They stood, overlooking the funeral pyres that were ready to be lit. Each one a grim reminder of the lives lost in the battle. See, peace doesn't come through talking, it doesn't come through accords, it comes through strength and battle and action.
Oh, men can talk about how they sat down at the table and worked out a contract for peace, but it never works that way. What always came first? Death. Death always came first. Loss.
So, there they were upon those pyres - the warriors who had died to achieve peace. That was the cost. The cost that had to be paid for peace, for security. Blood spilled upon the ground so that others could sleep safe at night. They had known not all would return when they had walked into the battle, yet they had walked in anyway.
What kind of man or woman did that? Brave ones. Those who knew that there was a price for peace and were willing to pay it. That was the kind of man or woman who looked death dead in the eyes and gave it the middle finger.
While Mahala and Bala are at the Cadona Mansion, Vollrath, Baldur, and Elmar have a meeting...
Vollrath’s phone chimed, the insistent ping cutting through the relative quiet of the room. He reluctantly pulled the device from his pocket, his thumb swiping across the screen to reveal the message. A weary sigh escaped his lips, a prelude to the eye-roll that inevitably followed. Typical Balor. At least the infuriating mage was in good spirits, if the breezy tone of the text was anything to go by.
Elmar, ever observant, noticed Vollrath's reaction. His dark eyebrow arched in silent inquiry, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. He’d learned over time to gauge Vollrath’s moods based on the smallest of cues, and the combination of the sigh and the upward gaze spoke volumes. “Dare I ask?” Elmar ventured, his voice carefully neutral, unsure of what fresh absurdity Balor had managed to conjure.
Vollrath’s expression was a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. He shook his head slowly as he recounted the contents of the message. “My brother,” he began, his voice laced with a dry sarcasm, “has inquired if we can… keep,” he paused for emphasis, his fingers making air quotes, “the cute, inquisitive, little imp.” He snorted softly. “Apparently, he ‘likes her’ and finds her ‘fun.’” Vollrath’s head gave another, more vigorous shake as his thumbs flew across the screen, composing a reply. “He further elaborated that he doesn’t think that she will ‘eat much’ or ‘take up much room’ in my mansion.” Despite his internal turmoil, he was treading carefully in his response to Balor. Pragmatism dictated politeness for the time being. They needed Balor’s particular brand of chaotic magic, and more importantly, Balor was the one currently ensuring Mahala’s safety, a fact that Vollrath couldn't afford to jeopardize.
"Isn't that a good thing?" Baldur inquired, his gaze shifting between Elmar and Vollrath, a furrow in his brow suggesting a genuine attempt to grasp the underlying tension. Was he failing to perceive a crucial nuance in their exchange? Or was Vollrath merely succumbing to his often-present irritability?
"Of course, in principle, it is a positive development. I just…" Vollrath paused, his eyelids fluttering shut as he drew a deliberate breath through his nostrils, seeking a moment of composure. "It's Balor, you see. He, too, is a Nachtnebel. Which unfortunately means the ancient prophecy we’ve been dissecting could just as readily apply to him." His jaw tightened, a visible manifestation of the internal struggle he endured to voice this unwelcome possibility. It was a thought he had been actively suppressing ever since Balor's unexpected appearance in the conference room – an arrival made all the more unsettling by Balor's apparent prior knowledge of a highly confidential Council meeting for which he held a seat yet had not been formally informed. The manner in which Balor had simply walked in, exuding an air of effortless belonging, had planted a seed of unease that Vollrath had been desperately trying to ignore.
"For fuck's sake, Vol," Elmar interjected, his tone a low growl laced with exasperation. "Balor is undeniably an ass, a monumental one at that, but even he wouldn't stoop to overtly trying to usurp your position in such a blatant manner. He would have made his move long before now if that were his intention, especially during the numerous instances when you were absent from these chambers, wouldn't he?"
"That's not what he's saying," Baldur stated, his voice calm yet carrying a note of intrigue that immediately snagged Elmar's attention. Elmar’s thick brows furrowed, crinkling the skin above his intense gaze as he turned fully to face Baldur. The air in the room, thick with unspoken tensions from the day's earlier events, seemed to crackle with this new line of thought. "It's always been assumed, hasn't it? Ever since Vollrath took control of the Coven, everyone just automatically accepted that he was the Lion, the prophesied protector." Baldur paused, letting his words sink in, his eyes flicking between Elmar and the silent, brooding figure of Vollrath. "But what if we’ve all been wrong? What if it was Balor all along? He is the elder brother, after all. Doesn’t that carry some weight?"
Vollrath, who had been staring intently at the intricate patterns in the ancient wooden table, finally lifted his gaze as Baldur finished speaking. A slow nod, almost imperceptible at first, confirmed he had been listening. Inside, however, a knot of unease was tightening in his stomach. The implications of their speculation were unsettling, stirring emotions he preferred to keep buried.
