A Heart Disguised 1 (The Demon Lords of Aethoria)

15. Robin

15

Robin

I awoke with a start, my heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil. The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, mocking me with its cheerful glow. Sleep, that fickle mistress, had abandoned me to the wolves of anxiety all night long.

As I lay there, tangled in silk sheets that felt more like a spider’s web, my mind raced through a parade of escape plans, each more preposterous than the last. Perhaps I could fashion a rope from bed linens and rappel down the castle walls like some dashing rogue from a penny dreadful. Or maybe I could disguise myself as a servant, slipping away in the chaos of wedding preparations. My personal favorite involved befriending a flock of pigeons, training them in secret to carry me away to freedom. I’d be the talk of Aethoria —the Bride Who Flew the Coop .

I snorted at my own absurdity. “Oh, Robin,” I muttered to myself, “you’ve become as bad as Meredith with her outlandish tales. What’s next? Convincing the duke you’re a witch who’ll turn him into a toad on the wedding night?”

Sitting up, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror across the room. My hair looked like a bird’s nest after a particularly violent storm, and the dark circles under my eyes suggested I’d gone ten rounds with a nocturnal demon. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t far from the truth.

I pulled Russet into my lap, burying my face in his warm fur. “What am I to do, old friend?” I whispered. Fluffy, curled at the foot of the bed, tilted his head, his ember eyes glowing with what I could swear was amusement.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I scolded the puppy. “I don’t suppose you have any bright ideas on how to evade the wedding night? No? Didn’t think so.”

A flutter of wings drew my attention to the windowsill, where Starling perched, watching me with those unnervingly intelligent eyes. “And what about you, little one?” I asked, my lips quirking into a rueful smile. “Any sage avian advice on how to survive this day? No? Just going to sit there and look pretty, are you?”

Starling tilted her head, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that seemed almost… sympathetic? I shook my head, chuckling softly at my own folly. “Look at me, seeking counsel from a bird. Next, I’ll be asking Fluffy to officiate the ceremony.”

The door suddenly burst open with such force I half expected to see the duke himself. Instead, there stood Meredith, beaming like she’d just won the royal lottery.

“Rise and shine, my little lovebird!” she trilled, her voice so chipper it made my teeth ache. “It’s your wedding day!”

I gaped at her, wondering if perhaps I’d woken up in some bizarre alternate reality. “Meredith?” I ventured cautiously. “Are you feeling quite alright? What happened to Beware the demon lord and We must flee before he devours your innocence ?”

She waved off my concerns like pesky flies. “Oh, pishposh! That was yesterday’s news. Today, we make you a duchess!”

Before I could formulate a response, I was unceremoniously hauled from my bed and whisked to the bathroom. “Time is of the essence!” Meredith declared, dunking me into the hot spring tub with all the gentleness of a farmhand tossing a sack of potatoes.

“Meredith!” I spluttered, spitting out water. “Have you gone mad? Or have I?”

“Hush now,” she said, attacking my hair with scented soap. “Madame Elodie will be here soon with her army of beautifiers. We can’t have you looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward, can we?”

As she scrubbed me within an inch of my life, I couldn’t help but marvel at her transformation. Gone was the woman who’d spun wild tales of demon appetites and dark omens. In her place was a beaming, maternal figure, determined to see her charge wed in style.

“There,” she said, finally releasing me from her sudsy clutches. “You smell like a spring meadow. The duke won’t be able to resist you!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I muttered, but Meredith was already bustling about, laying out towels and robes.

As I stepped out of the tub, wrapped in a fluffy towel that felt like a cloud, I caught sight of Starling still watching from the window. If birds could smirk, I swear this one was.

“Well,” I said to no one in particular, “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to face the music. Or in this case, the wedding march.”

With a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and prepared to meet my fate. After all, how bad could becoming the bride of a demon lord really be? At least, I thought wryly, it would make for one hell of a story.

Breakfast arrived with the subtlety of a royal fanfare—silver platters heaped with a feast fit for royalty, or in my case, one anxious bride-to-be. I surveyed the lavish spread: eggs as fluffy as the clouds outside my window, bacon crisp enough to snap at a touch, and golden honey-glazed rolls that glistened in the morning light. An array of exotic fruits nestled among delicate pastries filled with sweet preserves, the likes of which would make the palace bakers weep with envy. The aroma alone was enough to awaken a hunger I didn’t know I had, mingling appreciation with trepidation as I regarded this edible extravagance.

“Well,” I mused aloud, addressing the strawberry I’d just speared with unnecessary force, “is this stress eating or simply making the most of my last meal as a free man?” The strawberry, unsurprisingly, offered no insight as it burst sweetly in my mouth.

Despite the butterflies performing an elaborate ballet in my stomach, I devoured the meal with unexpected gusto. “Who knew impending doom could be so… appetizing?” I chuckled darkly.

My peaceful repast was shattered with all the subtlety of a mage’s fireball. The door burst open, and in streamed Madame Elodie and her entourage—a veritable cavalry of beauticians armed with powders, potions, and implements of beautification that looked more suited to torture than adornment.

“Ah, our lovely bride!” Madame Elodie declared, clapping her hands together as if summoning the muses themselves.

I tightened my silk robe around me, a futile attempt at armor against the impending onslaught. Tessa and Tilly flanked me like cherubic jailers, their coos of anticipation sending shivers through me. “You’re going to look so beautiful today, my lady,” Tilly sang, while Tessa nodded vigorously.

