A Heart Disguised 1 (The Demon Lords of Aethoria)

1. Robin

1

Robin

I n the dappled light of the Aldercrest woods, where whispers of ancient secrets rustled through the leaves, I knelt with a creature’s fragile life cradled in my hands. The rabbit, its snow-white fur matted with crimson, trembled within my grasp. Its leg bent at an unnatural angle, and a jagged gash along its flank spoke of a savage attack, likely from a fox or hawk that had been prowling these parts.

Russet, my ever-vigilant hound, stood guard nearby, his amber eyes reflecting a solemnity reserved for such tender moments. His coat, a rich reddish-brown that had earned him his name, gleamed in the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. It was his whine that had drawn me away from the placid stream where Rosalind and Lily, with their laughter light as air, had been practicing their casts and hoping for a catch to boast about. He had bounded into the clearing, worry etched in his expressive eyes as he nudged me toward this fragile life teetering on the brink.

Now, my sisters sat in a ring around me on the lush grass of Aldercrest Estate, their faces etched with concern. Lily, her eyes wide and brimming with worry, asked in a voice that trembled like autumn leaves, “Will it be okay?”

Rosalind, ever the confident one, offered a reassuring smile. “Of course it will. Robin’s the best healer in all of Aethoria.”

A chuckle escaped me before I could stop it, tinged with both amusement and irony. Best healer? Hardly. My sisters wielded their magic with the finesse of true nobility; Rosalind danced with flames at her fingertips while Lily commanded water with a grace that belied her years. They attended magic school, honing skills that already surpassed mine by leagues.

As for me? The illegitimate son of Lord Aldercrest barely registered in his father’s world, my healing touch more accident than inheritance. I was a half-note in a symphony of full-blooded nobles—a reminder of a liaison better left forgotten. Most days, I wondered if Father even remembered my existence beyond the gardens and remedies I tended to.

But here in the quiet woods, none of that mattered. Only the life slipping away between my fingers held any significance.

Concentrating fiercely, I felt the familiar warmth spread from my core to my palms. Particles of light flickered like fireflies at dusk, weaving through the air and settling upon the rabbit’s wounds. My energy waned with each passing second; sweat beaded on my brow as I fought to mend flesh and bone.

The magic required was immense, far more than my usual trickle of power. I poured every ounce of will into my hands, feeling hollowed out as my essence ebbed away like sand through an hourglass. The luminescent particles swirled around us as if caught in Lily’s breezes, wrapping the rabbit in their healing glow.

At last, the ragged gashes closed, leaving behind unmarred white fur. The rabbit’s breathing steadied, and life returned to its eyes—a tribute not to my skill but to sheer determination. Its leg, once bent at that sickening angle, now appeared sturdy and whole.

Rosalind and Lily erupted into squeals of delight as they witnessed the transformation, while Russet wagged his tail vigorously in approval.

I stroked the rabbit’s head gently, my voice tinged with exhaustion. “There you go, little one. Next time, steer clear of trouble, won’t you? Those woods can be unforgiving.”

The rabbit’s nose twitched, and it wriggled gently in my grasp. With a final glance filled with what I fancied to be gratitude, it hopped away toward the underbrush, leaving behind three siblings united by a moment of quiet triumph amid nature’s unforgiving cycle.

As the rabbit vanished into the embrace of the forest, a sense of accomplishment buoyed my spirits despite my fatigue. The world seemed to hum with harmony, a melody only nature could compose. For once, my meager magic had proven to be exactly what was needed—no more, no less. This comforting thought warmed me more than any noble’s approval ever could, and I couldn’t help but smile. My hands, still tingling with the remnants of magic, bore the satisfying ache of a task well done. It was a small victory, perhaps, but in that moment, it felt like I’d won a battle against fate itself.

“And they say magic is the stuff of grandeur,” I mused. “Yet here I am, saving bunnies and feeling like a hero.”

Rosalind chuckled, her eyes glinting with mischief. “A very damp hero,” she teased, gesturing at my sodden clothes.

Lily giggled, her gaze following the rabbit’s path. “Well, our hero could help us catch dinner now. I bet those fish are getting cocky.”

With my sleeves already rolled up, I waded back into the cool embrace of the stream. The sensation of mud squishing between my toes was oddly satisfying—a simple pleasure for a simple task. Freshwater snails, a delicacy that would have any noble salivating at the mere mention, awaited their unceremonious capture.

Lily coaxed a fish toward Rosalind, who perched on the bank like a regal falcon ready to swoop down on unsuspecting prey.

“There!” Lily shouted with a triumphant grin as a silver flash darted toward Rosalind.

Rosalind lunged with the precision of an experienced hunter but missed by a hair’s breadth. The fish, now wise to our game, made a swift escape—but not swift enough to evade me.