Elmar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a shrewd glint in his eyes. "If that were the case," he began, his voice laced with a confident skepticism, "I think we would have seen things go very differently today. Certain… reactions would have been absent." He paused for emphasis, his gaze locking onto Vollrath. "Icebergs don't simply melt without significant heat, Vol. If she truly meant nothing to you, then do you honestly believe that your perpetually frosty exterior would have thawed even a fraction? When have you ever felt a flicker of jealousy over a woman? Just name one single instance. And yet… today… well, today was certainly… interesting." A bit of a cocky smirk played on Elmar's lips as he continued, his confidence growing. He’d known both of the formidable warlock brothers since they were unruly children, witnessing firsthand Vollrath's characteristic indifference towards romantic entanglements. "Now, after all that transpired, you’re trying to tell us she's destined for Balor again? It doesn't quite add up, does it?"
Baldur chuckled softly, adding his own observation to the unfolding theory. "He has a point, big guy," he agreed, nodding towards Elmar. "And not to mention the rather significant fact that if your charming big brother was indeed supposed to be her destined partner, I think Elmar and I, your ever-present shadows, would have noticed at least a spark of something when he met her for the very first time. Instead, his reaction was… well, Balor being Balor. Polite, detached, almost clinical."
Vollrath finally broke his silence, a low, guttural grumble escaping his lips. "This is precisely why I don't do relationships," he stated flatly, the words laced with a deep-seated annoyance. He hated the uncomfortable, introspective nature of this conversation, the way it forced him to acknowledge feelings he’d spent decades suppressing. The entire situation was infuriating.
"I mean, if you genuinely hate it so bad…" Baldur began again, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. Whatever teasing remark he had been about to utter died abruptly on his lips. The look Vollrath was now directing his way was not merely annoyed; it was downright murderous. Baldur swallowed hard. As the Master Warlock of their Coven, Vollrath possessed the terrifying ability to kill with a mere thought, without so much as a touch. Some lines, Baldur wisely concluded, were definitely better left uncrossed. The heavy silence that descended upon the room was more telling than any words could have been.
“I would strongly advise against completing that particular sentence,” Elmar interjected, a suppressed chuckle bubbling beneath his earnest tone. He cast a pointed glance at the other man. “And Vol,” he continued, his voice firm yet laced with concern, “reign it in. He was merely teasing you, a bit roughly perhaps, but ultimately in jest. You absolutely MUST develop a thicker skin if you intend to prevent your… shall we say, volatile emotions from turning her delicate mind into an unsavory pudding at some unforeseen moment.” His dark eyebrows arched dramatically as he inclined his head towards Vollrath, a silent plea in his expressive eyes. “I am acutely aware that there is likely some form of utterly bizarre and potentially sanity-shattering chaos currently unfolding within the labyrinth of your brain,” Elmar elaborated, his gaze unwavering, “but you must, for your own sake and hers, gain some semblance of control over this internal maelstrom. She has made her affections abundantly clear, displaying a singular focus of attention solely upon you. Balor is not going to interfere; you can be certain of that. Even if, hypothetically speaking, he were to somehow embody the legendary Lion itself, he would not dare to act against you in secret or otherwise. You possess a deep understanding of his character and his respect for protocol, a knowledge that runs as deep as our shared history.” Elmar’s attention shifted between his two companions, his lips pressing into a thin line of growing frustration at the palpable tension that hung heavy in the air.
“I know, I know,” Vollrath conceded, expelling a long, ragged breath that seemed to carry a sliver of his inner turmoil with it. He consciously reined in the tempest of his emotions, his gaze fixed on the worn surface of the table before him. An overwhelming confluence of pressing concerns was swirling around him, each demanding immediate attention and making it an agonizing struggle to focus on any single issue for more than a fleeting moment. The woman who had, much to his chagrin, burrowed her way into the deepest recesses of his heart, now found herself under the care – or perhaps, control – of his own brother, a man with whom his relationship was, to put it mildly, strained even on the most auspicious of days. Furthermore, a subtle but persistent unease had taken root within the Coven, a creeping suspicion that someone within their ranks was actively working against them, sowing discord and undermining their efforts. A nagging intuition whispered that the true scope of their predicament was far greater and more complex than any of them currently comprehended. The weight of these uncertainties pressed down on him, leaving him with a profound sense of disquiet and a gnawing lack of security.
