Chapter 16

On the day of the Selection of Champions, Ursula’s stomach was twisted in knots. She filled the bath with warm, lavender-scented water, trying to soothe away her nerves, but one terrifying thought rang loudly in her skull.

Today, she would find out exactly who Bael had to kill.

If he failed, he’d forfeit his life. Terrifying and gruff as he might be, she didn’t want him to die. And moreover, if he lost, she’d be joining him in the afterworld.

Or worse—Abrax would enslave her for an eternity of sadistic torment.

As she soaked her body in the bath, Cera’s voice rang out from the living room. “Hello? Ursula?”

“In the bath!” she shouted.

“Good. You’ve started preparing yourself. I’ve brought you a new dress for the ceremony. Everything must be perfect!” she shouted. “We must help the lord by making everything perfect!”

Ursula winced at the shrill tone. Apparently, I’m not the only one plagued by nerves. She rose from the bath, grabbing a towel. She wrapped it around herself and then stepped into the living room.

Wearing the gray coat, Cera stood in the center of the room, her knuckles white as she clutched a box. A bag hung over one of her arms. “I have pressed the lord’s clothes to perfection. He will have not a wrinkle on him before the other lords. Mortal or not, they will know his glory through his divine beauty.” Her eyes were wide, slightly frantic.

Ursula held up the towel with one hand, taking the box from Cera with the other. She flashed a placating smile. The little oneiroi was losing it.

Still, Cera wasn’t kidding about Bael’s divine beauty, though Ursula wasn’t going to admit it.

She dropped the box on a chair. “Why doesn’t Bael look like a demon, like the other lords? They all have horns and creepy eyes.”

“Nothing creepy about silver eyes,” snapped Cera. “But as for how the lord looks, you’d do best to mind your own business. Open the box.”

With one hand, Ursula pried off the top of the box. Tucked neatly inside were tiny silver knickers, and a dress of a gorgeous midnight blue, the fabric so thin and sheer it almost seemed enchanted.

“Wow,” said Ursula. “This looks amazing.”

She saw the beaming smile on Cera’s face before the oneiroi turned around to give her privacy. “All the great ladies will be dressed in their finest clothes. I wouldn’t want Abelda House to fall short.”

Ursula pulled off her towel, then stepped into the lacy silver underwear. When she picked up the dress, she gasped. It was stunning—a delicate gown, dappled with silver gems around the belted waist. She pulled it over her head, and the silky fabric brushed over her thighs. Like the dress she’d worn before, a V neck plunged down to her belly button. The sheer fabric gathered at the waist, providing just enough coverage for her lower half. But if she extended a leg, she saw that the dress had a slit all the way up to the top of her thigh.

“Gorgeous,” she said.

Cera turned, grinning. “I knew it would be perfect. It’s skimpier than the ladies of the Shadow Realm wear, but you’re a hellhound. Everyone will expect you to be a harlot anyway,” she chirped, rifling around in her bag.

Before Ursula could come up with a retort, Cera was standing before her, wielding eyeliner. “Sit.”

Ursula did as instructed, and Cera spent the next two minutes attacking her face with eye makeup, blush, and a berry lipstick. When she’d finished, she packed away the makeup, and pulled out a pair of black heels and a new cloak made of dark silver feathers that shimmered as it moved. Ursula pulled the cloak around her shoulders. She plucked the silver ring off the bar, shoving it into the cloak’s pocket.

“What was that?” Cera asked suspiciously.

“Just my lucky charm. I think I might need it tonight.” Her eyes flicked to the window, searching for signs of the rising sun. Dread welled in her chest.

When the sun sets over Lacus Mortis... For the finishing touch, Cera slid a sparkling silver headband onto Ursula’s head. “Splendid,” she purred, stepping back to admire her work.

Ursula slipped into the heels. Somehow, she felt at home in these clothes.

Cera arched a cautionary eyebrow. “My only request is that you don’t destroy the clothes through bloodshed and mayhem.”

Ursula grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

Cera scowled. “Please try to behave appropriately when you meet the lords’ wives.”

Cera tilted her head. “Do they all have wives apart from Bael?”

“Most do. It can get pretty lonely on the crater’s rim.”

“I’ve noticed, I was going to ask if there were any books I could read. I don’t think I can make a shank from the pages of a novel.”

Cera frowned. “A what?”

“A shank, you know, like what prisoners make to stab—” Abort, Ursula. Abort! “I mean, since Bael said to remove anything I could use as a weapon. Surely books are harmless.”

