Page 73 of King’s Kismet

“Briggs has a point,” I acknowledged. “The last thing a realm full of demons needs is a winter fae running around, tripping his balls off, throwing ice stakes at unsuspecting citizens.”

“Uhm, two questions.” Jack raised his right hand and brow in unison. “A, how much did he drink? And B, what are you gonna do about the A R M O R in the hallways? You know that’s going to freak him out. Blindfolding him or having him close his eyes also won’t work.”

“Shit,” Sloane murmured. “I didn’t think about that.”

She flashed us an image of the armor in question. And five of us groaned, though the fae was blissfully unaware as he talked apocalypse tactics with the bowl of fruit. The last thought from her that ran through my mind was how we understood Vaughn.

But of course we did. We’d all been living together for years, and that gives a person the opportunity to know their roommates a little too well. Even when I stayed to myself, I could tell if one of the guys had a bad day just by the way the front door shut.

While most of the palace wouldn’t bother Vaughn, what we were about to walk through would freak him the fuck out right now.

The main portion of the palace was the part I usually ventured through when I visited. Those rooms were newer, designed to show the future of Hell. They were pristine and inviting, meant to welcome guests.

From the glimpse Sloane showed us, we were about to wander through the older part of the palace. The part visitors didn’t see, where the halls were mazes that one could become lost in if he didn’t know how to catch his bearings.

Most of the doors I’d opened during my visits had led to other doors that led nowhere. Old traps to capture intruders. By the time they made it back to the right halls, they were panicked enough to be frightened by the massive suits of armor. They wouldn’t spend any time admiring the artwork, but I loved it.

The gilded murals on the walls were of the violence and triumph in the Underworld’s history, painted by several famous demons, though some held Lilith’s signature.

Those were my personal favorites.

No one knew the hellish past better than she did.

The suits of armor in the halls held a dark history of their own. Metal plates were custom built for the mightiest of demons, held together by clamps and chains for ease of motion during battle.

And they had battled.

The Underworld’s past was littered with bloodshed and gory wars unlike any other. All the suits in the palace were here to honor a fallen demon who had earned the highest rank Lilith could bestow upon them. Noble death defending their home and their queen.

Their horns were removed, preserved, and passed along to a royal blacksmith to be permanently attached to their armor.

These suits weren’t trophies of victory.

They were a memorial, symbolizing all that was lost for all that we gained.

It begged the question of was it enough…

Though I would never ask the Mother of Demons how it felt to lose so many cherished liegemen.

“Oh!” York shouted, causing Vaughn to jump.

“What?” Sloane quietly snapped.

The druid smirked at her, his eyes glowing with mischief. He held his hands out, wiggling his fingers at us as he swayed his hips.

“I got this,” he assured Sloane. “Lead the way, Sweetheart.”

“Oh my gods.” She growled at him with wide eyes. “You’re not, York…”

He nodded. “I am.”

Sloane turned her head toward the ceiling, mouthing words without making a sound, before she finally spoke aloud, “This is either going to be really amazing to watch or really horrible. There won’t be an in between.”

Then she led us out of the kitchen, only stopping in the archway of the first hall to quirk a brow at York. “Now would be the time to start.”

Music played loudly in my mind as Novak invaded my thoughts. The vampire cackled, all too happy with himself. It took me a minute to realize he was sharing York’s inner Latin singer. The druid had too many songs memorized, though his internal musings didn’t hinder his movements as he wrapped his arm around Vaughn’s waist and pulled him to attention.

“Tango with me, Fae,” the druid demanded. “Keep your eyes on me.”