by Rhyll Biest
His marriage to the princess made him a duke.
The title held no appeal, but given that the king was already married, and his children too young to marry, someone trustworthy had had to do the deed of marrying this icy princess. Otherwise his king couldn’t secure the military alliance he needed to fight Paimon and his legions.
So Adriel had stepped up. And while he’d kept busy fighting the enemy he hadn’t thought too much about his impending marriage—until he’d met his bride and her family and realised that all the rumours he’d heard about them were true.
Adriel eyed them where they sat a few metres away as the notary droned on, mumbling his essential nothings.
Semya the Voracious, lushly beautiful with jade hair, viridian eyes and a shadowy emerald aura, was infamous for her talent at healing and killing with poison. She was by nature so viperous she probably sloughed her skin at night. She was famous in all nine realms of Hell for penning her earthly sexcapades in a twelve-volume series called Mea Terra Lupinar, which roughly translated to Topside is My Brothel. Adriel’s highly developed sense of smell picked up an odd mix of cucumber and marshmallow from her.
By the viper sat Lymenia the Furious. Rumoured to be as intractable as a scurtbeast and prone to pyromania, her smile—the same shade of vermillion temptation as her hair and aura—held a bloodthirsty edge even at her sister’s wedding. Her scent of ash and smoke nearly overpowered all other smells.
Next to the pyromaniac princess sat Cinna the Vigorous, slight of build with gold hair and skin shot through with hundreds of tawny threads, her eyes a speckled straw color, her hazy aura nut brown. Given her charming, perky chatterbox persona, her scent of damp, decaying leaf litter had puzzled Adriel. Until he’d learned she was a necromancer. A kleptomaniac necromancer. While exploring the castle he’d stumbled upon her pilfering her parents’ silver, and yet she’d never blushed or stammered. Instead she’d dazzled him with charm before flitting from the room.
She was a puzzling she-demon, but not nearly as mysterious as his bride, the frozen enigma standing by him and seducing his senses with her crisp, sharp scent—the smell of newly fallen snow. He ran his eyes over her, from the ice tiara crowning her white hair to her pearly white boots lightly coated in frost.
It was a shame there was no armour to protect him against the sight of her, the way her wintry beauty chipped away at his self-control and threatened to bury the icepick in his heart once done.
Stiff and silent as a plank in his presence, she usually looked away the second their eyes met. After several hours spent in her company all that he really knew about her was that for some reason she believed him to be fond of turnips, and that she was prone to lowering the room temperature by several degrees when displeased—and his presence displeased her.
Oh, did it ever.
Either she feared he might piss on the furniture or she simply feared him, though he told himself it was impossible that she sensed the terrible beast that grew in him daily, the one that mauled judgement and rutted upon reason. The curse created by her brother had fallen upon Adriel as soon as his engagement to the princess had been announced—and it had fallen on him hard.
Already Adriel had been involved in several regrettable incidents involving still-beating hearts displaced from chests. The incidents had so far been confined to the battlefield, but what happened when they shifted? Only his brother was aware of the curse and the dark, terrifying void of self-control yawning at his feet. His secret was safe with Hakan, who would never betray him, but would Adriel be able to fool his bride? Could he hide from her that something other than reason now dictated his actions on and off the battlefield? That the very nature of Hell itself was transforming around him? Footprints, scent and wind now told elaborate stories, while sounds that others remained deaf to could rake claws down his insides with their unbearable intensity.
He was becoming … something else. Something strange. If the legions found out they might desert his command.
It was a precarious state of being, like fighting on a battlefield covered in black ice.
The scrape of a bow on violin strings plucked at his ears. The wedding dance. He glanced at his bride. He couldn’t deny he’d been itching to skim his hands over her curves since she’d appeared in her gown of finely woven silk and bone fiber. The gleaming fabric—one shade deeper than her ivory complexion and hair—clung to her, highlighting an arse so deliciously round the temptation to bounce his hand off it was nigh overwhelming.
Imagine how she’d react to that.
He took her by the elbow. He was surprised to discover that while her skin appeared to glint with frost, it was as soft and warm under his fingers now as it had been when he’d held her hand during the knife ceremony. The aura of deep freeze was an illusion, a sensory trick.
What else about her was not as it seemed?
He led her onto the marble dance floor as tango music floated up from the orchestra. He’d had his advisor school him in the steps rather than give the nobles present another opportunity to sneer at his lack of education, but though he was confident he knew the moves, the dance floor still appeared as treacherous as black ice to him.
The princess arched an eyebrow at him as they came to a halt, no doubt wondering if he knew what to do next.
An elusive quality rose from her, like mist from dry ice. Yes, that was it: she was smoke and vapour and other things that couldn’t be pinned down.
But pin her he would.
Sliding an arm around her waist he pulled her provocatively firm against him, deliberately resting his hand low on her back as they stood chest to chest.
Her muffled sound of displeasure drew his eyes to her mouth. Her lips were suspiciously rosy and generous for someone who pretended to have antifreeze in her veins. Perhaps he should test their softness with a gentle nibble, a kiss. How would she react to that?