Cera nodded slowly. “There’s a library I can take you to tomorrow, if you like.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s time for us to leave. You can eat at the ceremony.”

Ursula’s stomach rumbled. The last thing she’d eaten was a soup made from those strange, glowing mushrooms.

Cera crossed over to the door, flinging it open. “Come along!”

Ursula hurried to keep up with Cera as she made her way across the windswept bridge and into the atrium. There, the elevator waited for them.

Cera gave a little bow outside the elevator. “Good luck.”

Ursula pulled open the door, stepping inside. The door clicked shut. “Thank you, Cera.”

As the cage rose slowly on its chain, her chest clenched. Tonight, she’d be facing all the lords again, and getting an eyeful of the champions. She didn’t know what to expect, but she imagined they’d be terrifying.

She shoved her hand into the cloak’s pocket, running her fingertips over the smooth silver ring. It seemed to center her.

The elevator creaked up past one flight after another of shattered glass, twisted steel beams, and layers of gray ash.

Bael was an ancient, stunningly powerful demon. And maybe he was mortal right now, but he had enough magic and brute strength on his side to fix this place up. Still, he’d chosen to leave the damage untouched.

Perhaps he wanted to leave it as a testament to his rage, fuel for his fury.

Ursula could only hope that was enough for him to win in a battle against the champions.

The elevator liftedonto the roof. Bael stood before her, the cold wind feathering a few strands of hair across his face. He pulled open the elevator door, and she stepped out.

He wore fitted black clothes with a high mandarin collar. A dark cloak—feather at the shoulders—was held together over his enormous chest with silver chains and a lion insignia.

Starlight glinted in his pale eyes.

He looked every inch the military leader. At the sight of him, hope sparked in her mind. He looks like he can actually win this thing.

As she stepped onto the roof, a frigid wind toyed with the hem of her dress, lifting it into the air. The delicate fabric floated in the breeze.

“You look...” he said, his gaze trailing down to her leg, exposed in the breeze. “Exactly as you should.”

That... might be a compliment.“And how is it that I should look?”

“Stunning.”

A blush warmed her cheeks. “Thank you. It’s nice to see you in some clothes, after you were traipsing around in your smalls all night.”

Bael’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile before he lifted his fingers to whistle for the carriage.

The faintest hint of purple stained the sky, and she shuddered, watching as the team of bats whisked the carriage before the moon.

Ursula bit her lip. “So am I to be subservient again, or do I get to act on my own volition this evening?”

With a gentle scraping noise, the carriage landed on the rooftop.

Bael’s jaw tensed. “You must act subservient. All the women are, and you mustn’t draw attention to yourself.”

Of course they are. She heaved a deep sigh, fighting the urge to ask him about his wife. Even in the painting, the determined look in the woman’s eye told Ursula she had never been subservient.

Bael pulled open the carriage door, and she stepped inside.

“Can you tell me what to expect tonight?” she asked.

Bael climbed in, sitting across from her. “As you wish. We’re going to the hall of lords. There will be a feast. The lords will choose their champions, apart from me, of course. Hothgar will announce the rules of the melee. Then we will leave. Hopefully alive.”

Well, that inspires confidence.

“Do I get a dagger again?”

One of Bael’s eyebrows rose. “After last time? No. Absolutely not.”

She rubbed the solid ring in her pocket. “You’re going to leave me entirely unprotected, then. And if Abrax decides he wants to get me alone?—”

“I’ll protect you.”

“You said I don’t deserve your protection.”

He winced. “I will protect you,” he said again.

She leaned forward, studying him. “Why don’t you choose me as your champion?”

Surprise flickered across his features, his eyes widening. “Why in the name of the dark god would I do that?”

“The other lords have better odds with five champions each. You’ve only got one. If I fight with you, it doubles our chances of winning, right?”

He shook his head. “You misunderstand. There will only be one left alive at the end,” he said. “None of the other champions will be left alive by the end of the tournament. I would have to kill you.”

She swallowed hard. “You’re injured. I could take your place, then. I may have a better chance than you.”

His eyes bored into her. “Don’t be absurd.”

Maybe he has a point. She might be pretty good with a sword, but she was no match for someone who’d been fighting for twenty-two thousand years. And moreover, she lacked a weapon and her firepower.

His eyes darkened. “Tell me you won’t call attention to yourself this evening. That you won’t attack anyone.”

“I can see you’re still upset about the kerfuffle with Nyxobas.”

“Tell me.”

“Fine. I’ll do what you say.” Within reason.