A Heart Disguised 1 (The Demon Lords of Aethoria)

3. Darius

3

Darius

I n the uppermost chamber of Argentum Keep, Darius Shadowbane, Duke of Lunaria and Shadowmere, sat ensconced in his study, a room that rivaled the opulence of the rest of the fortress. The demon lord’s imposing figure commanded attention, even in solitude. Standing at six foot eight, his broad-shouldered frame exuded raw power, barely contained by his attire. He wore a long, flowing black kaftan over fitted trousers, a style favored by Aethorian nobility. The kaftan, made of the finest silk, was richly embroidered with intricate gold motifs, its open front revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his chiseled chest. The luxurious fabric draped elegantly over his imposing physique, a perfect blend of Aethorian fashion and demonic allure.

His long raven-black hair cascaded over his shoulders like a midnight waterfall, framing a face that was the epitome of demonic beauty—sharp, angular features softened just enough by full lips that often quirked into a sardonic smile.

Darius’ most striking feature, however, was his eyes. Molten gold in color, they seemed to glow with an inner fire, capable of piercing through any deception or weakness. His gaze was known to make even the most stalwart demons weak at the knees. Sleek obsidian horns curved elegantly from his temples, their polished surface gleaming with an otherworldly sheen, a silent proclamation of his power and nobility.

Among demonkind, Darius was considered the pinnacle of masculine allure. His mere presence in court was enough to set hearts racing and ignite fierce competition for his attention. Both men and women vied for even a moment of his time, drawn by his raw magnetism and the promise of pleasure his reputation suggested. Yet Darius remained aloof, his legendary appetites sated only on his own terms, leaving a trail of longing admirers in his wake.

The chamber was a masterclass in extravagance, with walls paneled in dark, rich mahogany that gleamed under the warm sunlight streaming through the grand windows. A massive desk of the same polished wood stood at the room’s center, its surface littered with parchments, inkwells, and various seals of office. Towering bookshelves framed the room, filled with tomes of knowledge and history that stirred his intellect and provided a constant reminder of the legacy he was building.

Behind him, the windows offered an unobstructed view of the city below. Lunaria sprawled beneath the midday sun like a living mosaic, its bustling streets and gleaming rooftops a vibrant display of the prosperity under his rule. The city’s beauty was mesmerizing, a captivating counterpoint to the monotonous paperwork that demanded Darius’ attention.

The duke’s fingers danced across the documents spread before him, his eyes scanning each line with the precision of a hawk sighting its prey. The paperwork was a relentless tide—requisitions for the Shadowmere garrison, missives from King Azrael that demanded immediate response, and tax ledgers from the silver mines that were the lifeblood of Lunaria. Each piece of parchment required his seal, his decision, his attention to detail that could make or break the delicate balance of power within his region.

Beside him stood Alaric, his ever-faithful aide—a man whose presence was as discreet as it was indispensable. The assistant moved with an efficiency born of years of service, sorting through the endless stream of paperwork, prioritizing each task with quiet competence.

“Your Grace,” Alaric said, his voice a low murmur as he organized a stack of reports on the edge of the desk. “The reports from the Silver Mines indicate a significant surplus this quarter.” He handed over the relevant documents, his silver-edged spectacles perched delicately on the bridge of his nose.

Darius nodded, his calculating gaze sweeping over the figures. “Increase the allocation for the orphanage in the Lower Quarter,” he said decisively. “The miners’ children should not bear the burden of their parents’ labor.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” Alaric noted the instruction swiftly in his ever-present ledger.

Their conversation continued, a dance of words terse and to the point, a cadence of governance that filled the room with the music of productivity. They discussed trade agreements, infrastructure projects, and the latest diplomatic tensions with neighboring nations. Each topic was dissected with precision, decisions made with the cold logic that had made Darius such an effective ruler.

As the final decree was sealed, Darius waved Alaric off. “You’re dismissed. Ensure the foreman knows any delays in the silver shipments will not be tolerated.”

With a slight bow, Alaric took his leave, the door closing with a soft click that signaled the onset of solitude. Darius leaned back in his chair and allowed himself the luxury of a deep sigh. His thoughts, unbidden, drifted to the human bride King Azrael had so thoughtfully thrust upon him.

The notion of a wife was anathema to Darius. He had never desired one, had never seen the need for such an encumbrance. He enjoyed his bachelor life, the freedom to indulge in different partners as his desires dictated. Boredom was his constant companion, and the variety of his conquests kept it at bay, if only temporarily.

Azrael had been insistent. The human nobles were frightened of Darius, wary of the power he wielded and the rumors that swirled around him like a tempest. A human wife, the king had argued, would soften his image, would prove that the Duke of Lunaria was not the monster they believed him to be.

