by K. L. Thorne
“Who is it?” she called out.
Haros groaned beside her as she woke him.
“Pardon my intrusion, Your Highness. Master Goldwyrm has invited you for dinner, should you feel up to joining him,” a voice called through the wooden door.
Sivelle’s stomach rumbled loudly in response to the invitation.
“Are you hungry?” she asked the sleeping demon beside her.
“Starving.”
She grinned. She could always count on her demon to be keen for a meal.
“Yes, tell my uncle we will join him. Please allow us a few moments to make ourselves presentable,” she called out to the servant on the other side of the door.
“Wonderful. Master Goldwyrm will be pleased to hear it. Someone will await you at the landing to show you to the dining room. In your own time.”
A floorboard creaked as the man’s footsteps faded away. Sivelle threw the sheets off herself and shivered, her naked body assaulted by the chill in the air.
“Come on, time to get up,” she stroked a palm over Haros’s warm back as she got shakily to her feet. She was exhausted, her body ached from head to toe. The princess was sure a hot meal would help.
Haros groaned something incoherent from the bed before eventually sitting up.
Sivelle skittered shyly to her belongings, hiding her breasts behind her arm and turning her back to the demon. It was ridiculous, really. She had been intimate with Haros on a number of occasions now, but she still could not help feeling coy.
She dug around in her satchel for a pair of knickers before standing to step into them.
“Are those really necessary?” Haros grated from across the room, his voice rough from sleep.
Sivelle smiled to herself, but schooled her expression into a disapproving scowl as she glanced over her shoulder towards him.
“Shut up and get dressed,” she scolded, pulling her underwear up and running her fingers beneath the seams to arrange them more comfortably.
“Just so you know, I’m going to be taking them back off again once we’ve had dinner. Is there really any need to wear them at all?”
“I am not going to dinner with my uncle with no underwear on!” Sivelle gaped with a laugh.
“Hm, spoil sport.”
They dressed in comfortable silence. Sivelle was pleased to note Mivian had had the foresight to pack some more casual clothes as well as winter gear. She picked out a simple silk gown, thankfully coreset-free.
Haros chose to don his leather breeches, but instead paired them with a casual shirt. As he was buttoning the cuffs, they caught one another’s eye.
Before Sivelle could look away hastily, Haros shot her a grin. It was one she had become accustomed to seeing – a flash of white teeth, devilishly handsome, full of untold promise.
Sivelle felt her cheeks flush, as she distracted herself by unravelling her hair. Where she had gone to bed with it wet, it had dried into kinked waves. She fluffed it self-consciously.
“Your hair looks pretty like that,” Haros muttered. “Leave it loose.”
Despite herself, Sivelle continued to run her fingers through it. The demon took three long strides towards her, taking her hands in his own.
Sivelle didn’t question him, just tilted her face up to look at him. When he released her hands, instead cupping her face, she knew he was going to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed.
“We should get going,” Sivelle murmured between kisses. She didn’t make any attempt to move away, instead wrapped her arms tighter around Haros’s waist.
The demon hummed in agreement, but continued to kiss her firmly.
Sivelle’s stomach growled loudly in the quiet room, making her grimace with embarrassment. They paused, mid-kiss and she felt Haros’s mouth quirk into a smile against her own.
“Alright, alright. I can take a hint,” he teased, finally pulling away from her. The demon held out a hand for her and Sivelle took it in her own as she allowed him to lead them out of the bedroom, into the corridor.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Her highness, Princess Sivelle Goldwyrm and…” The faerie servant at the door to the dining room glanced at Haros questioningly.
Haros floundered, unsure how to introduce himself.
“His name is Haros, he’s my companion,” Sivelle interjected haughtily. She squeezed his hand in hers and he returned the gesture – a silent thanks.
“And her demon companion, Haros.”
Haros released Sivelle’s hand as she strode with confidence into the elaborate dining room. He followed behind her, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.