Baldur, ever the pragmatist, cleared his throat, drawing the attention back to the matter at hand. “Then let us endeavor to refocus our collective energies on the critical matters that require our immediate consideration,” he stated, his voice calm and measured, a stark contrast to the underlying tension in the room. “This will allow us to conclude our discussion at a reasonably decent hour, affording us the opportunity to obtain some much-needed rest before the inevitable demands of the tomorrow. We must not forget that we have a uniquely powerful novice witch under our charge, for whose magical development and well-being we will all bear a shared responsibility. Additionally, there is the potential task of thoroughly investigating the aforementioned mansion, the necessity of which hinges upon the discoveries made tonight by her and Balor.” Baldur’s keen gaze moved steadily between his two friends, carefully weighing their limited options and considering the most logical starting point for their deliberations. “We have a finite amount of time and a considerable amount of ground to cover. It is imperative that we proceed efficiently and decisively, addressing each issue methodically so that we are adequately prepared to confront whatever challenges lie ahead.”
“Let’s start with who we think the weak link is besides Jonathan,” Elmar began, his gaze sweeping between Vollrath and Baldur. “Obviously, it’s ballsy enough to go into Vollrath’s office and think he can go through his desk, but he had to figure he had some kind of backup to do that. I wouldn’t even do that, and I consider myself his friend. What would possess a lesser warlock to attempt such a brazen act? If it hadn’t been Mahala that interrupted him, but one of us, he had to have formulated some kind of plan on what he’d say or do. I seriously doubt attacking us was his intended course of action. That seems too…unintelligent, even for Jonathan in a panicked state.”
“Agreed,” Vollrath affirmed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Attacking me directly would have been disastrous for him, potentially fatal. So, the question remains: who would he have ready to vouch for him and provide cover? It would have to be someone higher up in the Coven, someone in good standing, capable of concocting a convincing story that would withstand scrutiny. The risk of exposure for both of them would be immense otherwise.” Vollrath paused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to mentally sift through the ranks of the Coven.
“Do you have him assigned to any other projects currently, or perhaps collaborating with anyone on other tasks?” Baldur interjected, his voice laced with the same frustration that was evident on the other two men’s faces. “Maybe that was the excuse he intended to use as a cover – claiming he was looking for something related to that collaborative effort.” Baldur shrugged, the gesture conveying his own lack of certainty regarding Jonathan’s motivations. The sheer audacity of rifling through Vollrath’s personal belongings was still difficult for him to fully comprehend.
“He’s been lending a hand to a couple of individuals with smaller, relatively insignificant projects, nothing that would warrant such behavior,” Vollrath replied, his tone reflecting his own bewilderment. “However, I’m not going to entirely dismiss the possibility that he intended to use that as a flimsy excuse if confronted. The individuals he’s assisting might be completely unaware of his true intentions, which means we’re going to have to be exceedingly careful in how we proceed with our investigation. The last thing we want to do is inadvertently spook anyone who might be actively working to undermine the three of us. We need to gather information discreetly and ascertain the extent of this potential treachery without alerting the conspirators.” Vollrath sighed heavily, the weight of the situation visibly pressing down on him, his shoulders beginning to slump. “And now Balor as well. Someone deliberately tipped him off about Jonathan’s actions. Did they do it naively, perhaps thinking that Balor’s loyalty to Jonathan would somehow shield him from the consequences? I was genuinely shocked at Balor’s response, his unexpected… resignation.”
“I probably was the only one who wasn’t entirely surprised by Balor’s reaction,” Elmar confessed, his statement earning him inquisitive looks from the other two. “I don’t share the same history and inherent distrust that you two have with Balor. Furthermore, I observed his genuine concern and profound unhappiness with Mahala’s recent… instability. Regardless of your past interactions, he was clearly looking out for her well-being, and looking out for those weaker or more vulnerable has always been a defining characteristic of your brother, Vollrath.” Elmar was relieved when Vollrath offered a slow nod of agreement, choosing not to challenge his assessment. They already had a potentially significant internal crisis brewing; the last thing they needed was to exacerbate the situation with unnecessary internal conflict.
“El’s right,” Baldur conceded, his gaze softening slightly as he considered Elmar’s point, “he does have a tendency to shield those he perceives as weaker, and that often includes women. It's a frustratingly chivalrous streak, but it’s undeniably there.” He tapped a finger against his chin, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe someone on the Council, perhaps someone who was uncertain about which way the disciplinary vote was leaning, discreetly informed Balor of Jonathan’s duplicity. Balor’s unusual appearance might not have been an attempt to undermine your authority, Vol, but rather a strategic move orchestrated by someone who actually supported your proposed punishment.”
Baldur paused, pacing slowly as he voiced his evolving theory. “Think about it. He didn’t even directly challenge your pronouncements, Vol, his only real demand was to meet Mahala, a request that, according to established Council protocol, you were obligated to grant. It wasn't until after everyone else had departed the chamber that he raised any substantive objections, and even then, his immediate target wasn’t you, but rather Elmar and myself, because of our deliberate omission of information.” He offered a small, almost apologetic shrug, a slight upward curve touching one corner of his mouth.