Darius had let those rumors spread, had done nothing to dispel them. Some were rooted in truth, while others were so outlandish they bordered on comedic. He chuckled softly, the sound echoing off the walls of his study. The humans were a superstitious lot, prone to exaggeration and fearmongering.

They said he slept on a bed of bones, a ridiculous notion born from a gift he’d received—a blanket embroidered with skeletal designs from a fellow lord with a macabre sense of humor. The tale of him drinking the blood of his victims? Nothing more than his preference for rich red wine served in ornate goblets.

His shadow, they claimed, could strangle and kill at will. Darius smirked at the thought. The truth was far less sinister—his loyal hound, Umbra, could travel through his shadow at will, a unique ability that had given rise to countless wild speculations.

Some whispered that he could steal courage from his victims by devouring their still-beating hearts. Ridiculous tales spun from threads of truth. Yes, he relished power—what demon didn’t? And sure, he could weave illusions strong enough to make one’s deepest fears dance before their eyes. But eat human flesh? Absurdity.

As for the rumor about his insatiable appetites? Well… even demons couldn’t deny biology. The truth of his heightened libido was perhaps the only accurate piece of gossip circulating about him, though the tales of his sexual exploits had grown to legendary proportions.

A smile tugged at his lips despite himself. They painted him as a beast in man’s clothing—perhaps it made them sleep easier at night. But let them dream their nightmares; they only fortified his solitude.

Darius’ gaze lingered on the city below, the sunlight glinting off rooftops and spires with mocking indifference. His bride would arrive soon, and with her, a whole new set of challenges to overcome. The thought was as exhausting as it was exhilarating. What would this trembling creature make of her new lord? Would she unravel more myths or add her own threads to the intricate web of his legend?

The irony was rich enough to savor: The Duke of Lunaria taking a bride to quell human fears when fear itself was an ally more loyal than any marriage could ever provide. Next week would be soon enough to face the music of the spheres and the discordant notes his new bride would surely introduce. But for now, he would enjoy the quiet, the solitude that came with the midday lull, and the knowledge that his reputation, however exaggerated, served him well in keeping the region’s delicate balance.

A sharp rap on the door jarred Darius from his musings. “Enter,” he called.

The door swung open to admit Sir Zephyr, a figure as imposing as he was enigmatic. Tall and lean, Zephyr’s midnight-blue skin seemed to absorb the light around him, while silver markings traced patterns of power across his flesh. His long white hair fell in stark contrast to the darkness of his skin, framing a face that could have been chiseled from ice. Those piercing violet eyes surveyed the room with a detached curiosity, as if already calculating three moves ahead in some unseen game.

The demon lord’s top lieutenant moved with a predatory grace as he crossed the room, making himself comfortable on the plush velvet sofa—a bold move that spoke volumes of their camaraderie.

“Zephyr,” Darius greeted, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Zephyr’s eyes narrowed slightly, a sign of his displeasure. “The Skargen Raiders are causing trouble again,” he said, his voice carrying an edge as sharp as his namesake. “They’ve escalated from mere banditry to kidnapping. The latest raid claimed three souls from the outlying villages, and the people are on edge.”

Darius’ gaze darkened, the gold of his irises flickering with the shadows of impending wrath. “They are relentless, it seems,” he mused. “Their hatred for our kind is a festering wound that refuses to heal.”

Zephyr nodded, his expression grim. “They hide in the shadows of the Evermire Swamps, emerging like malevolent specters to wreak havoc on our people. They’ve become more than a mere nuisance; they’re a blight upon our nation.”

“We must tread carefully,” Darius said after a moment of contemplative silence. “I am already seen as the demon at the gates. We cannot afford to give them more ammunition to use against us.”

“Indeed,” Zephyr agreed, his tone echoing the weight of their predicament. “Yet we cannot sit idly by while they terrorize our people.”

Darius’ brow furrowed, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the desk’s surface. “They forget that we’ve brought stability to Aethoria, prosperity even. What more do these Raiders want?”

“Ah, but fear makes for strange bedfellows.” Zephyr tilted his head slightly. “They’ve joined forces with Kalendria’s anti-demon faction, no doubt seeking strength in numbers.”

“Kalendria.” Darius tasted the name like a bitter draught. “Our neighbors do love to meddle.”

“We could crush them,” Zephyr offered casually, though his eyes were sharp with calculation.

“And give them the martyrdom they so desperately seek?” Darius shook his head. “We must be strategic, dismantle their influence without outright slaughter—our image is tarnished enough as it is.”

Zephyr’s expression darkened. “It’s not just about stability, my lord. Our spies report that the Skargen Raiders have a new leader, one who’s united their disparate factions under a singular, fanatical cause.”