“Robin! Quick!” Rosalind called out as the fish darted away from her grasp.

I dashed through the water, laughter bubbling up from within as I gave chase. My heart pounded with the thrill of it all—wet and wild and utterly alive. Springing into action, I splashed through the stream with an agility born from years of chasing after Russet’s misadventures. The fish was slick and quick, but desperation lent me speed. Just as it leaped toward freedom, my hand closed around it.

“Ha! Got you,” I crowed triumphantly, water dripping from my face as I held it aloft.

But victory was a slippery thing—literally. Meredith’s voice boomed across the estate like a thunderclap, shattering our moment of jubilation.

“Master Robin! Master Robin!”

Startled by the sudden intrusion, my grip faltered and the fish wriggled free, splashing back into its watery haven with what I imagined was a smug flick of its tail.

Rosalind groaned while Lily let out an exasperated sigh. Even Russet let out a soft whine of sympathy. I turned to Meredith as she approached us at a pace that didn’t quite match her usual measured gait. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion—or perhaps concern.

“Meredith? What’s sent you racing through the estate like a knight late for battle?” I asked, attempting to wring out my soaked attire.

Panting slightly, she fixed me with a look that managed to be both stern and affectionate. “Your father, Lord Aldercrest, has requested your presence,” she said, her words tumbling out like pebbles down a hillside. “He wishes to speak with you.”

Dread pooled in my stomach. It was rare for Father to summon us, especially me. My mind raced with possibilities, each more ominous than the last. Rosalind and Lily exchanged worried glances, their usual banter silenced by the gravity of Meredith’s announcement.

“And you two,” Meredith said, gesturing to Rosalind and Lily with an air of finality that brooked no debate, “must attend as well.”

As Meredith ushered us from the water, her hands fluttering like nervous birds, I couldn’t shake the sensation that I was less a person and more a soggy loaf of bread she was intent on rescuing from a puddle. Our clothes clung to our skin, but there was no time for drying off. With a sense of foreboding, we allowed ourselves to be herded back toward the manor, our frolic in the river a distant memory.

Aldercrest Estate sprawled out before us like a monument to generations of ambition. Its towers reached for the sky as if trying to escape earthly concerns, while servants scurried about with the precision of ants on a hill. They polished, pruned, and preened until the manor sparkled like a gemstone in the heart of Aethoria. The grandeur never failed to impress, with its soaring spires and sprawling gardens meticulously tended by a legion of green-thumbed guardians.

Gardeners snipped away at the willow-lined approach with shears that allowed no hint of imperfection, while inside, maids dusted and polished in a well-rehearsed dance that left no trace of human habitation. It was a sight that could make poets weep and painters toss aside their brushes in despair—a beehive of activity that transformed Aldercrest into a living, breathing work of art.

Rosalind and Lily were whisked away by their respective retinues of maids who clucked like mother hens. Each sister was enveloped in a flurry of towels and concern as they ascended the grand staircase toward bedchambers boasting views that rivaled paintings—each room a kingdom unto itself.

I veered off the main path, heading toward a far less grand destination: a small cottage tucked discreetly behind the manor. Its stone walls were smothered in ivy, a verdant embrace that softened its edges. This quaint abode had been my world since birth—my sanctuary with my late mother Lydia, and now shared with Meredith and her husband Bernard.

Old Bernard, with his perpetual squint as if he were trying to unravel life’s mysteries through sheer willpower alone, and the ever-fussing Meredith had become my surrogate family within the cottage’s comforting embrace. It was a stark contrast to the opulence of the manor, but it held the warmth of home that no amount of gilded furnishings could match.

Russet padded silently beside me, his eyes fixed on my face as if sensing my unease. His tan fur gleamed in the late afternoon sun, and I couldn’t resist reaching down to scratch behind his ears. He leaned into my touch, a low rumble of contentment vibrating through his chest.

As we approached, the scent of lavender and rosemary wafted from the small herb garden I tended nearby. Russet’s nose twitched, and he let out a soft sneeze, causing me to chuckle. The cottage’s windows glowed with a welcoming light, and for a moment, I allowed myself to bask in the nostalgia that clung to the place like morning dew.

Meredith, however, had no time for such sentimentality. With a bustle of activity, she all but hauled me indoors, her hands fluttering with barely contained anxiety, her fussing reaching new heights. Russet slipped in behind us, his nails clicking softly on the wooden floor.

“Look at the state of you!” Meredith exclaimed, her gaze lingering on my damp, dirt-streaked clothes. “It’s a wonder you haven’t caught your death in this state. And your hair!” she lamented, picking at the ends of my sodden locks.

