Epilogue

NICK

Two weeks in Hell is enough for me to wish for death. Again.

And this time, for good.

My father, Lucifer, has been nothing short of a generous host, throwing banquet after banquet in my honor, sending lascivious demonesses to my room, ready and willing to do anything - and I mean anything - I want.

After my mortal body expired, I first awoke in my bedchamber, stark naked, and a red-haired demoness was already lying next to me, gagged and hog-tied. She gazed up at me with lust engorged pitch-black eyes, and any concerns I had about her being tied up against her will evaporated. I got up, threw on a pair of black breeches, and left her there. I don't know how long she remained in that uncomfortable position, and I don't give a fuck. All I know is when I returned to my room that same evening, she was thankfully absent.

For now, my father's tactic is to lavish me with an abundance of demonesses, debauchery, and false familial bonding. His goal always was and is to have me sit on that Throne, and once he feels he has broken me in enough that I no longer fight the idea of my birthright, he'll throw me to the wolves.

Also known as the Umbra Court.

Made up of thirteen of the most sinister and cruel demon lords of this realm, including two of my three uncles (Leviathan, thankfully, is once again imprisoned), it's the ruling thumb that oversees the comings and goings of Hell. And by that, I mean the unfortunate souls either bartered or destined to rot down here for eternity.

My father will continue to oversee his kingdom until I get my bearings. But relinquishing his title of King to me will snap the tether that binds him to this realm, and he will be free to come and go as he chooses.

God-fearing humans call it the apocalypse, the day the Devil walks the Earth. There is even an entire section of the Bible dedicated to the day his son does. Little do they know, Lucifer's son walked the earth for twenty-one years, and the only evil plan Lucifer himself has for the mortal realm is to usurp every desirable tee-time on the world's most exclusive golf courses.

Diabolical, I know.

Circe made sure I was well-prepared should my Prophecy come to pass, and I ascend the throne of Hell. Aside from her lessons in harnessing my power, she made sure I was well-versed in the politics of Hell, including what would happen to me with each passing week.

Which is the loss of my mortal memories.

I walk the halls of the imposing castle, nodding to passersby in greeting. They fall over themselves, attempting to kneel, but I'm moving on before the joint so much as bends. A balmy breeze floats through the open arches that serve as windows, and the sound of waves gently lapping the shore filter through my ears. Despite the stories told about Hell being fire and brimstone, it is, in reality, stunning. The cliff side castle boasts extraordinary views of a crystalline ocean, its shimmering green and sparkling azure hues reminiscent of the eyes of a woman whose memory I'm grasping with the desperation of a man dangling from a precipice.

I never wanted any of this. I don't want the groveling, the fake smiles, or the incessant demonesses knocking at my door, begging me to fuck them every and any way I want. There's only one woman I want, my soulmate, and this place is already eating at my memories of her. Long, brown hair threaded with gold. Full lips that curve into a beautiful smile, especially when they see me. But it's her eyes. They were the first thing I noticed about her. An odd mixture of green and blue, the colors seem to war with another, not quite combining seamlessly. I've equated them to crashing waves, the same ones that collide outside the open arches I briskly move past.

Rhiannon.

Soon her name will fade from my mind, and my stomach clenches at the thought of forgetting her completely. So I turn left and head toward the castle's extensive library.

"My Prince." A demoness almost runs into me as I turn the corner. Her strapless, black gown leaves nothing to the imagination, hugging her every curve, giving her the appearance of being dipped in tar. I vaguely recognize her as one of the more tolerable demonesses who hasn't yet propositioned me, though something tells me she is more calculating than the others, waiting for something more substantial.

Like a proposal.

"Where are you heading?" she asks, batting her long eyelashes at me. Though her hair is a pale gold, her eyes are black, just like the rest of them. Everyone in Hell, with the exception of myself, my father, and my uncles, has soulless black eyes.

"The library." Every answer I give is curt. I learned that striking any manner of conversation invites them to imagine something more.

She nods. "Might I accompany you?"

I clench my jaw. I want to tell her no, but I also can't tell her not to step foot in the library.

You can, a cruel voice whispers. You are the Crown Prince, heir to the Throne. You can do whatever you wish.

It's that voice that worries me. It has always haunted me, even during my time on Earth, but it was faint and much more manageable. Here, it's boisterous and barely controllable. Just further evidence that I'm slipping into the beast my father wants me to be.

And once my memories are gone, it will take over.

