Page 144 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

His mother’s eyes pinned Alderrath in place. “Traitors get their just desserts, remember that.” Those eyes narrowed. “Are you a traitor, Agmon Alderrath?”

Alderrath stared at the horns. His face had gone the colour of ash. He didn’t answer.

Ark watched, a flicker of dark amusement passing through him. It would take at least ten years for those horns to regrow—if the demon was lucky. He’d live. He’d just look considerably less impressive.

Kassenor spoke, “Your Daemaris asked you a question, Alderrath.” His voice was quiet, almost gentle—which made it infinitely more terrifying. “Answer her.”

Alderrath’s jaw worked. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Every eye in the room was on him.

He couldn’t afford to answer any other way. A single admission of treason would strip him of every shred of credibility he’d spent decades building. The demon nobility would never trust him again—and without their trust, the Daemar’s seat would remain forever out of reach.

Through clenched teeth, he said, “No, Daemaris.”

Kassenor’s smile turned glacial. “So you say. Yet I overheard you taking my name in vain. Something about me lying on my deathbed?” He tsked. “You’ve drafted my obituary . . . when I’ve not even had my lunch.”

A few strained chuckles rose from the braver courtiers, then faltered as Alderrath stepped forward.

“You joke well for a relic who can hardly walk.” Alderrath sneered, eyes flicking to the cane. “You’ve been fading from the Council for years while your mate covers for you. Now your son abandons legacy to chase gutter witches and sentimental scraps. Is this the future House Varil offers demonkind?”

Kassenor’s expression didn’t change. He regarded Alderrath for a long, almost pitying moment. “Strange, how those who lack power are always the first to demand proof of it.”

He shifted his weight on the cane. “You look at a cane and see a crutch. I look at you and see a man who has never needed one—because he has never carried anything of real weight. Remember who taught your own father to fear the dark. My shadow may be shorter now, but it is still long enough to eclipse your entire house.”

Kassenor took one step forward. “And as for my son? He does not chase scraps. He chooses his own path—something your house has never quite mastered—without tying it to someone else’s.”

Alderrath straightened his shoulders, feeding off the murmurs of the nervous gathering. “Meredith was never meant to be a singular entity. Humans, demons, witches, elves—we were not meant to mix bloodlines, nor blur the lines that give our society order.” He cast his gaze meaningfully over the crowd. “And now even the highest bloodlines chase after orphans and Untethered charity cases. Tell me—how long before the title of Daemaris itself is given to someone who cannot trace their name two generations back?”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some nodded. Others froze.

Then, Kassenor moved. Not far—just a step, one shadow-drenched pivot that seemed to darken the air around him. He let that settle. The sun overhead faltered. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was the shadows clawing up the glass, darkening the enchantment that had kept the gathering warm and bright.

Ark’s breath caught.

Black tendrils spidered through the glass canopy, climbing faster—dark veins over each pane, blotting out the sky. The sun disappeared behind a lattice of moving darkness. A collective gasp echoed around the terrace.

Then the shadows dropped. They poured like smoke along the walls and the floor, rising at the feet of nobles who had moments before whispered their doubts. They didn’t touch skin, but they loomed. Curled behind chairs. Coiled around stone columns. Flickered at the edges of every vision.

One demon stumbled back into a table. A goblet shattered. Another shrieked, then silenced herself.

Ark stood frozen. Even knowing his father’s strength—even understanding its extent—he had never witnessed it like this. A force of nature, ancient and exacting, sweeping the air from a courtyard full of Meredith’s elite and daring any of them to oppose him .

And through it all, Kassenor never raised his voice.

“No empire endures by dividing itself at the root. Many houses have fallen—not because they mingled blood, but because they mistook their reflection for the realm. You speak of strength through separation, Alderrath. I see only fear. Fear of being irrelevant. Fear of being outnumbered.”

A ripple passed over Alderrath’s face before he masked it.

Kassenor continued, slower now. “We are demons. But we are not only demons. We are Meredith. And Meredith will not survive another war within its own blood.”

The shadows pulsed once—then halted. The silence that followed was heavier. Even Alderrath looked paler, sweat visible beneath his temples. His gaze darted toward the crawling black veiling the sun.

No one spoke.

Ark, heart pounding, caught movement at his mother’s side. Her hand had come to rest on his father’s arm, willing him upright through sheer force of will. Oromon, still silent, had shifted a half-step forward. Their eyes met. His brother tilted his head slightly toward the doors.

Time to go.

His father stood tall still, but Ark could see the faint tremor at his jaw, the whitening pallor, the shadows beneath his eyes. He was burning his magic reserves to keep standing. Every second of that display had cost him.