She clucked her tongue like a disapproving hen as she ushered me into the bathroom where Bernard was busy playing alchemist with hot buckets of water and the tub. The steam rose in coiling tendrils, filling the room with a comforting warmth that did little to soothe Meredith’s agitation. “Heavens above,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Lord Aldercrest would have a fit if he saw his son in such a state!”

I raised an eyebrow at my reflection in the mirror—a sorry sight indeed with mud splattered up to my knees. Russet had followed us into the bathroom, settling himself in the corner with a soft whine.

“And what would he say? Who is this urchin mucking up my floors? ”

I smirked at Meredith’s reflection in the mirror as she continued her tirade about my half brothers’ impeccable presentation.

“Just look at Lord Henry and Lord Gavin,” she said, her voice reaching a fevered pitch as she untangled the snarls in my hair with brisk efficiency. “Always so spotless, so handsome. All the women are falling at their feet, and here you are, a mess of river water and mud!”

A smirk played at my lips as I shrugged off my clothes, leaving me in nothing but my undergarments. “Ah yes, Henry and Gavin—the epitome of nobility,” I drawled with all the sarcasm I could muster, tossing my hair back with an exaggerated flourish. “Because Father would surely recognize me amid his brood of spotless sons.”

Meredith scowled but couldn’t suppress a smile at my antics. Russet’s tail thumped against the floor, as if agreeing with my sentiment.

“And really, if I roamed the halls with hair down and clad in white, Father might very well think Mother’s ghost had come to haunt him—though I doubt he’d be so lucky.”

Bernard grunted from his post by the tub—a noise that might’ve been laughter or agreement; with Bernard, one could never quite tell.

Meredith tutted, her hands never ceasing in their ministrations. “You mustn’t speak ill of your father,” she admonished, though the ghost of a smile played at the corners of her lips.

I arched an eyebrow, my tone dripping with feigned innocence. “And why not? Everyone knows Henry and Gavin are the very picture of Aldercrest nobility. But me?” I shook my head, sending droplets of water flying. Russet ducked, narrowly avoiding the spray. “I’m merely the shadow that trails behind them, easily overlooked.”

Despite her earlier chastisement, Meredith’s eyes twinkled with a fondness that belied her stern expression. “Easily overlooked, you say? We’ll see about that. Now, into the tub with you before your father sends for you looking like a drowned rat.”

With a resigned sigh, I allowed myself to be ushered into the tub. The hot water enveloped me in a warm embrace, soothing my muscles and washing away the remnants of our riverside escapade. Russet edged closer, resting his head on the rim of the tub, his warm breath tickling my arm.

Meredith continued her fussing as she plucked at my hair like it was spun from gold rather than simple straw-blond strands. “All that dirt! You’ll be the death of me yet. Now stay still while I scrub you down,” she commanded, brandishing a bar of soap like a knight would his sword.

As the soap suds gathered around me like clouds at bath time’s summit, I let out a sigh. If cleanliness was next to godliness, then surely after this bath I’d be saintly enough for Father’s audience—whatever it may entail. Russet’s gentle whine seemed to echo my thoughts, a reminder that no matter what awaited me, I wouldn’t face it alone.

W ith Meredith’s relentless scrubbing and prodding finally at an end, I stood before the looking glass, a stranger staring back at me. The reflection was my own, yet it seemed almost unrecognizable, draped as it was in the finery of Aethoria’s nobility. The kaftan I wore was of a deep forest green, its rich hue setting off the vivid green of my eyes. The fabric was a far cry from the sumptuous silks Henry and Gavin donned daily, but it was fine enough—a soft wool that fell in gentle folds around my slender frame.

The robe was cinched at the waist with a narrow belt, embroidered with silver thread. My trousers, too, were of a finer make than my usual attire, tailored to fit my slight form without the swathes of excess fabric that seemed to adorn my brothers’ legs like battle trophies.

My hair, usually left to its own wild devices, was now tamed into submission—braided and coiled at the nape of my neck in a style that Lily had once declared “very regal, Robin.” I suppose it was an attempt to lend me an air of masculinity that my delicate features stubbornly refused to acknowledge. I peered closer at my reflection, scrutinizing the face that so often led strangers to mistake me for one of my sisters rather than their brother. A touch of annoyance flared within me at the thought.

My father’s height and lean muscularity had skipped me entirely. He stood like an oak among saplings—tall, lean, with a presence that commanded every room he entered. And then there was me: more willow than oak, more whisper than roar. Would I ever possess the robust stature of Henry or Gavin? It seemed unlikely, given my current predicament.

Meredith’s critical gaze swept over me, and for a moment, I held my breath. Then, with a nod of approval that seemed to surprise even herself, she shooed me toward the door as if I were a wayward chick straying too close to the fox’s den.