“So,” Vol began, a thoughtful expression replacing his earlier frustration, “whoever tipped him off might have inadvertently done us a favor. While Jonathan might not have a high-ranking conspirator actively working to destabilize the coven, I think we can all agree that his behavior was undeniably suspicious. He outright lied to the three of us, and it defies logic to think he believed that one, if not all, of us wouldn’t eventually uncover his fabrications. Even if Mahala wasn't…”
Vol’s words trailed off abruptly as the distinct, synchronized chime of their phones sliced through the air. A collective groan seemed to ripple through the room as all three warlocks instinctively reached for their phones. Vol’s eyes scanned the brief message displayed on his screen, his breath hitching in his throat. “Fuck!” The expletive escaped as a low, guttural sigh, his eyelids squeezing shut as his head gave a slow, disbelieving shake. There was simply no scenario in which a summons from his brother, urging him to immediately scry the notoriously private Codona mansion, could be interpreted as anything remotely positive.
“I’m going to venture a guess that we all received the same cryptic missive?” Baldur inquired, his gaze sweeping between Vol and Elmar, his usual sardonic amusement noticeably absent. “How often does anyone request a scrying of a specific location, especially the Codona estate, rather than simply traveling there directly? The very nature of this request sends a shiver of unease down my spine. My instinct screams that we should proceed with extreme caution. I propose we go in armed, and I’m not just talking about our inherent magical abilities. If this turns out to be nothing more than a trivial discovery, then no harm done, but if there’s something more sinister at play, then we’ll be prepared to face it.”
“Agreed,” Elmar affirmed with a decisive nod, his usual calm demeanor edged with a palpable tension. Judging by the grim reactions and worried expressions etched onto the faces of the other two powerful warlocks, none of them harbored even a sliver of optimism regarding the cryptic message. While Elmar possessed a considerable degree of faith in Balor’s capabilities to protect Mahala under normal circumstances, the events of the day had already veered drastically off course, leaving him with a gnawing premonition about just how much further into chaos their carefully ordered world might descend.
Happy STS! What are your characters' relationships like with their parents or parental figures?
I know it's Wed, but I'm going to answer for @theimperiumchronicles
Sorry I'm late but as of late, life decided I needed more to do and not enough time to do it in. BLEH! *sticks tongue out at life and gives it middle finger* 0/10 review of adulthood - do not recommend
Now...onto the answer for some of my characters
Abriella - didn't meet her mother until The Horseman's Ball (see Cruz). Was kidnapped from her father by a witch sent by her father to raise her in evil, but the witch was too evil. It went...badly. The angel Adriel saw all that was transpiring and was her "guardian angel" for many years. After the Horseman's Ball he revealed himself to her and since then they have a very close and loving relationship.
Cruz - Never knew his father. Had a decent relationship with his mother until she disappeared centuries ago. Then at the Horseman's Ball where she appeared alongside Lucifer, I'll just put this here...I think you can see how that ended...
In the blink of an eye, he was before the gloating couple. His eyes darkened and the air around them crackled with his still building power. No one moved; some even failed to breathe.It was then that his swords cleanly removed Ariel’s head from the remainder of her body, covering his grandfather and himself in her black, tar-like blood. Grinning at his grandfather, Cruz’s deep voice boomed throughout the hall, “she did request that the bitch be killed. I hast done so grandfather.”
So, yeah...badly. He too has taken on Adriel as a step-father and they are close. No one is closer to him than Abriella, however, and never will be.
Deacon - His father is Azrael, the angel of death. They have a close relationship that is close and has become more like friends. They have fought side-by-side for centuries.
Olly - His father is Uriel, the angel of light and wisdom. Like Deacon, his relationship is close and friend-like. They too have fought together for centuries.
Annabella - Her parents were French aristocrats in the 1700s. They were not close and she resented them for sending her to New Orleans to be married to a stranger. She never saw them again after that day, nor did she return to France to attend to their funeral. She allowed them to believe that she was slain on the same day as her family. (story here)
Adriel - While an angel, he does disagree with his father often, but does not outright disobey nor challenge his father.
Stennis/The Source - As the creator of the Universe, he does not have a parent, but is one. To tell you how well he gets along with all of his children - he is currently bound by all of his children, across all Earthly pantheons. Yeah, he's pretty well hated. The ramifications of this are still being dealt with.
Next chapter of @magical-mistakes-vm starts edit tomorrow...and these 3...*pinches nose*...herding cats...especially Elmar there at the bottom...cheeky asshole.
Emery's absence from the banquet reception is noticed.
Raiden, his handsome face etched with concern, sought out his father amidst the opulent chaos of the grand salon. He had discreetly slipped away from Adelia's side, his heart heavy with the weight of her unease. Adelia, a picture of quiet discomfort, stood amidst a cluster of Drach, Raiden and Emery's female cousins, and other guests. The women's chatter revolved around the upcoming wedding ceremony – a ceremony that, despite the scandalous revelation that had swept through the gathering like wildfire, was still presumed to involve Emery.