At far end of the table, Cirro Goldwyrm stood to greet them. To his left, two empty places had been laid. On his right, a young faerie girl sat. Her pale grey eyes widened as she caught sight of him.
“I’m so glad you both felt up to joining me.” Cirro smiled kindly, gesturing to the empty places beside him before sitting once more.
Haros went to grab Sivelle’s chair with the intention of pulling it out for her. His shoulder collided with a faerie waiter, who had darted forwards with the same intention.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” he muttered awkwardly.
“No, Sir, please. Allow me.” The waiter shot him an apologetic smile.
Haros stepped away from the chair, allowing the waiter to take over. Sivelle smirked at him before taking her seat. The servant expertly tucked the chair beneath her as she sat.
Haros sat heavily into his own chair, embarrassment burning in his gut.
He had always hated these sorts of formal settings – not that he had been invited to many in his lifetime, thankfully. Despite having lived in luxury with Sivelle for several weeks now, it still completely unnerved him.
Haros jolted with surprise as Sivelle stroked her hand over his knee beneath the table. She was trying to reassure him. He rested his hand over the top of hers in thanks.
“Haros, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Briar.” Cirro gestured to the young girl who sat opposite them
“How do you do,” she mumbled shyly, not meeting his eye.
“Nice to meet you,” he replied with a tight smile.
“Goodness Briar, he’s not going to eat you!” Sivelle teased.
“Sivelle!” Briar’s cheeks flared into a bright blush, as she scowled playfully at her cousin over the table.
“It’s good to see you,” Sivelle giggled softly.
“And you too.” Briar smiled.
She looked to be younger than Sivelle, though Haros was unsure by how much. Her face was round and her eyes wide with innocence. There was a faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Briar was much plainer in appearance than her cousins, though still pretty. Whereas Sivelle and Lori – and Haros presumed Faye as well – were all knock-out beauties, Briar had much more of a ‘simple farm girl’ look to her, despite her royal ties.
They made polite small-talk for a few long moments. Eventually, a waiter appeared holding bowls of hot soup.
They all tucked in. Haros hadn’t been aware of the extent of his hunger before food was laid out before him. He devoured it eagerly.
“—I understand they are at dinner, but this cannot wait,” a voice spoke sternly from the doorway.
Haros looked up as a faerie soldier strode into the dining room. Cirro’s spoon clattered as he dropped it hastily beside his bowl.
“Commander?”
“Apologies for interrupting, My Liege, but I bring important news.” The man dipped his head politely.
“Go on.” Cirro got to his feet.
“Your brother’s soldiers have tracked the princess and her…” the man paused, casting his eyes warily over Haros. “Guest here. They are demanding an audience.”
Haros got to his feet quickly, his chair screeching noisily on the wooden floor. He glanced at Cirro, who was frowning.
“Who are they to demand anything from me, I should—”
“Apologies, My Liege, but they are not requesti
ng an audience with you. It is the demon they wish to speak with.”
There was a tense moment of silence.
“Why me?” Haros asked.
“You’re not seriously considering—” Sivelle spluttered.
“This group are captained by Quinn Morgwell. He indicated that knowing who was requesting the audience might convince you to agree, Sir.”
“Morgwell? What on Hestaesia does he want?” Sivelle cried, getting to her feet and throwing her napkin from her lap onto the table.
“I might have an idea.” Haros nodded thoughtfully.
The last time he had seen the captain had been when the man helped them escape. Though his stomach was tight with dread, Haros was keen to discover what Morgwell wanted from him.
“Have they been civil?” he asked the commander.
“So far, Sir, yes. There are twenty or so men at the gate on horseback. They are in their battle armour and have come heavily armed, but as yet they have given no cause for us to consider their presence a threat.”
“Then show me to them.” Haros shifted from the table to join the faerie.
“No, Haros!” Sivelle cried. She stepped forward in an attempt to grab him, but Cirro intercepted her.
