AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Here,” he said, placing a plate in front of me with three extremely thin bready-looking things. “Add brown sugar and peaches, then roll them up, and your life will be forever changed.”
“Thank you,” I laughed, accepting the silverware he handed me, and spooning peaches on the crepes and sprinkling brown sugar on top. “But where is everyone?”
Akela huffed, annoyed that there was no bacon. I offered him a crepe, and he turned his head, huffing again in annoyance.
“Here you go, you great beast,” said Pierre, throwing an uncooked sausage toward Akela. The wolf scarfed it down, licking his chops. When he was done, he folded himself beside my stool, my ever watchful companion.
“His Majesty gave the staff the morning off,” Pierre finally replied, flipping more of the crepes in his pan. “Since most will have to work late tonight.”
“He didn’t give you the morning off?” I asked through a mouthful of peachy, sugary goodness. Pierre was right, my eyes had been opened. Who needed sex or demon males when you had crepes?
“He did,” Pierre replied, turning to wave a spatula at me. “But cooking is my greatest joy, My Lady. I will never take a morning off from that.”
“Elara,” I said, sprinkling more brown sugar on the crepe. “Please.” I offered Pierre what I hoped was a winning smile, and he gave me a sympathetic one in return.
“You are sad, Lady Elara,” he said, turning back to the crepes. “Who did this to you, and who must Pierre punish for you?”
I laughed, taking another bite of crepe. “Would you believe me if I told you it was your King?”
Pierre turned to me, a brow raised. “My King is a great many things, but he is more fighter than lover I fear,” he said, giving me a sympathetic look.
“Do you know him well, then?” I asked, unable to help myself from smiling around the jolly chef. He was the complete opposite of Lucifer in every way. No wonder they didn’t get along.
“I have known him much of his life,” Pierre replied, wiping out his pan and brushing his hands off on his apron. “He was here often as a child, when King Alaunus was the steward of the Darklands. Horned God, guide his passage.”
This last part was said like a little prayer, rather like witches when we closed a spell. I suppose it maybe was just that, and I realized I knew very little about the former Demon King or the demon religion.
“I thought Carnon wasn’t the son of the former king?” I asked, trying to work out how the demon monarchy worked. “He said he was born in Asterra. Was that a lie?”
“No, that’s true,” said Pierre, turning to face me as he leaned against the large counter where I sat. “But when a child is chosen by the strix, they are trained by the living king until it is their turn to take on the mantle. They’re supposed to serve as something of a second-in-command, when they’re no longer children.”
“What was he like?” I asked, eager for someone to tell me something about Carnon that wasn’t a lie. “King Carnon, as a child?”
Pierre chuckled, dropping dirty pans and dishes into the sink. “A menace,” he said, shooting me a wry grin. “He used to run around here every few weeks, generally making trouble when he was supposed to be studying with scholars or training with the sword master.” Pierre sighed wistfully, as if remembering fonder days. “That must be fifty odd years ago now.”
I had taken a sip of water on which I promptly choked, sputtering loudly as I tried to cough up the offending droplets. Akela whined in sympathy.
“Fifty years?” I asked, wheezing a bit as Pierre whacked me on the back with a heavy hand. “Carnon is fifty?” I wasn’t sure why this surprised me. Both demons and witches were long lived, some living for several centuries. But I had thought of Carnon as only being a little older than me.
“Well, a bit over fifty,” Pierre clarified, returning to his dishes. “Probably closer to fifty-eight, but demons don’t really keep track past twenty-five. He is quite young for a king.”
Pierre looked at me, a smirk playing about his lips. “He’s probably training in the courtyard, if you’d like to go shout at someone.”
I returned the smirk with a wicked smile of my own. “Thanks,” I said, hopping down from the stool and scratching Akela’s head. He stood, ready to follow. Or, lead more likely, since I had no idea where the courtyard was. Sure enough he began padding out of the kitchen.
“Thanks again,” I said to Pierre, “for the crepes and the company.”
“Anytime, Lady Elara,” he said with a wave of his spatula. “Come and bake with me sometime!”
I waved again, declining to tell Pierre what a terrible idea that would be as I followed Akela out of the kitchen through the side door Carnon and I had used when he first brought me. The sunlight gleaming off the moonstone of the palace was almost too bright. I squinted, following Akela as he led me toward what must be the front of the palace.
Since it was tucked into the very center of Oneiros, the palace didn’t have sprawling grounds or training yards. I passed some neatly manicured gardens and rounded a stable when I heard the sound of steel clashing on steel, but Akela didn’t stop until we reached a large, stone courtyard, flanked with a few trees and guards and leading out into the city. I remembered that we had come this way when Carnon had taken me to the tavern, but it looked different during the day.
Akela laid down with his head on his paws as Cerridwen waved, leaving the guards she had been chatting with to come and greet me. But my eyes were drawn to the two figures sparring in the middle of the open space, both shirtless and snarling and dripping with sweat.
Carnon’s tattoos practically glowed, his tan chest bathed in the golden light of the sun, and Herne’s torso was a map of scars and battle wounds, and a few tattoos as well. He was broader and more muscular than I had realized, almost twice the breadth of Carnon, who seemed slight in comparison, despite also being a huge male. The two males looked to be locked in a fierce battle, but Cerridwen smiled as if this were totally normal.
“This is how they resolve all of their disputes,” she said, giving me a smile as she gestured to her brother and mate. “They beat each other to a bloody pulp, and all is forgiven.”