He raised their clasped hands high, hers so very small and still within his. A burst of staccato steps and they sailed forth, their entwined bodies moving in sync with the tango music’s playful yet provocative rhythm. He revelled in her hands on him as their feet moved together in incisive steps, bodies synchronised with each elegant snap, glide and turn.
Their reflection flashed by in the mirrors lining the ballroom, his black shoulders looming above her ivory form, their movements mesmerising, graceful, sleek, sinister. Erotic.
They looked good together.
He allowed her to twirl away before reeling her back in, capturing her hand to lead her through a series of fierce, gliding steps. Another couple threatened to collide with them and he used his body to shield her from the impact.
‘Sorry,’ the other male dancer muttered.
Adriel barely heard the apology. Valeda was pressed up hard against him, a hand resting on his chest, eyes wide with a surprise he would bet had nothing to do with the collision.
He twirled her away, pulled her back to him, and took the opportunity to breathe in her scent.
‘Please refrain from sniffing me.’
Such freezing words. He dipped her almost to the floor before slowly raising her all the way back up to his chest and locking gazes with her. ‘Why? Why should I?’
She swallowed hard and he enjoyed the way her long, slender throat rose and fell with the action, a column of grace. He hooked a leg around hers, entwining their limbs, and brought his mouth close to her ear. ‘Does it make you nervous? Or do I?’
‘Neither.’
So quick to deny it. ‘You seem a little breathless.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘It’s the dance.’
But it was more than that. He trusted his instincts and they told him she lied—either because he made her nervous on some feminine level or because she was up to something. If he were able to hear her heartbeat, like he could every other demon’s, he would bet it would now be tapping a furious Morse code. Lies always made the heart dance faster. It frustrated him that he couldn’t hear hers.
He twirled her and
when they came together again he caught the way her downcast gaze rested on his lips for three steps.
Clearly the princess was not as icy and disinterested as she would have him think. She surprised him further by condescending to speak to him.
‘I’ll admit I’m surprised you know how to dance. I thought your hobbies ran more along the lines of ripping still-beating hearts from chests.’
A smile twisted his lips at her ambush. He stroked a thumb over the back of her hand. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear about me.’
She looked away as he led her into a corte. Several beats later they were face to face again and her eyes met his, very serious, almost troubled. ‘You know this won’t end well, don’t you?’
He raised a brow. A direct admission of planned treachery on her part? He sensed her desire to flee but would not allow it. ‘I know no such thing.’ He dipped her again and raised her slowly. He savoured the tease of her hair cascading around her shoulders and breathed in her perfume once more just to provoke her. ‘Look how well we dance together. Imagine what we’ll be like in the sack.’
He leaned back to gauge the impact of his words and inhaled the sharp spice of panic as her eyes widened a fraction, before an icy blanket of indifference settled over her once more.
‘That will never happen. Ever.’ She pulled free from his arms and slipped away to vanish among the couples crowding the dance floor.
Remember what they say about saying ‘never’, princess. His gaze followed her. Though she’d disappeared from sight, an almost visible scent trail formed in her wake, the thick and distinct smell of freshly fallen snow. He could track her anywhere.
Chapter 2
Valeda took a deep breath.
Silence and solitude at last.
The bone gazebo in the garden provided the perfect refuge from the captain, the busy dance floor, and the annoyingly sensual music that had done strange, unpleasant things to her insides.
Although perhaps it hadn’t been the music that had affected her insides but her weakened state. Unlike archdemons, most demons who inherited their elemental powers from their parents had to continually build and refresh that store of power through torment. As a knowledge demon, Valeda earned her powers through teaching, and appeared as a human to work as a university professor on the topside dimension. Only archdemons had self-renewing power or were able to bestow some of their maleficence on those they favoured most—a rare event.
Valeda had now gone two moon cycles without teaching and was running low on juice. Throw in the nuptial migraine mauling her like a bear, and she lacked her usual mental clarity. To restore some equilibrium—and put aside unwelcome thoughts of a certain black-haloed husband—she pictured her favourite things. German words that stretched for miles, their riot of bright, crisp vowels and umlauts, the delicious taste of their tart consonant blends, and the exquisite German logic of clipping words together like Lego blocks.
How beautiful the letters were, how rich their perfume.
The bitter, cold stream of thoughts calmed her and she retreated deeper into the frigid perfection of her mind. If not for her urgent need to escape and find Lore, she could have lost herself for hours among the facts and the theories about dead and living languages, wrapping herself in icy, perfect particles of learning. She was so close to being able to stare into the living face of knowledge. When the archdemon Lore had given her the mental wall and taken Valeda’s heart in exchange for it, Valeda had discovered what a gift distance from her heart was. She saw more clearly. Her understanding of why archdemons allowed maleficence to destroy their hearts had blossomed.
It freed them.
Once she became an archdemon she’d be free too. Serving Lore on the topside dimension had been Valeda’s way of working towards that goal, but marriage had derailed that. She frowned. For how long would she be trapped Hellside?
A briny scent flooded the air and all her senses contracted.
The sound of waves rushing forth.
An ocean of love and dread.