Raiden's attempts to engage Adelia in light conversation and offer her a sense of belonging had proven futile. The revelation had cast a pall over the gathering, and Adelia, an outsider thrust into the heart of a family scandal, felt the sting of embarrassment acutely. Raiden couldn't fault her for her discomfort; the situation was, after all, mortifying for everyone involved.
Despite the undercurrent of tension, the grand salon buzzed with activity. Servants glided through the crowd, offering refreshments and attending to the needs of the guests. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the murmur of hushed conversations. Amidst the opulence and the pretense, the revelation hung heavy, an unspoken truth that threatened to shatter the fragile facade of normalcy.
Raiden shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting around the room, avoiding his father's piercing eyes. "Father," he began, his voice laced with a hesitant tremor, "Where is Emery? Everyone is asking, and it's becoming... difficult to deflect their inquiries."
Branoc, with a smirk directed at his youngest son, Raiden, delivered the news with a hint of amusement, "He finds himself... detained, shall we say, in the horse barn." The casual tone did little to mask the underlying tension. Raiden had endured a similar experience in that very location, and the flicker of horror and discomfort that crossed his face did not go unnoticed by his father.
Branoc continued, "He will rejoin us shortly, rest assured." His attention then shifted to Raiden's interaction with Emery, "And how are you faring with the fair Princess? She seems to be quite the charmer amongst your cousins." A menacing grin began to spread across his face, doing nothing to ease the growing unease within Raiden.
The implication behind his father's words hung heavy in the air. Raiden was well aware of the 'detainment' Emery was undergoing, and the fear for her safety was evident in his eyes. His father's amusement at the situation only served to heighten his anxiety. The pressure to entertain and placate Emery, coupled with the looming threat of his father's displeasure, created a suffocating atmosphere for Raiden. He felt trapped, caught between his concern for Emery and his own precarious position within his family.
Dread coiled within Raiden, tightening with each passing moment. The horse barn, cloaked in shadows and thick with the scent of hay and manure, was never a welcoming place at night. But now, with his father's leering gaze fixed upon Adelia, it felt downright sinister that he had sent Emery there for the usual “punishment” that he and his brother received for any perceived slight or indescretion.
"Indeed," Raiden replied, his voice carefully neutral. "Princess Adelia is a remarkable woman. Her grace and poise are evident, and her upbringing speaks volumes. It's hard to imagine anyone finding fault with her, even my brother." He paused, allowing a hint of skepticism to color his tone. "Of course, whether she will be amenable to the arrangement is another matter entirely, especially considering the... unfortunate events of today."
His eyes flickered between his father and Adelia, who stood a short distance away, her expression unreadable. Raiden knew all too well the depths of his father's depravity. Branoc's cruelty was not confined to men; women and children were equally susceptible to his whims. A cold fear settled over Raiden as he considered the possibility that his father might have designs on the young princess. Would he dare? And if the price was right, would Adelia's father turn a blind eye to such an act?
Raiden's mind raced, grappling with the implications. He had to protect Adelia, but how? Openly defying his father would be disastrous, not only for himself but for Adelia as well. He needed to find a way to subtly undermine his father's plans, to shield Adelia from Branoc's predatory gaze without arousing suspicion.
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken tension. Raiden's heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of anxiety and dread. He had to think fast. He had to find a way out of this nightmare before it was too late.
Branoc's voice dripped with venom as he turned his attention to Raiden. His words were laced with a sardonic bite, "And you? Do you believe you could manage a more harmonious relationship with her than your brother seems capable of?"
His mind was already racing ahead, weaving a tapestry of schemes that could finally bring about the outcome he had long yearned for: Emery's banishment and the erasure of the blight on his family's legacy. The seed of discord had been planted, and Branoc was determined to nurture it, to manipulate the situation to his advantage.
He observed the subtle shift in the Raiden's expression, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. It was all the encouragement he needed. Branoc pressed on, his words a blend of insinuation and veiled threat. He painted a picture of a future where Emery's presence was nothing but a distant memory, a future where his family's honor was restored.
Raiden was acutely aware of the delicate situation his father was orchestrating. It was like a carefully laid minefield, and one wrong step could trigger a catastrophic explosion, potentially damaging his relationship with either his father or his brother. Raiden understood that any deviation from the established plans would infuriate Emery, and understandably so. Adelia was, after all, his brother's betrothed, his future wife. The dynamics of their family were intricate and fraught with potential conflict.
Raiden's response was measured and diplomatic. "She is destined to be Emery's wife," he began, choosing his words carefully. "Whether I find her agreeable or not is of little consequence. Most days, I'm simply focused on maintaining a peaceful coexistence with Emery, avoiding any arguments or disagreements." He paused, then added, "However, since you asked, I believe I would be able to get along with her. I'm confident that I can find common ground with almost anyone better than Emery can."