“Would you like me to join you?” he asked, resting his hands on Sivelle’s shoulders.
“No, I’ll handle it.” Haros nodded. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Though the tortured look in Sivelle’s eyes pained him, Haros shot her a confident grin, hastily following the faerie commander out of the dining room into the main hall.
“Thank you, Sir. Morgwell and his men are awaiting you at the main gate. This way.” The faerie gestured for Haros to follow him.
As they reached the main entrance door, the man threw a cloak to him, then turned to drape his own over his shoulders. Haros took it gratefully, tying it around it around his neck.
It was dark out and a fine flurry of snow was falling once more. The castle grounds that had been clear on their way in, were now coated in a thin layer of white snow.
Their feet crunched loudly as Haros and the commander made their way to the huge portcullis at the entrance to Rosenhall. Torches glowed in the distance.
“Captain Morgwell,” the commander called out through the darkness. “The demon, Haros, has agreed to talk with you.”
Haros saw a dark figure leap down from the back of one of the horses. As they approached the portcullis, light from a torch illuminated the familiar face of Captain Morgwell. The faerie greeted him with a scowl. Haros gladly returned it.
“Demon, I believe you owe me a debt of thanks,” Morgwell spoke loudly and clearly. A horse snorted, armour clinking as heavily armoured men shifted uncomfortably.
“I think that would be fair to say, yes.” Haros agreed. “Though I don’t much appreciate the tone.”
Morgwell’s scowl deepened. He took a deep breath and averted his gaze.
“What can I do for you, captain?” Haros asked in a quieter voice.
“You and the princess have made it to the safety of Rosenhall uninjured, I assume?”
“A few bumps and scratches, but we’re both mostly unscathed.” Haros shrugged.
“The king… Lazuli. He has sent us here. I am under orders to kill you and retrieve Sivelle,” Morgwell hissed.
“Try it.” Haros narrowed his eyes. “If that’s what you’ve come all this way to tell me I—”
“I have no intention of doing either of those things.”
Haros froze. He quirked a brow questioningly at the faerie captain.
“Things have grown more and more… disturbing in the castle of late. I had begun to question our king’s sound leadership long before I had the great misfortune of meeting you.”
“Love you too.” Haros glowered.
“You owe me, demon. Let us in.”
“Fuck off! You must think I’m stupid. How do—”
“Very stupid.” Morgwell interrupted.
“Prick…” Haros muttered. “How do I know you won’t slaughter us all as soon as I open this gate?”
“You don’t, but I would encourage you to cast your mind back to me sticking my neck out for you, back at the castle. I am hoping, despite your kind’s uncivilised nature, what they say of demon loyalty is true.”
There was a moment of silence. Haros’s breath swirled through the night air in front of him as he fixed Morgwell with a stony glare. He glanced at the faerie commander beside him.
“Thoughts?”
The man shrugged. “Sounds like you’ve got history. Can’t speak as to whether that’s enough to build trust on. Morgwell is one of Lazuli’s most loyal captains, I—”
“Was one of his most loyal captains,” the captain spat from outside the portcullis.
“It’s your call, Sir.”
Haros stared at the snow beneath his feet. Though it felt like a lifetime ago already, he could still see the horror in Morgwell’s eyes as he had watched Lazuli rip his own men to pieces. The captain had stepped aside to allow them to escape.
This was not the sort of decision he was used to making. King Zelrus, Oriel or, hell, Lephas - they were all his seniors. He wasn’t used to having to make political decisions. His strengths lay in his tactical fighting abilities, not in these sorts of things.
“Fuck,” he sighed, pinching his nose. “Just remember I beat your ass once; I’ll do it again and next time, I won’t be nearly as gentle about it. Are we clear?”
Morgwell didn’t deign to reply. Despite the sneer he gave Haros, the relief in the faerie’s eyes was obvious. His shoulders sagged a little as he strode back over to mount his horse.
“Open the gate.”