Her brother appeared beside her. Not in the flesh, but a spectral projection. With his combined air and earth powers he had that ability, among others.
The sight of him pounded through her breastbone.
Handsome as ever, his grey eyes—so changeable that a frown could turn them black—were bright and clear, his angular face as smooth as glass. She always thought of his mask as a veneer of ice laid over an ocean freighted with complexity. Others simply called it madness, but that was a crude analysis and inaccurate since he operated within the bounds of logic.
It felt as if a blade were slicing her insides as she studied him. It was difficult to label him mad when he had manipulated so many with such skill. The military alliance, the marriage, the forced summoning—all so he could track her down. She’d been lost to him on the topside dimension. He couldn’t find her there so he’d had to bring her here. It was only logical. She could appreciate that, even as his presence denied her air.
‘I like the dress.’ His voice, deep and rich as night, caressed her, his eyes and shark-grey aura sombre.
How it hurt to see him, to hear him. Not just because of the neural reflex happily bayoneting her brain over and over, but the memories of happy times—truanting from finishing school, spying on secret centaur ceremonies. It was those memories, as sharp as broken glass, that in his absence made longing follow her like a lost hound. Yet now he was present something scratched and scrabbled madly at the wall in her mind, insisting he’d done something beyond awful to her. Like the captain, her brother made her distant heart feel things, and she hated to feel things. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of effort to trap me here. Why?’
‘I want you to forgive me for what happened. What I did was wrong, I know.’
Dark lines wriggled at the edges of her vision. ‘I don’t remember what happened between us.’
His eyes widened a fraction, something intense flashing in their depths. ‘Then forgive me.’
She looked away. ‘I can’t. Lore told me she walled off those memories to protect me, so whatever happened couldn’t have been good.’ Something dark swallowed the edges of her vision and she wiped it away. A glance at her fingers confirmed navy blood smeared on them. ‘I think it would be unwise to forgive what I can’t remember.’
Intense eyes locked with hers. ‘I would forgive you anything; I have forgiven you much.’
She cocked her head. ‘So you say.’ Her tone was cool enough but his presence clogged her throat, had her struggling for breath.
‘I conquered a kingdom and raised an army to find you. Is that not proof of how much you mean to me?’
She wrestled for air and to breathe more evenly. ‘Oh, tut, you forget that I’m the one who taught you how to lie and dissemble, little brother. That I remember.’
He laughed, the sound still the fairest in Hell. ‘Then you remember what matters. Join me, stand by my side as my legions smash the realm of that oaf you’ve married, right before I humble our mother.’
She wiped away another tear of blood. ‘Still yearning to teach her a lesson?’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve moved beyond such things.’
A scowl turned his eyes black. ‘Is that why you went topside where I couldn’t find you?’
‘No.’ How typical of him not to notice her eyes were bleeding. Love truly was a selfish thing. ‘My absence from Hell was to protect my memory wall. This blood from my eyes,’ she raised her hand to reveal the navy staining her fingers, ‘is from talking to you. The longer I spend here and the more I’m reminded of you, the more the wall degrades and my physical wellbeing with it.’
He stared at her hand, dark eyes filled with nausea. ‘No.’
‘Sorry.’ The word rolled hollow as a shell from her tongue. ‘I know that must be frustrating for you after going to so much trouble to bring me here, but it’s true.’ She edged away from his stifling presence.
His eyes took on a gleam that was all too familiar to her. ‘This is Lore’s doin
g. Make her undo it.’
She raised a brow. Like her, the archdemon would care nothing about his rage. ‘Make her? As if I could compel an archdemon? Besides, I’m not sure whether she can. In the meanwhile, the more you pursue me, the more likely my head is to split in half like an overripe watermelon.’
‘Don’t say that.’ He ran an agitated hand through his dark grey hair.
How was it that she cared for him but also enjoyed his pain? ‘It’s a fact. You can’t fight it; you have to stay away. Far away.’
His brows lowered. ‘I can fight it. I will fight it. Whatever Lore has done can be undone.’
Valeda’s shoulders twitched with the urge to shrug. Paimon had always had such trouble letting go of things, whereas she’d become expert at it.
His spectral form moved closer. ‘You’re the only one I’ve ever loved. I’ll not give up on you.’
Why had the air become a thick, hot substance too solid for her lungs? I don’t love you that way, and I never did. There was no point in saying it—she’d already said it a thousand times—because his ears turned to stone when it came to hearing those words, just as he never recognised how smothering his love was. How trapped it made her feel. ‘Then you will destroy what you profess to love.’
‘I do more than profess it, you know that.’ Anger, bright and self-righteous, gleamed in the ashen depths of his eyes, stealing all the air from her lungs. ‘Know that I’m coming for you, sister, and that ours shall be a true marriage.’ His spectral form faded.
The suffocating wound of him gone, Valeda slumped against a marble wall and stared up at the dome of woven bones, moonlight seeping through their hollows. What had rotted the roots of sibling love and turned it to obsession? The need to keep her near at all times? For the thousandth time she inspected her actions and her words for false steps. Had it been because she’d held his hand, let him brush her hair? The long conversations? No, those things she’d done with her sisters as well.