The Demon Prince

by Ann Aguirre

  “You’re his second. To clarify, are you marrying me or is Raff?”

  “Whichever you prefer,” she said.

  “Perhaps I’d like one of each, a matched wolfkin set. Is that all right too?”

  “You’re mocking me,” Korin decided, seeming unconcerned. “Yet I assure you that we are completely sincere. We’re willing to open free trade between Pine Ridge and Golgerra and train your people in our drone technology in return for—”

  Alastor held up a hand. His head was a mess, and it was too soon for him to have any mind for political machinations. “One of my small pleasures. While I’m cognizant of the great honor afforded me, I need some time to reflect.”

  Korin accepted that, bowed and exited, leaving Alastor to angle a look at Gavriel. “Let me guess, you want to marry me as well?”

  The Noxblade snarled a laugh achingly devoid of humor. “I don’t, but my lady has an offer for you.”

  In what seemed like another life, Alastor had entertained the idea of pursuing Princess Thalia, but now the prospect made him want to flee to human lands, where he’d probably die of one of their bizarre viruses. Since Gavriel would eviscerate him if he didn’t respond appropriately, he displayed only mild reluctance.

  “You’re not going to call her, are you? I’m not feeling social.”

  “Then let me relay the terms. Your achievements have impressed our princess. ‘To start with so little, defend Hallowell, and end the final battle by turning the enemy without a single shot fired? Remarkable. Together, we could accomplish much.’ Her words, not mine.” Gavriel’s expression said he still thought Alastor was an asshole. “She is open to negotiations that would establish her as consort instead of Golgoth Queen, so long as you permit her to retain her title as Queen of the Eldritch. You would have full rights as consort, no title as king in our lands.”

  “Two rulers, united in diplomacy and military might,” he said.

  That future sounded lonely. It sounded like hell.

  “You’d be a fool to refuse her.” That was the most honest thing Gavriel had ever said to Alastor, and for an instant, his heart was his in eyes, bleeding for the fairy queen who would never love him.

  “Would I?”

  That little nudge was all it took for the normally acerbic Noxblade to extol Princess Thalia’s virtues for a quarter of an hour. Alastor was no more interested in the match when Gavriel finished, but he did know quite a lot about the assassin’s unrequited love.

  Poor bastard.

  “Thank you for your candor and your visit. Now, kindly get out.”

  When the coast was clear, Dedrick stepped out of the bedroom, wearing his, Well, that was a thing, expression. “Two favorable offers. Will they expect you to be faithful?”

  “Unlikely.” Alastor tipped his head in question. “Did she hear?”

  “Hard to say. She’s in the bathroom right now, but…”

  Sod everything, I want to stop. Haven’t I earned the right to do as I wish?

  The worst part was that he couldn’t.

  29.

  Endings were awful.

  Before, Sheyla had heard others weep over the failure of a relationship, but she’d never known that pain. Until now. Though this didn’t count as a failure so much as a terminus. She bore Alastor no ill will, despite her silent hurt. At least there were no concerned glances when the occasional tear trickled down her cheek; that was the suitable response at a memorial service. The ruined cathedral provided the perfect backdrop for the service with the ancient stone walls and the scraps of stained glass clinging to the window frames.

  The Eldritch Song of Death was haunting and resonant. She never would’ve guessed that Gavriel had such a beautiful voice, but he led the Noxblades in the pure harmony as they sang their brother on to the underworld. She found their funeral customs familiar and strange at the same time. Like the Animari, the Eldritch cremated their dead, but instead of saving the ashes in a columbarium, they gave them to the wind with the final cantabile played on a pipe so mournful that it sounded like a woman weeping for her lost love. There were no words spoken for the dead and afterward, each attendant received a blessing in the form of oil on their foreheads. In the final rite, Gavriel blew out a candle that she supposed represented Zan’s soul.