His answer was both honest and tactful, designed to prevent either his father or his brother from using his words against him in the future. Yet, beneath the surface, Raiden was deeply troubled. He couldn't fathom his father's intentions or the potential repercussions of his actions. What was he planning, and how severe would the fallout be? The uncertainty weighed heavily on Raiden's mind, casting a shadow over the already tense family dynamics.
Branoc nodded, his mind churning. While Branoc's thoughts were rarely beneficial to anyone other than himself, this time, they were fixated on Emery's public humiliation of them all. It was high time his eldest son faced real consequences for his actions—or at least, for the actions attributed to him. Perhaps a dose of reciprocal humiliation was in order, a humiliation so profound that it would be unprecedented in the kingdom's history.
Physical pain seemed to have lost its sting for Emery; maybe striking at his ego and pride would prove more effective. Branoc had observed his eldest son's captivation by the Princess's beauty. Could denying him what he desired inflict a wound that physical pain could not?
As the King contemplated the situation, Mavros approached. Raiden wasn't the only one who had noticed Emery's absence by Branoc's side. The King hoped his soldiers would swiftly deal with the Prince, cleaning him up, administering the fairy blood, and returning him to the event before anyone noticed his prolonged disappearance.
Until then, Branoc would have to concoct a plausible excuse for Emery's absence while simultaneously reevaluating the existing engagement agreement. Diplomacy was one of Branoc's strengths; he should be able to navigate this delicate situation. Perhaps he could feign illness on Emery's behalf, or suggest a sudden, urgent matter that required the Prince's immediate attention.
Meanwhile, the King's mind raced, considering the potential consequences of Emery's extended absence and the possible need to alter the terms of the engagement. He knew that any changes would need to be handled delicately to avoid offending either family or jeopardizing the alliance.
“Branoc! Where did that son of yours disappear to? Hiding in shame?” Mavros sounded enraged as he reached where Branoc and Raiden were still standing. The engagement to Adelia needed to be announced so that the banquet and festivities could be started. However, since they had come in, Emery was missing. First, word had come of his dalliances with a commoner, and now the humiliation of not even showing up for the announcement of the engagement. Mavros had to wonder what kind of game Emery was playing with his daughter.
“Given the shocking nature of what was revealed, and Emery’s steadfastness in it being untrue, he felt that he needed to immediately attend to ensuring a thorough investigation was launched into it. He also wished to acquire something to make it up to Adelia for such a shock befalling her upon her arrival. He should be along shortly. I do apologize. As for the shame that the whole ordeal has caused, I assure you that he will be making it up to Adelia and your kingdom, Mavros. If he cannot, I have made…a contingency.” Branoc grinned in a way that left little doubt that the contingency would not be one that Emery would like in the slightest.
Raiden felt a chill creep through his veins as he stood beside his father, his mind racing to anticipate Branoc's next move. His father's contingencies were always steeped in negativity, implying that Branoc was already formulating a plan—a plan that would likely pit Raiden and Emery against each other once again. This was a favored tactic of his father's, a clever diversion that often shifted attention away from where it truly belonged.
Raiden's thoughts were a whirlwind of anxiety as he desperately hoped that whatever his father was contemplating wouldn't escalate the evening into a confrontation, or worse, a full-blown brawl. It wouldn't be the first time that his father had instigated violence during what was supposed to be a celebratory occasion. The memory of his sister's wedding, marred by two tragic deaths as a result of his father's actions, still haunted him. A silent prayer to the Goddess for protection escaped his lips as he braced himself for the potential chaos that lay ahead.
So, it looks like tomorrow's chapter, based on the voices in my head, will be @inopinatus-ea. Now, if they decide to be total rat bastards, then I'm not sure what it will be. You know muses, fickle little fucks.
“Before we start on anything else, I would like you to meet my two Demon Warlords: Ekkehard and Bellator. Then, this afternoon, we’ll have a meeting with all of the Demon Overlords who run the torture pits. I’ll give you an overview of them first, so you will have an idea who is who in that meeting.” Djall was kind of enjoying the way that Miriana was watching him intently, and he in turn was studying her and her reactions as he was talking. He could tell from her expression that she was a bit overwhelmed, but she was nodding along. Good…good…she would do nicely for the role he had in mind, maybe more than one.
“I guess Hell doesn't have a training period, huh?” She laughed nervously as she looked up at him. Overlords and Warlords and demons…oh my! This was going to be her life now.
“Do you need a little hand-holding, Miriana?” Djall gently took one of her hands in his much larger and battle-scarred one and brought it up to lightly kiss the back. His dark eyes stayed firmly on her lighter ones, a smirk on his lips as well. The way her eyes widened and her lips slightly parted delighted him. He could hear her heart speed and her breath deepen. Yes, he had a feeling that he'd miss her when she was gone, possibly acutely.