“Oh?” Darius leaned forward, his interest piqued. “And what cause might that be?”

“The complete eradication of demonkind from Aethoria,” Zephyr replied, his voice low. “This new leader, a human who calls himself The Purifier, has been spreading propaganda about demon atrocities, real and imagined. He’s particularly focused on the idea of demons corrupting human bloodlines.”

Darius’ eyes narrowed. “Interesting timing, considering my impending nuptials.”

Zephyr nodded grimly. “Exactly. Our sources suggest they might be planning something big, possibly targeting high-profile humans associated with demons. Your bride-to-be could be at risk.”

“A bold move, if true,” Darius mused. “We’ll need to increase security, especially during the wedding festivities. Have you any information on this purifier?”

“Little concrete, I’m afraid,” Zephyr admitted. “He’s shrouded in mystery, but rumors speak of a man scarred by demon fire, driven mad with revenge. Some say he possesses artifacts that can nullify demon magic.”

Darius leaned back, contemplating this new information. “Keep your ears to the ground, Zephyr. I want to know every whisper, every rumor about these Raiders and their leader. If they’re planning something, I want to be three steps ahead.”

“Of course, my lord,” Zephyr agreed. “I’ll double our efforts to infiltrate their ranks.”

The tension in the room eased somewhat as Zephyr shifted the topic, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “And how fares our illustrious duke with the impending arrival of his bride?” he inquired, the faintest smirk playing across his lips. “Excited to welcome such… delicate company into your lair?”

Darius arched an eyebrow at the jab, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the dread that the mention of his bride conjured. “Delicate, indeed,” he drawled, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. “A human bride is the last thing I need, Zephyr. It’s a diplomatic game, and I am its unwilling pawn.”

Zephyr chuckled, reveling in Darius’ discomfort. “Come now, Your Grace. Admit it—you’re positively pining for her arrival.”

“Pining?” Darius scoffed, the very idea causing a ripple of laughter to escape his lips. “I’d sooner court a ghoul. The only thing I’ll be mooning over is the pile of paperwork that will undoubtedly accumulate while I’m busy playing the doting husband.”

“Perhaps she’ll surprise you—charm you with her delicate ways,” Zephyr teased.

Darius turned back toward him, an eyebrow arched in mock challenge. “I’ll wager she faints at her first glimpse of my horns.”

Leaning back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath his weight, Darius’ tone turned serious. “This marriage will be a facade,” he stated flatly, his eyes meeting Zephyr’s with unwavering certainty. “A political move, nothing more. The notion of bedding a human holds as much appeal as bathing in acid.”

Zephyr’s laughter filled the room, a sound as rich and dark as the midnight sky. “Ah, but Your Grace,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth, “your reputation still precedes you. Years have passed, and yet the mere whisper of your name in nearby villages sends the fairer sex scurrying for cover as if you were a plague incarnate.”

Darius waved a dismissive hand, the faintest hint of a smirk playing about his lips. “Let them cower in their homes,” he said with a shrug. “The castle has been blessedly free of hysterical females since our arrival. I’d rather keep it that way than fill these halls with constant swooning and shrieking.”

“And if your bride succumbs to such theatrics?” Zephyr inquired, his voice laced with curiosity. “What then, my lord?”

Darius’ expression tightened, the gold of his eyes gleaming with frustration and resignation. “If she swoons, she’ll lie where she falls. I have no intention of touching her, only to be accused of impropriety the moment she regains consciousness.”

Zephyr sighed heavily, his midnight-blue skin seeming to ripple with exasperation. “My lord, while I understand your reluctance, remember your position. A noble of Aethoria cannot simply leave a distressed lady unattended.”

“Then let the servants attend to her,” Darius said. “I’d rather face accusations of neglect than risk more… salacious rumors.”

Zephyr’s laughter was a low rumble in his chest. “Ah, but the gossip among the servants is already enough to keep the fires lit. Perhaps a small gesture of concern would improve your image?”

“My image? Zephyr, this marriage is a political arrangement, nothing more. I have no desire to play the doting husband, least of all to a human who faints at the mere sight of me.”

“True,” Zephyr conceded, his smirk widening. “But if you allow her to collapse without so much as a gesture, your reputation may grow even more… formidable. And that might complicate matters beyond the bedroom.”

Darius rolled his eyes, his horns catching the light as he shook his head. “So be it. If human women are such fragile creatures that they cannot withstand the sight of their lord and husband, then perhaps it is they who should reconsider their place in this arrangement.”