  The crowd was larger than she’d expected. Sheyla had known that the Eldritch would be here, but there were also Korin’s wolves and Alastor’s entire army, lining the streets in the most impressive honor guard anyone could wish. Plus, soldiers from the militia who had fought with Zan at the western outpost came to pay respect to the fallen. Later, Chancellor Quarles was holding a candlelight vigil to honor those who had fallen, including the Fearless Five, which was what they were calling the factory owners whose sacrifice made this moment possible.

  Though she had arrived with Alastor, there was no getting near him. So many people wanted a word or a moment of his time that Dedrick couldn’t hold them back. Alastor wore a frozen expression, a rictus of his charming smile. She took a last look at her demon prince and then faded into the departing crowd.

  Sheyla had one stop to make before she left. Nothing in the apartment was worth carrying, and supplies would only slow her down. They might be able to offer her a vehicle, but the roads were uncertain in winter, and it was a bit warmer, faint suggestion that spring was on the way, so she shouldn’t have any problem returning to Ash Valley in cat form soon enough to keep her mother from dispatching Zaran.

  With her plans set, she’d left her comm at the flat, along with a note she’d placed where Alastor would certainly find it. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to say farewell, but Sheyla believed in the benefit of surgical precision. Long kisses, sorrowing eyes, and clinging hands would just make it harder. In all honesty, she couldn’t stand to see the rest; it had been hell hiding in the bathroom, unable not to hear how many options he had, both of which would benefit his people.

  Moving past the immovable rows of Golgoth soldiers, who had been trying to kill them until a couple of days ago, unnerved her a bit. The crowd thinned once she reached the next intersection, and Sheyla set off toward the hospital. As expected, she found Dr. Seagram scolding the work crew at St. Casimir.

  “Ho there! None worse for your sequestering, Dr. Halek?”

  Smiling faintly, she shook her head. “I came to thank you… and to remind you to follow up with Prince Alastor. He has plenty of medication for the moment, and I’m leaving you all my data in case you need to make more.”

  “I take it you’re leaving, then?”

  The question shouldn’t feel like a knife to the heart. “I am. Also, please don’t forget you promised to search for a viable pain—”

  “I found it,” Dr. Seagram cut in. “There’s no earthly reason why he can’t take Salicine. I didn’t have a chance to speak with the prince before, well, everything. I’ll contact him when everything settles down here a bit.”

  That’s all I can do for him now. I have to go home.

  “Thanks for everything, sir.” It occurred to her then that she should ask. “Did your mate come through the battle all right?”

  The old bear smiled. “Franklin’s well, I’m happy to report.”

  “That’s good news. Please stop by if you’re ever near Ash Valley.”

  “Take care of yourself, Dr. Halek, and give my regards to your family.”

  “I will.”

  Sheyla headed out on foot, but the fallen stones around the side of St. Casimir offered a convenient place for her to strip and stash her clothes. As a cheetah, she bolted from the city at top speed, reveling in the freedom. In Hallowell, it wasn’t unusual to see wolves and great cats frolicking in the park, but she’d always been too busy or too exhausted to play. That pattern had held true for this visit as well.

  The woods were silent, a blessing after the city noise. She cocked her head, listening to the alarmed chatter of mundane animals. They spoke of nothing so much as the threat she posed, reassuring that she likely wouldn’t m
eet hostile forces on the way home. Top speed put kilometers behind her quickly, and she savored the rich scent of the trees and the wind.

  Odd, though. The farther she got from Alastor, the more it hurt, as if her heart had a hook and a line attached. As she ran, it spooled tighter, until each step felt like she had thorns in her paws, blades in her chest. Once she even wheeled back toward Hallowell to ease the sensation. Snarling, she swiped her claws over the nearest tree.

  Why? I need this to be over. We agreed—

  The truth hit her like a fallen building. We’re mated. In the bunker, Sheyla had suspected the bond might be forming, but she hadn’t even known for certain that it was possible since he wasn’t Animari.