"Of course," I say, if only to spite the monster.

She smiles, displaying gleaming, vicious white fangs against olive-toned skin. I'm reminded again of Rhi, of the way her sharp teeth sank into my flesh and her claws tore down my back while I was buried deep inside her.

"May I be so bold as to ask who you are thinking about?" The demoness asks.

"Why do you assume I'm thinking about anyone?"

Her onyx gaze dips to my pants, the outline of my erection bulging against my black trousers.

I sigh. "I wasn't thinking about you, if that's what you're wondering."

Her nostrils flare, and she shakes her hair from her shoulders. Clearly miffed, she turns on her heel and stalks in the opposite direction of the library, her black gown trailing behind her. Well, that worked out better than I planned, even if I barge through the library doors with a raging hard on.

The castle library boasts five floors, books covering nearly every inch of the room. Rolling ladders with minds of their own drift back and forth across the expansive shelves, and sunshine pours through a domed glass ceiling like it's spilling from a bucket. The smell of leather and dust is abundant, coupled with the scent of parchment paper and ink.

This library is a book lover's wet dream, and I can't help but be reminded of Rhi again. I welcome every fucking reminder I have, considering I can no longer remember how she smelled .

Fuck .

I reach the first ladder. The tools are spelled to know what you are looking for, so when this one doesn't budge, I move on to the next. I try at least ten different ladders before frustration explodes in my chest. I don't know this library at all, and there are no catalogs, so I have no fucking clue where to even start.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

I step down from the ladder, coming face to face with demoness I insulted earlier.

"I'm looking for books on memory," I tell her.

She nods and takes off, jerking her head for me to follow.

We are about seven rows back in the library before she stops at a bookshelf. I climb up the ladder, and it rolls swiftly to the middle of the shelf, bringing me eye level with several leather-bound volumes on memory. I grab as many books as I can carry and then make my way down the ladder.

To my dismay, she's still standing there when I reach the bottom.

"I found what I was looking for, thank you."

"Why memory?"

I don't answer, but she doesn't take the hint, and follows me to a lacquered oak table, where I toss the books down roughly .

She winces. "Please be careful, your Highness."

"Sorry," I murmur, even though I'm not sorry at all.

I grab the first book and sit down, scanning its pages and absorbing the content with abnormal speed.

I push the book to the side, not having found anything of value.

"Perhaps if you tell me what you are looking for specifically, I can be of assistance." She sits down without me inviting her to do so, her audacity grating at my nerves.

Shit. I need to calm down. She is only trying to help.

Ah, but that is where you're wrong. Altruism does not exist in this realm. Every action warrants suspicion, always done as a ‘favor' with the caveat of expecting something in return.

I eye her, clenching my jaw. "What's your name?"

She blinks, startled by my question. "Isadora, your Grace."

I sit back in my chair and fold my arms. "And what do you want, Isadora?"

Her mouth parts, no doubt to deliver a rehearsed reply, but I stop her.

"You will answer me honestly, or I will remove your tongue. Am I clear? "

Isadora's mouth snaps shut, and a cruel smile tugs at my mouth. I drum my fingers on the table. "I don't have all day."

Those onyx eyes latch onto mine, absent of fear. "My father is Lord Argos, one of the thirteen members of the Umbra Court. My duty is to seduce you, through whatever means necessary, and secure my place by your side as Queen."

And there it is.

"Let me guess," I drawl, leaning forward so my chest casts shadows above the table. "So I then promote your father to a position such as Advisor, thus giving him the power he so desperately craves."

Isadora nods, swallowing roughly.

"And what happens to you if you don't fulfill this duty?"

"He will kill me."

Her answer doesn't come as a surprise, but I felt the need to ask it, anyway. Still, she delivers her response without a shred of fear, resigned to her Fate should she fail, and I respect that.

"I won't marry you," I tell her.

Isadora's shoulders drop, but she nods in understanding. "Then, if you do not need me, Your Grace, I will- "

I reach out and grab her wrist before she stands. "But I won't let your father harm you, either."

Her eyes narrow in suspicion, a product of this court through and through. "What would you have me do?"

"I will court you under the simple guise that you are fulfilling your duty and your plan is working. In return, you will be my spy."

I expect her to jump at the offer. Instead, she leans into me, tilting her head in consideration. "Who says I will be honest in what details I divulge? How will you know if I am truthful?"

I lean closer to her, flashing my numerous rows of monstrous fangs. "Who says you are my only spy?"

