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Finally Thonir eases. “And who can blame him? I’ve never once gotten through those soz’garoth tomes without falling asleep at least five times. A volvath adventure. Now, those I can read all evening. Speaking of evenings…”
“Do your interrogations never cease?”
“It’s your fault for being so fascinating. At least, I’ve heard that Yedina thinks so.” His demeanor changes as my servants knock on the door.
“Enter.”
The slaves, dark elves, bow low to us both.
“You may speak.”
“We have put the human in a spare room,” the tallest rasps. “Do you have any further orders, my prince?”
“No. No, that will do.”
Thonir shoots me an odd look, but says nothing more. Renewed heat drips through my veins like thick nectar when I imagine her waiting for me. I long to taste her again, to tie her up and use her for my pleasure, but it’s better for her to know her place. A human shouldn’t interrupt my business.
By the gods, it takes every bit of will-power I have not to make an excuse and leave. It would be so easy, and she’s so close…
“Yedina is intriguing.” She’s about as intriguing as the floor beneath my feet, but my father has ears. I trust Thonir as much as I trust anyone, but scorning a matron in front of anyone is not the best practice for a long life.
Thonir’s lips quirk as if he’s read my mind. “Intriguing is an interesting way to put it. I take it you’ve yet to fall for her advances?”
I slap my friend on the back and lead him to inspect my latest kill, still being cleaned and prepared to be mounted on my study wall. The evening passes in each other’s company, and by the time night falls and I retire to my quarters, I’ve almost managed to ignore the constant itch for the human that’s burrowed beneath my skin.
Morning storms are especially vicious, and the wind howls in the courtyard like a wounded Ur'gin. Most demons wait indoors unless they have pressing council meetings to attend, like I do.
And then, of course, there’s Yedina.
She lurks in the courtyard, ostensibly with her court of lower demons, but I can tell that she’s hoping to run into someone. Her sharp black eyes keep flitting around the statues, searching. The wind whips her fire red hair around like a storm.
It’s a storm I would like to avoid.
With a sleight of hand and an ironic apology to the God of Destruction, whose statue I make topple with a sudden burst of chaos magic, I manage to create enough of a diversion that I make it into the council meeting unmolested.
“My prince.” Vaemek, noble demon of a lesser birth, bows low as I enter the Council Room. A black fountain, tribute to the God of Whispers, burbles in the center of the room. The water is red, like blood. It’s the only splash of color in the entire room.
Vaemek leads me to a long table. There are eight seats. One for me, and the rest for my personal cabinet, mirroring the gods. The Counselor of War sits to my right, and the Counselor of Whispers to my left. The remainder of the table is rounded out by the Counselors of Destruction, Earth, Dreams, Chaos, and the Forge. A mirror of the Council of Seven, but with much less power. As the youngest prince, my authority does not stretch much farther than the gates of my personal estate.
“The main complaint of your subjects, my prince, is the-” My Counselor of Whispers loses his nerve. My seat is elevated high, a small throne, and he cranes his neck up once he gathers his courage. “The arena battle. So it has been told to me. I, personally, of course-”
I smother an impatient sigh. “I am not my brothers, Counselor. Speak freely. You mean to say that my subjects believe my actions in the arena to be unfit, yes?”
My brothers would have him on fire for merely suggesting they were wrong, but my brothers have no sense. I will take good guidance where I can find it, even if it’s not what I wish to hear.
He nods.
I flash back to the arena battle, to Laura. Whatever possessed me to save her, whether it was her luscious golden skin or simply the lure of a challenging fight, it is done.
“My will has been done, and cannot be changed. I would not change it if I could.”
“It was a glorious fight, my Prince!” My Counselor of War’s voice booms across the room. “Never have I seen one like it, not in my lifetime. To take a gilak as a prize is an honor, and the people will see it as such in time.”
But the gilak’s massive, ugly head isn’t the prize I’m thinking about. As the council meeting turns to discussions of agriculture and soz’garoth estimates of this season’s crop yield, I can’t help but remember Laura.
I’ve never cared much for food, but tasting her, feeling the human woman writhe beneath my tongue…that was delicious.
“Are we well-stocked on all other materials?” I ask this as though I’m not vividly imagining the peak of her nipple hardening against my tongue, or the hitch of her breath as I drag the edge of my jaw across her supple, soft thigh. “Per your last report, the soz’garoth were still preparing the summoning spells for our metal supplies.”
