Page 73 of Fated to the Demon Lord

This place was special. I’d seen none other like it in the demon kingdoms.

Drums started a slow beat when someone handed Mother a torch. She walked toward Feron’s body. Before lighting it, she faced her people.

“I didn’t know Feron well. However, he chose to come with us to rescue my son. Feron gave his life so that my son may be free.” She gestured toward Gerand, who stood with Marbas, his head ducked in respect. “It is a debt that can never be repaid. One we’ll honor by living our lives to the fullest and remembering his sacrifice in a memorial we shall build on this very spot. Feron, you sacrificed your life to protect the innocent, and we’ll never forget it.”

She laid the torch to the wood, and it caught. The flames spread rapidly. That was when I noticed Vaelor lingering at a distance, the mist curling about his feet. He watched the fire. The reddish-orange flickers were the same glowing hue as his gaze. Erlinen stood next to him, a handkerchief held to her eyes as she cried.

Mother raised her voice as the flames roared. “Tonight we honor Feron’s sacrifice by celebrating my son and daughter’s homecoming. Till the flames die, let there be music. Let there be dancing.”

I made my way quickly to Vaelor, and his stance relaxed as I came to his side. “I apologize if my mother’s celebration seems inappropriate.”

“Better to honor the good he brought with his death. Feron was a true friend,” he said while watching the bonfire. “Still…”

“It doesn’t wash away the grief.” I glanced at Erlinen, who sniffed sadly. “If you’d prefer not to stay for the celebration part⁠—”

“I will stay.”

My heart stuttered a beat. “You will?”

“I don’t know the last time I attended a celebration of any kind, and I’d be remiss if I missed one to honor Feron.”

Some humans brought out their instruments and played a gentle, sweet melody. Several couples came together and began to move to the music. Many of the demons stumbled about, unpolished and uncertain. Laughter drifted up, adding to the music. Perhaps the demons weren’t as good as the humans at dancing, but nobody seemed to care.

I knew firsthand that Vaelor danced better than any of them. He’d dressed more formally for the occasion. He wore an ascot and a suit jacket that spanned over his broad shoulders—his horns made him appear even taller as he stood with perfect posture—polished and intimidating like the lord he was.

But he wasn’t simply some cold, aloof demon lord. Not to me.

“Well, in that case”—I stepped a little closer and held out my hand—“would you care to dance?”

He hesitated. “Denara⁠—”

“You can’t lie to me.” I gave him a gentle smile. “I’m already aware that your skills exceed my own.”

His hand met mine, and his arm came around me, pulling me close. The music floated on the breeze, soft and inviting. The crackling fire released warmth over both of us. When he moved, I moved. Each bit of pressure indicated where he wanted me to step next. We danced together across the square in one fluid motion, my skirts swishing against my legs.

“You never told me how you learned to dance,” I said.

“My sister fell in love with a vampire, and she insisted I learn so I wouldn’t offend them.” His brows drew close, as if fighting the sorrow that came with the memory.

Some vampires used to be human, so it made sense that out of all the demons, dancing was part of their culture.

“She fell in love with a vampire?” I asked, confused.

Even as a human, I knew the vampires, and the five united demon nations shared nothing but hatred for one another. Long ago, the vampires had been a member of the alliance, but they eventually broke away, and the two sides had remained bitter enemies ever since.

“It was unconventional. But my sister, Pixa, was always that way.” Emotion laced his voice.

Feron’s death probably reminded him of everything he had lost before. “You must miss her.”

“I’d do anything to have her back.” His jaw clenched as he gazed down at me, his eyes burning with an honest depth. “I would have gone after your brother with or without the talisman about your neck. I know what it is like to lose someone you love, and I wouldn’t wish that pain on you, let alone on my worst enemy…” He paused, considering for a moment. “Maybe my worst enemy.”

“Yes, you would,” I teased.

His grip on me tightened as we moved. “But not you.” His mist curled about my feet, its soft coldness brushing against my ankles and calves possessively.

He was so strong, so certain. My hand moved casually over his shoulder, then into his dark red hair, which felt like cool silk slipping through my fingers. I’d never touched his hair before.

“I’m not your worst enemy?” I whispered. “The one who killed you?”