Isadora snaps back into her chair and nods once. Satisfied that she accepts our deal, I pull my attention from her and open another book.

"I have another question, My Prince."

I accidentally tear the corner of the page I flip in annoyance. "What is it?"

"You will be expected to visit my chambers. And I, yours."

"And?"

"I do not want to be present while you indulge yourself with other demonesses. "

I ignore her, scanning the pages of yet another book. "I won't be indulging anyone."

"You will not take a mistress?" Surprise rings in her tone.

"No."

"Is it because of the woman in your memories?"

My gaze snaps up at that, and my eyes crease warily. "What makes you say that?"

She offers me a saccharine smile, one that is too gentle. One that I know masks a layer of manipulation.

"No one cares to rifle through tomes on memory, unless they are desperate to keep them. And there is only one reason a man of your power would hold such desperation."

Despite my bargain with Isadora, I don't trust her, nor do I trust the very air in this realm won't whisk Rhi's name from my memory if I speak it out loud.

"Tell me what you know, Isadora."

Her dark eyes flit to the book in my hand, then back up to my face, her mouth still split in a honeyed grin. "I know these books won't help you, my Prince."

"And you can?"

"Not in the way you might think." Her voice takes on a sultry lilt.

I scoff, shaking my head. "I told you, I'm not interested. "

"What can you remember from your mortal life?"

That question catches me off guard, and I finally meet her stare. There's no mockery, just sheer pragmatism. My throat works on a swallow, and I don't want to answer the question, because I can't.

I know I had a sister, but I can't remember her name. I can't remember what she looked like. I can't remember my mother, or the girls I treated like my own sisters. I can't remember the name of the university I attended, the one where I met Rhi and my life was forever changed.

All of these memories are now nothing more than sensations, and it's unsettling to attach a feeling to something that is no longer concrete. Soon, even these feelings of love, joy, and heartache will fade, and I will be left as a shell of my former self. One to be molded as the King of Hell, and nothing more.

So I must cling to the two things I remember from my mortal life: my soulmate and my name.

Nicholas.

Even that will be taken from me.

Isadora gives me a knowing look. "You have been here two weeks, my Prince. Your time is drawing short. I would suggest you accept the future that lies before you, and put the woman far from your mind."

Her mere suggestion that I consciously choose to forget Rhi has the walls of the library trembling with my rage. "Get the fuck out."

Unphased, Isadora simply nods and stands. "As you wish."

I watch her retreat, my eyes shooting daggers in her back. But the demoness must be a glutton for punishment, because she turns to face me one more time.

"What does she look like?" she asks.

"What?" I snarl.

"The woman in the memory you cling to. What does she look like?"

A reply springs to my lips, ready to launch all the characteristics of her that I've branded into my heart. Except, when I try to draw from that source, it comes up empty.

I can't remember her.

As if to fan the fire, Isadora steps forward, asking, "And her name?"

When I don't answer, another mollified smile curves her lips. "My Prince, can you tell me her name?"

An icy panic grips my heart as I wrack my swiftly deteriorating memories. I come up with fragments of things. A song hummed in a hallway. A song about a witch, I think. And I'm walking with a girl, but her features are obscured. For some inexplicable reason, the thought of ocean waves flits through my brain, but why? Who is this woman? My heart yearns for her, though I can't place the reason. Something else reaches for her, something more intrinsic to my soul that seems threaded. Tethered. I drift deeply, trying to understand this innate bond, but I'm distracted by the coaxing voice of another.

"My Prince?"

I blink, focusing on Isadora's face. She wears a strange, victorious expression, though I can't imagine why. I still have no interest in making her my queen or fucking her, so this is truly puzzling.

"What is your question?"

She sits down across from me once more. "Who are you?"

What the fuck?

"Are you daft? Do you not know to whom you've been speaking this entire time?"

Isadora takes my insult in stride, her lips tilted deviously. "Of course, my Prince."

I heave an aggrieved sigh. "I am the Crown Prince of Hell."

"Yes, but what is your name?"

This demoness is truly out there. Are they all this fucking obtuse? Yet, I pause before answering, the name at the brink of my lips fluttering away like dandelion wisps on a breeze. Another takes its place, and though it somehow feels wrong, it is the only one my brain offers.

"Raphael Morningstar. Do you have other ridiculous questions?"

Isadora shakes her head. "No." Then she leans across the table, her lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Welcome home, Raphael."