  Her first ridiculous reaction was, My parents will be furious. She’d have to keep it a secret. Over time—and without contact—mate bonds could be broken. She planned to refuse the person her father had chosen anyway. Her parents were more interested in public opinion than in her personal contentment. Silently, she admitted that had always been true. While her family loved her, they had always wanted to wedge her into place like a square peg in a round hole. She wasn’t willing to have her edges filed off anymore.

  She hunted, catnapped when necessary, and mostly, she ran. From her memories, from the pain. Sheyla required no map to find her home territory; the closer she came, the more familiar everything smelled. Early on the day her brother would be sent to Hallowell, she broke over a rise to spot Ash Valley in the distance. Not lovely and gleaming pale purity as it had been. Now Ash Valley was battle-scarred with patches visible on the exterior walls.

  Yet the fact that the settlement still stood, despite tragedy and treachery warmed her heart. Her happiest moments might have been spent with an exiled prince, but work had offered great solace here. Eventually, it would again. Her chest blazed with an anguish she could only compare to a broken bone. For the Animari, those mended swiftly. For this, there was no treatment but time.

  Weary, heartsick, and aching, she circled to the postern doors, as the main gate seemed to be soldered shut. An understandable precaution but she couldn’t help but process the message it sent. Outsiders beware, Ash Valley is closed.

  At the side entrance, Sheyla shifted and input the code, naked and shivering. After she saw her family, a visit to the bath house would be her first move. She raced down the tunnel into the staging room and grabbed some spare clothes and slippers, dressing for warmth rather than modesty. In the winter, they left coats as well, so she added one of those too. Maybe nobody would notice that she was back, but just in case, she pulled up the hood.

  I’m not in the mood to talk if I don’t have to.

  When she reached the front door of her family home, she hesitated a few seconds before inputting the PIN. I’m ready for this, she told herself as she stepped inside.

  “Hey, everyone. I’m finally home.”

  This fucking day.

  Alastor lost track of Sheyla when Chancellor Quarles dragged him to the ministry, where they had various summits scheduled. He had been listening to the Director of Municipal Development drone for what seemed like a week. It was important, and he did care about the relief effort; his involvement in reconstruction efforts would go a long way toward assuring the Animari that he could be trusted to keep his promises—that deals signed with him would be honored, even after he returned to Golgerra. Still, six hours of meetings were five too long.

  In the evening, he’d committed to a call with Princess Thalia; the wolves were demanding equal time. Victory had resulted in less freedom rather than more. On the surface, he was coping. Yet the longer he played by the rules, the more they felt like the rope that would strangle him.

  “Can’t we all agree that children are the priority here?”

  Someone clearly disagreed and went on a tangent about trolleys and infrastructure. Alastor let his eyes glaze over and wished himself elsewhere. Eventually, Chancellor Quarles banged her stick on the conference table, signaling the end of the session, and he was free to take a break. Ded was waiting for him in the lobby, sprawled in a comfortable chair. Not for the first time, Alastor envied his friend.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Do you even need to ask? They’re selling skewers in the plaza, and I almost got one an hour ago.”

  Impossible not to remember that day with Sheyla when he’d first arrived, hot spiced tea and sugared pastries in the snow. Thinking of her, his sternum ached as if he’d been shot, and it hadn’t even been that long since he’d seen her.

  “I’m glad your loyalty overruled your stomach.”

  “It was a close call,” Ded smirked.

  Alastor nudged him with a shoulder and headed for the front doors. Late-afternoon light warmed the pavement, and the snow was melting, running along the gutters in tiny rivers. With so many restaurants in ruins and the power out all over the city, Hallowell was handling the crisis with grace. Kind folks had set up food carts near the fountain, offering hot food for a pittance. Unsurprisingly, the queue snaked around the square.

  “They’d likely let you cut in.” Ded gestured at the front of the line.

  He shook his head. “Let’s wait. Even if we’re polite, there should be time to eat with Sheyla before tonight’s festivities begin.”

  Service came at a brisk clip, so it didn’t take as long as Ded feared for them to reach the counter. The cook greeted him with an expectant look; it was oddly comforting not to be recognized. Alastor bought nine skewers, roasted sweet potatoes, and a carafe of creamy soup that smelled delicious.

