, stopping a few feet away from him. The corner of her full lips quirked up in a sly smile, and she tilted her head to the side. “Did you get lost on your way to the prince’s bedchambers?”

“I, uh . . .” Aric stammered, his thoughts still reeling. He tried to gather the papers back into a stack, but his hands were shaking, and the papers scattered to the floor. He ducked to try to gather them up, but Vizra snatched at them first, her laughter was a taunting echo in the silent chamber.

Vizra scanned the contents of the papers, a delighted smile curling her lips. “Oh, my, this looks very unlike the plans we had settled on. And here I thought our armies were meant to be working together. Could this be the great prince’s master plan? How delicious . . .”

She continued to read, her expression shifting from glee to shock. Aric watched her carefully, his mind still reeling from what he had seen. He knew he should warn her, stop her from making a terrible mistake. But a wicked little voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the cruel games she had played with him, the fear and revulsion she had stoked in his heart. If she was about to walk into a trap of her own making, then maybe she deserved it.

But then her eyes met his, and he saw the fierce intelligence burning within them. She might be a sadist, but she was no fool. She would use whatever was on these papers to strike back, and he wasn’t sure that was a safer option for him, after all.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. What was he doing? Warn her? Was he really that shaken by what he had just seen, or was he truly so desperate to win the demon prince’s favor?

Just because he owed Malekith his life, just because the bond that tethered him to the demon prince was slowly wrapping itself around his heart, didn’t mean he had to agree with everything Malekith did. Aric was still a man of the mage order, sworn to protect the human realm. And if he saw something he wasn’t meant to see, then that was hardly his fault.

Vizra’s eyes sparked with poorly concealed excitement, and Aric’s mind raced. If she believed she had stumbled onto something incriminating, something that could be used against Malekith, then how far would she go to take advantage of it? She had taunted Aric before, calling him the demon prince’s pet, a mere plaything. If she thought she could use Aric to bring Malekith down . . .

“What’s going on here?”

The voice shattered the stillness of the library, and Aric and Vizra both whirled around to see Malekith standing in the doorway, his eyes flashing with anger.

“I told you to leave my pet alone, Vizra.”

Aric’s heart sank at the word, even though he knew it was all part of the game they were playing, the ruse to draw out whatever plot Vizra had in mind. But the sting of the word, the reminder of his place, his tenuous hold on Malekith’s favor . . . it still cut like a knife.

Vizra, to her credit, didn’t back down. She lowered the papers she was holding and fixed Malekith with a steely gaze.

“Oh, please. We both know he means nothing to you.”

A muscle twitched in Malekith’s jaw, and he bared his fangs in a snarl. Aric’s heart ached at the sight, the long, lethal lines of the Malekith’s body so tense with anger and protectiveness. He was going to get himself killed over a worthless human like Aric, and Aric didn’t know whether to feel unworthy or desperate to prove he wasn’t.

“Be that as it may,” Malekith said, his voice a dangerous rumble, “I have need of him. And I will not have you interfering with my plans.”

Vizra’s lips curled into a triumphant smirk as she waved the papers at Malekith. “Oh, but your little pet has been quite helpful, Malekith,” she said. “It seems your schemes are unraveling faster than you can weave them.”

The air in the room crackled with tension as Malekith’s eyes narrowed dangerously. In a flash, he was across the room, looming over Vizra. The power that radiated from him was palpable, the very air vibrating with his presence.

“You understand nothing of my plans, Vizra. Run along and play your little games elsewhere.”

“As you wish, my prince. But remember, the Sovereign’s eyes are everywhere.”

Vizra shot Aric a wicked smile before turning and slinking out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, Malekith rounded on Aric. His eyes blazed with anger, but there was something else there, too. A flicker of uncertainty, maybe, or a plea for understanding. Aric wanted nothing more than to cross the room and wrap his arms around that lean, lethal frame. Malekith had gone to great lengths to protect him, to keep him from harm. But Aric was no fragile thing in need of coddling. He could fight his own battles, even if it meant facing down a creature like Vizra.