Zephyr inclined his head in a gesture of reluctant agreement, a silent acknowledgment of the truth in Darius’ words. “As you wish, my lord,” he said, rising from his seat. “However, I must now attend to the trade negotiations with the Silvermoon Elves. Their delegation arrives at sundown, and we need to finalize our stance on the tariffs.”

Darius nodded, the weight of his duties pressing down upon him like an invisible crown. “Go, Zephyr. You have my leave. Handle the negotiations with your usual finesse, but remember—we need their moonsilk more than they need our gold. Be firm, but don’t alienate them.”

With a final nod, Zephyr took his leave, pausing at the door to glance back with an expression that mixed determination and amusement before disappearing into the corridor.

Left alone with his thoughts, Darius moved to stand by the window overlooking Argentum’s terraced cityscape below. The afternoon sun gilded the bustling streets and gleaming rooftops, bathing the city in a warm, golden glow. Yet as he gazed upon the radiant scene, Darius felt the familiar chill of isolation creeping through his veins—a reminder of the darkness that lurked within him, untouched by the light that blessed his domain.

His thoughts turned to the human bride who would soon grace his halls with her presence. He imagined her wide-eyed and trembling, a lamb led to the slaughter, and a pang of something akin to guilt twinged in his chest. He had no desire to harm her; he simply did not want her here at all.

Darius brushed the errant thought aside. He was a demon lord, a creature carved from shadow and darkness. Compassion was a luxury he could ill afford, especially not for a human whose presence was little more than a chess move by King Azrael.

His bride-to-be—a mere pawn in this political charade—would soon cross those same streets on her way to Argentum Keep. She was an unknown variable in a game he’d played masterfully until now—a potential weakness for enemies like The Purifier to exploit.

And yet as he gazed upon the city that had become his second home, Darius found himself hoping that the woman would possess a spine of steel. Perhaps she would be different, an anomaly among her kind who would not cower at his mere presence. He would not hold his breath.

A wry chuckle escaped his lips as he considered the absurdity of his situation. A demon lord and a human bride—it was a tale that would have the bards weeping with joy and the courtiers whispering behind their fans. But Darius was no romantic, and he had no intention of playing the part of a lovestruck suitor.

Still, curiosity gnawed at him. What would she be like, this human girl thrust into his world of shadows and power? Despite his reluctance, he found himself drawn to the mystery she presented. He turned from the window to his desk, where a report lay open. His investigation team had been thorough, as always. Lord Aldercrest had two sons and two young daughters: Rosalind, age fifteen, and Lily, age fourteen. Darius’ lip curled in disgust. A child bride. The very thought made his stomach churn.

“A marriage in name only,” he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl in the empty room. The idea of touching a mere child, barely more than a babe in his immortal eyes, revolted him to his very core.

Darius had always preferred his bedmates strong, capable of handling his demonic strength and appetite. Gender had never mattered to him; man or woman, as long as they were willing and robust enough to match his vigor. But a child? Never.

Yet the question of which daughter would be sent to him burned in his mind like an insistent flame. Though his instincts whispered it would be Rosalind, the elder of the two, Darius craved certainty. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and reached out with his arcane senses, his consciousness expanding beyond the confines of his mortal form.

In the skies above Argentum, he sought out the winged creatures that soared on currents of air. His magic, ancient and potent, touched the minds of five birds—a raven with feathers black as night, a hawk with eyes sharp as his own, a dove as white as fresh-fallen snow, a magpie with wings of ebony and ivory, and a starling with feathers that shimmered like the night sky.

With but a whisper of his will, Darius wove his essence into theirs, forging a bond that would allow him to see through their eyes. The spell took hold, a shiver of power rippling through him as the connection solidified.

“Fly,” he commanded, his voice resonating with otherworldly authority. “Seek out the escort team and show me what I must know.”

As he settled back into his chair, quill in hand, a part of his mind remained connected to the birds, their journey a constant presence at the edge of his consciousness. The world tilted and expanded in his mind’s eye, offering five distinct perspectives of the landscape below. Fields of emerald green stretched out beneath them, dotted with the occasional cluster of ancient trees or winding silver rivers. The birds soared higher, catching thermals that carried them swiftly toward their quarry.

Darius knew it would take time for his winged spies to reach the escort team. He opened his eyes, the confines of his study jarringly mundane compared to the sweeping aerial vistas he had just witnessed. With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of centuries, he returned his attention to the parchments before him. There were still matters of the nation to attend to—treaties to review, disputes to settle, and decisions that could shape the future of Lunaria.

Yet as the quill scratched against parchment, filling the quiet study with its familiar sound, Darius found his thoughts continually drifting back to the impending arrival of his bride. Despite himself, a flicker of anticipation stirred in his chest, mingling uneasily with his dread. Soon, he would have his first glimpse of the girl who was to be his wife—even if only in name.