  “Let’s go home. I’d like an hour of peace before the circus resumes.”

  “Good luck with that,” Ded mumbled.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  The guard appeared to ponder as they walked. “Not as such. More, I’m grateful that I’m not burdened with your obligations.”

  “I can’t interest you in swapping lives?”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  In brooding silence, he walked the rest of the way to the flat. The prospect of an hour with Sheyla should be brightening his mood, but it just kept darkening. Foreboding hung over him like a storm cloud. Now anxious for reasons he couldn’t even name, he shoved the food into Dedrick’s hands and raced up the stairs.

  “Sheyla?”

  The flat was still and quiet, no sign of life. Alastor tore through every room, calming a trifle when he spotted her belongings. It’s fine. She’s probably working. I’m too tightly wound, that’s all. He clung to that likelihood until he went into the bathroom. There, he found a note stuck to the mirror: I will always miss your face. With shaking hands, he plucked the paper and smoothed it between his fingers.

  She’s gone. It’s over.

  That realization swept him at the knees and he crumpled, leaning his head against the wash basin. Without her… without her, he had no will to continue, no matter what he might achieve. Illness wouldn’t end him after all; it would be the loss of Sheyla Halek. Alastor didn’t even realize he was crying until the tears dripped off his chin.

  I should have said to hell with my promise. I should have begged.

  On some level, he suspected it wouldn’t matter. Sheyla wouldn’t be content with scraps of his time, shadowed by his obligations, and what more could he offer? That was how Ded found him, a few minutes later. He didn’t resist when the guard hauled him to his feet.

  “You need to eat. As I told you in the beginning, you can’t afford—”

  “What?” He knocked Ded’s hands away, visibly trembling. “To want anything? Need anything of my own?”

  “Sire.”

  “Fuck this. Fuck everything. I’ll die without her.” In that moment, it felt true.

  Distress had always exacerbated his condition, and he doubled over wheezing. Dedrick scrambled to find the inhalers Sheyla had left, and Alastor almost fainted before he brought the thing to his face. His vision cleared, spots fading.

  “You understand what you’re giving u
p?” Ded wore a somber look.

  The answer was nothing. No political marriage could bring anything compared to how he felt when he was with her. With her, I am whole. He’d always carry the guilt of sacrificing Rowena to save Hallowell; he couldn’t lose Sheyla up as well.

  Alastor had never been more certain. “I never wanted to rule but if I must, then so help me, I’ll do it on my terms. If I’m king, I can do as I wish, sign peace treaties, and they will hold. Keep order here, you have the battalion.” He bolted to his feet.

  More time must’ve passed than he’d imagined because it was dark when he raced out of the apartment. He passed Korin and Gavriel on the stairs and the Noxblade grabbed his arm.

  “Where do you think you’re going? What about Princess Thalia?”

  Korin elbowed the Eldritch hard enough that he grunted. “Did you forget promising to speak with Raff?”

  “Sod both Thalia and Raff,” he snapped. “Let them marry each other.”

  I have to see her. As soon as possible. He ran down two steps before the solution occurred to him. “Korin, did you leave your war machine at the armory?”

  “I did, but—”

  Alastor was already running. One benefit of being a hero was that the officer on duty didn’t question his right to commandeer the unit Korin had used during the city’s defense. His training might not be sufficient for combat, but he got the thing in the air and set the navigation for Ash Valley. This was the fastest path to her, end of story.

  It got claustrophobic inside because the suit was meant for conflict, not extended air travel, but he ignored the discomfort and kept watching the visor screen update. The trip that had taken days, at top speed, he reduced to hours. Middle of the night now, and it wasn’t as bright as it should be in Ash Valley, a sign that they were still recovering, too.

  He set down half a klick from the settlement to avoid alarming anyone, then keyed the unit to his biometrics so a prowling kit couldn’t take the bear war machine for a test flight. Plodding through slush and mud, he practiced his speech.