“Well, I..” She swallowed, fighting getting lost in his dark eyes and saying her true thoughts. “Well, you see..” She once more stumbled over her words. Djall’s power and handsome looks made her stomach do funny things and her heart skip, neither of which she was used to.
As if sent from some deity to save her, a heavy knock sounded at the door. Miriana jumped, emitting a small squeak from being startled. Djall’s hand tightened briefly on hers, as he chuckled, before he released it and turned towards the door. “Come in, gentleman. Miss Miriana is waiting to meet you.” His tone carried his amusement at her reaction and at his anticipation of when he met the two men who were waiting on the other side of the heavy wooden door.
When the door opened, two tall and imposing men entered Djall’s office. The first was fair-haired with blue eyes that sparkled like finely cut blue topaz, and they were focused keenly on Miriana. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with short-cropped hair, seemed to fill the whole doorway, and emitted an air that said he would be deadly if provoked. The male that followed him put him to shame. His shoulders completely filled the doorway, and while devastatingly handsome, he made Miriana take a step back, which had her back now flush against Djall. A head taller than Djall, having to duck slightly to come through the door, Bellator’s tanned complexion was the same, his hair just as black, but he somehow beat him on the intimidation factor, which was quite a feat. His entire presence spoke of him being a Warlord, and the fear that coursed through Miriana had her wanting to run from the room and cower. However, there was also something about him that had her unable to tear her eyes away from his, that seemed to oscillate between a dark grey and brown, almost swirling.
Djall’s hand landed lightly at first on Miriana’s hip, not wanting to startle or scare her more than she already was, then slid around her waist. That, at his touch, she leaned back into him, rather than pulling away, delighted him. For some reason, he was enjoying having this human in his realm more than he would have originally anticipated, and he most definitely found her alluring. Keeping himself from smudging her further was going to be a true test of his will. As Miriana pressed herself back against him further due to her fear of Bellator, a common reaction, Djall’s hand slid further across her midsection until he had his whole arm around her, holding her securely to him. A pleased grin firmly in place at this. Yes, this little human was going to be interesting to have around.
“Miriana, these are my two warlords. Ekkehard, normally known to me as Eike,” he gestured with his free hand, “and Bellator, or Tor,” again he gestured, and felt Miriana once more press back against him as she looked at the larger man. “You will be working with them to help align their troops to their leadership style, possibly reorganizing their command structure as well.. Djall heard the shakiness of Miriana’s breath, and it caused him to chuckle. Something about her being comfortable with him and fearing the others pleased him greatly. He wanted the little human to be his alone while she was in his realm, an unusual bout of possessiveness. It was something he would have to reflect on later.
While Eike was paying little attention to Djall’s newest toy, Bellator was studying her closely. A human soul, a CLEAN human soul, completely spotless and pure, had landed in their realm. A fuck up in the algorithm? Or..or..was Djall missing something more important transpiring around them? Djall assumed that the fuck up in the algorithm was responsible for her being in their realm, since it had sent the soul that was supposed to be in their realm to a paradise. If that had been the case, then the beauty before him should have been able to have where she should have currently easily identified. The opposite happened, however. What if, just maybe, she was where she was supposed to be? Not a soul damned to their hell world, but a bride delivered to her groom? Warlords and Lords of the Afterlife could only wed pure souls, and here was a pure soul in their realm. Coincidence? Maybe...but maybe not. Djall might overlook it, but Bellator was not so quick to, and he was going to challenge his boss on it later, especially with the way it seemed Djall was already laying claim to the female, a claim he might be ready to challenge.
“Lady Miriana, tis a pleasure to meet you. I am sorry if I have given you reason to feel intimidated. I promise you that I mean you no harm, and no harm shall come to you when you are in my presence. I fear that you have fallen victim to the aura I give off, which does affect many.” Bellator greeted Miriana, bowing deeply. His swirling eyes remained focused solely on her as he did, still gauging her reactions and studying her acutely.
“What the asshole next to me is trying to say is that he scares the fuck out of most people, and he’s sorry that you look like you’re about to pass out. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miriana, and we’re both looking forward to working with you. Both of us,” he elbowed Tor, “and our legions will always work to keep you safe from anything that tries to harm you while you are with Djall and us.” Eike shook his head and rolled his eyes before bowing. He was far less formal than Bellator, but he had a feeling that the other Warlord was up to something, something he hadn’t caught onto yet. Yet.
“Uh...thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet both of you. I hope I’m able to help both of you.” Miriana’s voice was shaky, and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but she was trying. Djall’s arm around her waist, with his thumb gently caressing her side, did help quell her nerves somewhat. When did they become so familiar? She wasn’t sure, but it felt natural somehow, and she wasn’t going to argue with it. No matter what Tor said, he still scared her and she felt the need to run.