∞∞∞
When Haros returned to the dining room, Sivelle was on her feet immediately.
“Haros! What did—” she was cut short as her eyes widened, spotting Haros’s unusual companion entering the room behind him.
Cirro got to his feet, glaring over Haros’s shoulder at Captain Morgwell.
“Ah yes, I recognise you now, boy,” Cirro hissed. “I couldn’t place the name at first.”
Morgwell simply bowed his head.
“What business do you have being in my home?”
“I—”
“I owe the captain a debt. He assisted Sivelle and I in our escape.” Haros took his seat beside Sivelle. “I don’t like the bastard, but he’s seemingly keen to commit treason. An enemy of our enemy and all that.”
Briar’s eyes were out on stalks, darting between the two men. She visibly recoiled at Haros’s use of bad language.
“What evidence do you have that he’s not just telling you what you want to hear?” Cirro snapped.
“None, other than I’m still alive and breathing despite Morgwell and his men outnumbering me twenty to one in the courtyard just now.” Haros shrugged.
“Commander!” Cirro called.
The faerie appeared in the doorway obediently.
“Take our new guest to the barracks. Make sure his men are fed and watered, but ready our troops.”
Morgwell’s eyebrows quirked up in surprise before he could school his expression.
“You’ll have to excuse me. Old habits die hard, captain, and trust has to be earned. Haros has invited you inside our walls in a show of faith, but I’m afraid you and your soldiers are going to have to work harder than that to convince me of your intentions.”
The commander placed his hand on Morgwell’s shoulder, gesturing for him to follow.
“I will endeavour to prove the faith you’ve placed in us thus far is not a mistake.” Morgwell bowed his head.
“Be sure you do. Commander, don’t let them out of your sight.”
The room fell into a stony silence. Cirro and Sivelle sat back into their seats. Servants curried around them, clearing their plates away and serving the main course.
“I never thought I’d see the day a faerie trusted a demon over his own kind,” Haros muttered.
“I’ve
entrusted much more important things than just my life in your king, Haros.” Cirro glanced across at Briar, who smiled shyly. Haros gazed between Cirro and Briar with confusion. Why did he feel like he was missing something here?
“King Zelrus has yet to let me down. My own brother, on the other hand…”
“You really trust Morgwell’s intentions?” Sivelle whispered to Haros, her face tight with concern.
“No, but I do trust that he and his men have lost faith in your father. That will have to be enough for now.”
Sivelle grasped his hand tightly under the table. Haros squeezed her in return.
“Enough of such grim talk. I will send a raven to Zelrus in the morning. I believe your King will wish to weigh in on this subject. For now, my men will keep Morgwell in check. Let us eat our fill and talk more of this in the morning.” Cirro picked up his fork.
Haros sighed. It seemed his escape with Sivelle was just the beginning.
∞∞∞
After dinner, Haros and Sivelle made their excuses and returned to their chamber. They didn’t speak, both of them preoccupied with thoughts of the evening’s events.
Though Cirro was sending a letter to Zelrus, Haros was keen to send his own. He needed to let his friends know he was safe, but more importantly, he needed King Zelrus to attend Rosenhall. This was all well above his paygrade.
A knot formed in his stomach as Haros hoped he had made the right decision letting Morgwell into the castle. He didn’t like the man, but he couldn’t deny it was unlikely he and Sivelle would have made it out alive without him. It made Haros feel sick just thinking of the alternative.
Sivelle flopped heavily onto the bed. Haros’s eyes landed on an unopened bottle of wine beside a platter of fruits and cheeses that had been laid out for them.
“Would you care for a drink?” he asked.
“I’d love one.”
As he approached, Haros’s foot caught on one of their satchels. He tripped slightly, glancing down at his feet.
The stuffed dragonette toy stared up at him. Its glass eyes shined in the dim firelight.
He bent forwards, smoothing it in his hands for a moment. With a smile, he launched it across the room at Sivelle. She squealed as the soft toy hit her square on the head.