Russet, sensing the tension in the air, whined softly from his spot by the hearth. “Stay, Russet,” I commanded gently, rubbing the spot behind his ears that he so adored. He was not welcome within the main manor’s hallowed halls—a decree issued by Lady Aldercrest after an unfortunate incident involving her favorite gown and Russet’s then-puppyish exuberance. The memory of her sharp slaps and his protective snarl still lingered, a ghost of a welt on my cheek and a shadow in his amber eyes.

With a final, fortifying breath, I stepped out into the brisk afternoon air, Meredith’s anxious mantra of “don’t be nervous, don’t be nervous” trailing after me like a prayer. She, too, was barred from certain chambers of the main manor—a realm reserved for the likes of Lord Aldercrest and his favored offspring. As I crossed the threshold, her voice caught up to me, whispering a hasty “good luck” that seemed to carry the weight of all her unspoken fears.

Alone, I made my way down the long, tapestry-lined corridor that led to the main hall, navigating it as though it were a gauntlet. My mind raced with possibilities, each more fanciful than the last. Perhaps Father had finally seen fit to acknowledge my talents. Maybe he intended to send me to a prestigious magic school, despite my being somewhat past the age of a typical initiate.

Wild thoughts fluttered through my mind, daring to hope Father might recognize my affinity for healing magic. The notion was so delightful that a thrill of excitement coursed through me, momentarily pushing aside the dread that had taken root in my chest. I was so caught up in these pleasant fantasies that I nearly missed the imposing oak doors looming ahead.

Their intricate carvings stood as a silent tribute to the Aldercrest wealth and power, marking the entrance to a world far removed from my own. The footmen, resplendent in their dark green livery with the silver Aldercrest emblem emblazoned on their chests, pulled open the doors with an ease born of countless such openings. I hesitated on the threshold, a rabbit poised at the edge of a predator’s lair. Taking a deep breath, I stepped over the invisible boundary that separated the mundane world from the rarefied air of the main hall, my excitement now tinged with a renewed sense of apprehension.

Inside, my gaze was immediately drawn to Henry and Gavin, who might as well have been carved from the same oak as the doors, given their stony countenances. Henry, the elder, was a mirror of our father, with the same piercing blue eyes and dark hair that fell in controlled waves to his shoulders. He wore a kaftan of deep burgundy, its silk so rich it seemed to drink in the light of the room. Beneath, his trousers were a stark, snowy white, the fabric molding to his muscular legs like a second skin.

Gavin, just a year younger, was his brother’s shadow in build and demeanor, though his hair was a shade lighter, his eyes a touch warmer. His kaftan was a midnight blue, the silver thread of the embroidery catching the light with every shift of his broad shoulders. Their height, a towering five foot nine, dwarfed my own modest stature of barely five foot five, making me acutely aware of the fact that I had yet to see any sign of the late growth spurt that had been so often promised to me by Meredith.

Henry’s smirk was a slash of condescension as he eyed me with the same interest one might reserve for a moth that had wandered too close to the flame. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled, the derision in his tone as familiar as my own reflection. “Our little half-blood, trying so hard to play at nobility.”

Gavin’s glare was no less withering, his words sharp as a blade’s edge. “What are you doing here, runt? Did you lose your way to the stables?”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though the casual cruelty in their words stung like nettles. “I was summoned, same as you.”

Before they could volley back another barb, the door behind me swung open, and in breezed Rosalind and Lily, their entrance like a gust of fresh air amid the stifling oppression of my brothers’ presence. Lily, with her infectious smile, immediately enveloped me in a hug that threatened to crack my carefully constructed armor of indifference.

“You look so adorable, Robin!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with genuine delight. “Like a little doll dressed up for a ball.”

Gavin rolled his eyes while Henry’s glare seemed to intensify, but I found myself smiling at Lily’s innocent exuberance. Rosalind, never one to stand idly by, fixed Henry with a fiery glare of her own. “Stop glaring at Robin, or I’ll roast you where you stand,” she warned, her fingers twitching with the barest hint of a flame dancing at her fingertips.

Henry sneered at her threat. “Watch your tongue, brat. You’d do well to remember your place—and mine.”

With all the grace of an unruffled swan—or perhaps just an obstinate goose—Rosalind stuck out her tongue and made a face, an act of rebellion that would have earned a lesser sibling a swift reprimand.

The door to the end of the room swung open, and Hargrove, the head butler, announced in his deep, resonant voice, “Lord and Lady Aldercrest are ready to receive you now.”

A collective hush fell over the room, and my heart clenched like a fist in my chest. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I followed my siblings into the lion’s den. I was the last to enter, a silent acknowledgment of my place in the Aldercrest hierarchy—but not a surrender. Never that. As we approached the imposing doors of the grand drawing room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our lives were about to change dramatically—for better or worse remained to be seen.