AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His waves of golden hair are pillowed on his broad shoulders, and around his head is the crown bestowed to him by Lucifer himself: a gold-silver laurel with blooming poppies that match his scarlet eyes. He’s feminine and masculine in equal measure.
Arrogant, chatty, regal, beautiful Paimon.
If Lauren?iu were undressing him, as he’d done clinically many times as part of his duties, he’d see all this; he’s seen it all. Whereas Lauren?iu had always been of a delicate frame and face, save for the strong, aristocratic nose he proudly got from his father, Paimon is long-limbed and lithe, but muscled with a bed of light hairs on his chest. The fallen angels differ in looks, some outright eldritch or bizarre, but they all have this same feeling of being many things at once, seemingly uncaring of the contradictions: beautiful and terrible; sacred and unholy.
King Paimon wears a tunic and breeches that are sable-black and lined with shimmering gold patterns, with a cloak as red as blood swept over one of the armrests.
When Lauren?iu imagines himself in bed with his hand on Paimon’s naked, ample chest, caressing his horns, having that tail wrapped around him...heat floods him. His throat constricts.
In the end, though, he can only see himself doing that to better himself, an assignment, like his jobs with clients back on Earth. Or the rare moments, not all sexual, when he’s agreed to speak to other mid-level demons on behalf of Paimon; many demons underestimate Lauren?iu when he comes across as demure and inexperienced compared to the ill-tempered and capricious Kings and Queens of Hell.
Good.
Paimon’s most striking features, besides those eyes that can cut ice, are his red horns and tail; most angels and demons he sees vary in horn shape and size, and types of tails. Paimon has quite the classic look, his tail reaching a triangular point and lazily penduluming behind him. His horns sweep dramatically up, curved like the moon, like a water buffalo’s horns.
He smiles, but the finger and thumb he tapped together now rest on his temple as he leans, clearly bored.
If I had his place...
But you don’t.
I would look good in that crown.
So, Paimon sits and listens, and speaks in that smooth baritone that becomes an ocean wave rasp on sand when he whispers, which is rare.
In Hell, naturally, there’s Lucifer as the ultimate king of the entire realm, but there are many kings in these infernal, ever-expanding lands, these city-states of souls, demons, and fallen angels. Paimon, next to Baal, is one of the most loyal to Lucifer.
And one of the most beautiful.
Even Lauren?iu must admit it because, well, he can see.
Lauren?iu, practically invisible in the crowded, noisy room, can’t help his smirk. Paimon knows that he’s hot, empirically.
Initially, he’d been annoyed at this careless, egotistical angel who does what he wants and, on the outside, seems to never suffer the consequences of his actions.
Every fall has a painful landing, Lauren?iu soon realized early on in the court, and when Paimon’s charms turned toward him, irritation and shallow quid pro quo—combing Paimon’s hair, listening to his rants and impassioned speeches about Fuseli, Lord Byron, and Oscar Wilde—agitation became...something else.
His edges softened, but never went away.
Yet, an old pang surfaces between Lauren?iu’s ribs as he stands among the crowd. Unseen as Paimon shines.
As one of Lucifer’s most favored, Paimon can have everything he wants, and Lauren?iu’s stomach and fists clench as one emotion rages through him.
Envy.
You’re nothing, the world had said to Lauren?iu, and he’d seethed.
I can survive. Connive. I deserve a crown. I deserve revenge. I deserve renown. I deserve to do whatever I want. Give me what I want.
Always a way. Always a new plan.
There’s nothing to say that Lauren?iu doesn’t deserve to be on that throne. To have everything he wants. To go to Earth whenever he wants and cut Anthony’s head off and have the sweet relief of knowing that the man who betrayed his trust, his love, and abandoned him could never experience an ounce of happiness again. He’d give everything for that, that catharsis, that glee.
And what are the prerequisites to rule in Hell, to be damned?
The Ninth Circle. A traitor’s court.
Not his original destination, but King Paimon had taken one look at him in Pandæmonium and declared that he could be one of his wine-bearers for the simple reason that Paimon needed to be surrounded by beautiful people of all kinds every eternal moment.