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine, Mir.” Djall shortened her name without even asking, simply because he wanted to and he liked the sound of it. It made her his, and he liked making things his. He studied his Warlords before him. Both were studying Miriana, which he expected. What he hadn’t expected was the way Bellator was looking at her. His expression was not one of curiosity regarding someone that would be a coworker, but rather he was looking at her as one might upon first meeting a prospective mate. Something primal in Djall reacted to this, considering it almost a challenge against him, and a deep seated part of him felt the need to stake his claim on her even though it would permanently smudge her.
“When will we begin to work with Miriana?” Tor could see Djall reacting to him and Eike, the possessive and dominant part of their boss rising. He had to wonder if their boss even realized what he was doing and the change in his stature since Tor had started studying the svelte female that Djall currently embraced. Then there was the human, herself, and her reactions to Djall. It all seemed to indicate that Miss Miriana was not there by accident. However, that did not mean she was there for Djall. Tor was going to find out who exactly she was there for and if it was for only one of them. A bride of Baratrum? Bellator was certain she was, but for whom?
Djall was fighting changing his mind about having her work with either Tor or Eike, and he didn’t know what was causing that. This was, after all, his idea. She couldn’t just follow him around all day, could she? Suddenly, that idea appealed to him more than her working with the other men that worked for him. He had always been possessive of things that belonged to him; that had to be the problem. She was just a thing to him. That was it.
“Djall?” Miriana asked softly when he didn’t answer Bellator’s question. Her head tipped to look up at him, her warm breath fanning across the skin of his throat, and the soft curls of her hair cascading across his hand that was holding her waist. The combination of sensations pulled him reluctantly from his thoughts.
“Sorry, I was contemplating how best that would be accomplished.” Djall lied to the three of them. From the narrowing of Eike’s eyes, it was not a fully believed lie. “You can begin immediately. I think getting to know one another-” his hold on Miriana tightened, a wave of possessiveness he wouldn’t have been able to explain if he tried coming over him suddenly, “would probably be best before getting into troop assignments and legion divisions. Miriana is not to leave the mansion compound. She is not to step foot outside for any reason. Am. I. Understood?”
Eike’s brows drew together. He understood but wondered why. “Do you not trust us with her? We wouldn’t let anything happen to her, Djall. If you’re afraid of her running away or a kidnapping, we’d guard her with our lives, you know that.” He was not challenging Djall, but Tor was studying the human a bit too closely, and Djall was acting weird. He seemed to be the only one not affected by whatever shift in dynamic was going on.
“She is not meant to be here, Eike. Everything here can smudge her and damn her to our realm eternally.” Djall sighed. There were reasons he wouldn’t say, but he’d go with the easiest. “She already has a smudge from where she got dropped originally before I got to her. I just wish for there not to be an accident that adds to it and for her not to be able to get to where she is supposed to be.” Again, he held her tighter for a moment, he was going to miss her when she was gone. Already, he could tell that allowing her to leave would not be easy and that wherever she went might require visits from him. What was wrong with him?
“You’re sure she is not meant to be here?” Bellator figured he might as well put it out there now. His chin rose as he spoke; now, the challenge had been made. He just waited for it to sink into Djall’s brain exactly what he meant by the question.
Djall opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. At first, he had thought that Bellator meant that Miriana wasn’t pure, but then he realized there had to be more to his Warlord’s statement. There was something he was missing, and Djall rarely missed anything. For another moment, he turned over the question in his mind. What could Tor mean that she was meant to be there? How could she be meant to be there if she was pure, a virgin even? Those weren’t sent to hell realm unless………...unless they were a bride for the Lord of the Afterlife or one of their Warlords. His eyes met Bellator’s and widened. The smirk that Tor gave him meant that was exactly what his Warlord was insinuating.
“We will talk later about this, Bellator.” Djall’s voice was strained. “You will follow my directives or face the consequences.” His eyes became hard. “Do either of you have an issue with this?” He looked between his two Warlords, expecting an answer.
“No.” They answered in unison.
Djall looked down at Miriana, who was still looking up at him, confused. His eyes softened significantly. “You will be kept safe, Mir. Don’t worry. They will ensure you are as safe as if you were with me.” He gave her a soft smile. “And Bellator just looks imposing, he would never hurt you. Okay?” It was all he could do not to place a kiss on her forehead, a further indication that Tor possibly had a point.
Miriana nodded, knowing that there was something that Djall wasn’t saying. Something that had to do with whatever Bellator had just said. It scared her, but she had to trust Djall; he was the one that had saved her in the forest after all, and he had taken care of her so far without hurting her. If he had meant her harm, he certainly could have done it before now.