“What were you thinking?” Malekith’s voice was a low hiss, and he closed the distance between them. The heat of his body, the smoky scent of his skin, enveloped Aric.

Aric lifted his chin, defiant. “I was thinking that you left those papers there on purpose.”

For a moment, surprise flickered across Malekith’s face before his expression settled into a grudging respect. “Clever little mage,” he murmured, his anger seemingly dissipating.

Aric felt a thrill run through him at the praise, even as he mentally chided himself for the reaction. The tension between them shifted, becoming charged with a different kind of energy. Malekith reached out, his fingers brushing Aric’s cheek in a gesture that was both possessive and oddly tender.

“We’ll see tomorrow how well it plays out.”

Four

The first rays of dawn broke over the demon realm, casting an eerie, blood-red light across the vast field that now served as their assembly area. Aric’s heart pounded in his ears as he took in the sheer scale of the demon army. Thousands upon thousands of infernal creatures stretched as far as the eye could see, their weapons glinting ominously in the dim light. The ground trembled with the march of hooves, claws, and unnameable things, and the air throbbed with dark energy, making his skin prickle.

Beside him, Malekith stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression a mask of calm. But Aric sensed the tension thrumming through his lean frame, the same coiled readiness that filled Aric himself. Whether the prince felt any of the same doubts and fears that Aric was struggling to suppress, he gave no sign. Whatever intricate game Malekith had set into motion the night before, he seemed unfazed and unconcerned.

“Well, little mage,” Malekith said, his voice low. “I suppose this is it.”

Aric could barely hear him over the rumble of the army as it began to mobilize, the ground shaking beneath their feet. “The beginning of the end,” he replied, his throat gone dry.

“The beginning of something,” Malekith said.

He turned to look at Aric, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that took Aric’s breath away. In his look, Aric saw all the things Malekith could not put into words: his hopes, his fears, his desperate longing for a different future. For a world where they did not have to be enemies, where they did not have to deny what burned between them.

“We can do this, my star,” Malekith said, and his gloved hand closed over Aric’s armored wrist in a fleeting touch. “I promised you my protection, and you shall have it.”

Aric nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in his throat. He knew the risks they were running, the enormity of the gamble they had made. But it was too late now, the die cast. All they could do was fight, and hope it was enough.

He turned back to the vast army spreading out before them, and braced himself for the coming storm.

A commotion rippled through the ranks of the demon forces as a new group approached. Approaching Malekith’s commander, General Vezara, was Vizra, gliding forward, her honey-colored skin aglow and molten gold eyes fixed on him like a predator’s. She needn’t approach for him to feel the sharp sting of her hatred, the raw jealousy that lashed behind it. She regarded Malekith with open disdain as they passed, and with a sinking feeling, Aric wondered if she’d just danced out of whatever trap Malekith had laid for her.

Vizra’s gaze held his for a brief moment, a wicked smile curving her blood-red lips, before she turned her attention back to her companion—a towering demon with skin like cracked obsidian and eyes that glowed with an unholy light. Aric’s blood ran cold as he recognized him. Lord Karthax. The Flayer.

They mounted the steps of the makeshift dais, the dark magic heaving through the air as Sovereign Zaxos turned his head toward them, eyes burning like liquid gold. Whether it was Aric’s imagination or not, the temperature in the clearing seemed to rise. Zaxos, Malekith, Vezara, Karthax, and Vizra: the five most powerful demons in the realm gathered, now that Lord Darioth was gone, and Aric could only guess at the fury that burned between them.

The assembly area fell silent as the demons knelt before the sovereign. A cruel smile tugged at the corners of Vizra’s mouth as she rose.

“Sovereign.” Vizra bowed low, the sunlight playing over her sleek obsidian skin. “My commander, Lord Karthax, and I have devised a new strategy for my forces’ role in the coming campaign. With your blessing, I would ask that Lord Karthax be given command of the vanguard, with me as his second.”