Chapter 3

Three

A ric shifted from one boot-encased foot to the other, adjusting the high neckline of the dark, gossamer tunic Malekith had sent for him. The thin, filmy fabric rippled with the movement of his arms, and the strange sensation of bare, chilled flesh on those parts not covered by the tunic's generous folds was as disconcerting as it was alluring. He'd rarely worn anything but his mage robes and armor before he came here, and the dense weave of cotton and silk designed for comfort and protection, so to don such an intimate garment was . . . a lot.

He picked at the intricate clasp cinching the tunic closed, its curved design too alien for him to grasp at first. But with a muted huff to steady his hands, Aric carefully slipped the clasp into place, the circular piece clicking shut.

Straightening, Aric smoothed down the tunic's front—though given the filmy fabric's cling, it was a largely unnecessary gesture. Or perhaps all the more necessary. Aric's mouth went dry as he took in his reflection. Was he supposed to be so plainly visible beneath the gauzy layers?

A deep breath filled Aric's chest, the cologne Malekith had gifted him for the occasion—something dark and spicy and far more exotic than his usual concoctions—steaming his nostrils. His skin was flushed, and his eyes were far too wide, the icy, heart-thudding realization of just where he was and what the coming days called for leaving him light-headed.

He was getting ahead of himself, he knew. This was just a celebration, as Malekith had promised, a final send-off before their army's departure. But even so, his thoughts insisted on pulling him back to the memory of the few fleeting nights he and Malekith had managed to spend together amidst all the turmoil. Recollections fluttered around him like moths: Malekith's thick arousal against his leg, the prince's urgent cries as they'd both spilled over in the privacy of his chambers, the whispered assurances that maybe, just maybe, Aric's hopes and dreams weren't so impossible . . .

Perhaps Aric was a fool to indulge Malekith's suggestions of what this might mean between them, but what was he to do? As a prisoner, he'd had no choice but to endure whatever torment was visited upon him. But Malekith, he'd chosen for himself. Malekith, he wanted , despite who he was, what he was. This might be their last night together before the ravages of war made everything so much worse.

And then there was the matter of his own traitorous body. Whether Aric wanted it or not, his thoughts raced back to the heat of Malekith's skin, the lean cords of muscle shifting with each of Malekith's moves. The way he'd growled Aric's name, a dangerous and seductive promise. The scorching heat of his breath and the slide of his tongue as he tasted Aric, claiming him?—

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.

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.

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."