Before I could mount any sort of defense, I was swamped by women. Hands fluttered around me like a flock of overzealous doves—tugging, pinning, brushing. My hair became their canvas, each strand meticulously arranged into an intricate half-up style. The top was coaxed into a delicate bun that seemed to defy gravity, while the rest cascaded down my back in silken waves.

“I do hope you’re not planning on any sudden movements,” I quipped as they secured what felt like the hundredth pin. “I fear my head might topple off.”

My wit was lost on them as they continued their assault, painting my face with delicate strokes until I scarcely recognized myself in the mirror—a stranger draped in silks and shadows, more artwork than boy.

As the beautification neared its end, Tessa and Tilly exchanged mischievous glances before turning to me with pleading eyes.

“Lady Robin,” Tessa began, her voice honeyed with anticipation, “might we perhaps… show the others your wardrobe?”

Tilly chimed in, barely containing her excitement, “Yes, especially those exquisite… undergarments?”

I sighed, knowing full well what they were after. With an exasperated wave of my hand, I acquiesced. “Oh, go on, then. I suppose my dignity is already beyond salvaging at this point.”

Their squeals of delight were nearly deafening as they scurried to my wardrobe, throwing open the doors with dramatic flair. The other girls gathered round, their eyes widening as Tessa and Tilly carefully extracted the delicate pieces of lingerie.

“Oh, my!” gasped one of the younger maids, her cheeks flushing as she beheld a particularly daring piece of lace and silk.

“It’s so… small,” whispered another, her voice a mix of awe and scandal.

The room filled with coos and sighs as they passed the garments around, marveling at the intricate embroidery and gossamer-thin fabrics. I watched, caught between amusement and mortification, as my most intimate attire became the center of attention.

When they finally retreated for lunch, I was left alone in the echoing silence of my parlor, a painted doll awaiting his grand debut.

Lunch arrived, another sumptuous spread that seemed to mock my predicament with its opulence. I was about to take a tentative bite when a knock at the door startled me and Caelum walked in and took a seat beside me on the sofa.

“Escaping the fuss at the main hall,” he said. “The gossip mill is working overtime today.”

I arched an eyebrow, an impressive feat given the layers of makeup weighing it down. “Are you sure you’re not just avoiding a certain fiery grand duke?”

Caelum’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, Ignis? He’s harmless… mostly. But speaking of harmful rumors…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know all those wild tales about my dear brother? Well, let’s just say there’s more truth to them than you might think.”

I choked on my wine, the vintage red suddenly tasting like liquid dread. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, where to begin?” Caelum’s grin widened. “The towering stature? Check. The mind-reading touch? Well, he’s perceptive, I’ll give him that. And as for his… endowments?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

My cheeks flamed hotter than Grand Duke Ignis’ fiery mane. “You can’t possibly mean—”

“Let’s just say, the term broadsword might not be entirely inaccurate,” Caelum chuckled. “Though I doubt he’s ever actually split anyone in two with it. At least, not literally.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “And the… transformations?”

Caelum’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Oh, that. Well, he can’t turn into a great winged beast exactly, but his shadow abilities are quite… impressive. As for withering crops and curdling milk, that’s just his charming personality at work.”

“This isn’t funny, Caelum,” I muttered, burying my face in my hands, only to quickly lift them when I remembered my intricate hairstyle.

“On the contrary, it’s hilarious,” he replied, popping a grape into his mouth with infuriating casualness. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll survive the wedding night. Probably.”

As Caelum continued to regale me with increasingly outrageous confirmations of Duke Darius’ rumored attributes, I was torn between abject terror and a bizarre urge to laugh hysterically. The wedding night loomed before me like a perilous quest into uncharted territory, for which I was woefully ill-equipped and utterly unprepared.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” I accused Caelum, my voice muffled by the hands I’d once again pressed to my face.

Caelum merely winked, popping another grape into his mouth. “Consider it my wedding gift to you—a glimpse into what awaits. After all, forewarned is forearmed, right? Or in this case, fore-terrified is… well, still terrified, but at least you know what you’re in for!”

Before I could retort with a suitably acerbic remark, the door burst open with all the subtlety of a rampaging chimera. Meredith swept in, her excitement palpable as summer lightning. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of thrill reserved for grand festivals or public executions—my wedding seemingly qualifying as both.

“Up, up, my little lovebird!” Meredith trilled. “Time is slipping through our fingers like sand. The ceremony’s within the hour! And you can’t very well marry a duke in your dressing gown, can you?”

She curtsied in a rush upon noticing Caelum, then grabbed my arm. With a resigned sigh, I allowed myself to be led into the bedchamber, where a gown of such exquisite beauty awaited that it made my heart ache with a strange mixture of dread and wonder.

Meredith presented me with a set of white lingerie, her hands trembling with barely contained glee. Her eyes shone with the anticipation of a child on Solstice morning. “Go on, dear,” she urged. “Get dressed. This is part of demon culture, you know. It’s a special garment to bring good fortune to the marriage.”

I shook my head furiously—panic clawing at my throat. “But Meredith,” I protested weakly, “surely the duke wouldn’t expect—”

“Nonsense!” she interjected, her tone uncharacteristically firm. “It’s a tradition. You wouldn’t want to dishonor your future husband’s customs on your wedding day, would you?”

I snatched the offending garments from her and trudged to the bathroom as if marching to the gallows. The temptation to toss them out the window was overwhelming, but I knew better than to risk a diplomatic incident over undergarments.

With trembling hands, I slipped into the diaphanous concoction. The two-piece lingerie clung to me like a second skin—sheer fabric whispering over my body in an intimate caress. The thigh-high stockings somehow managed to be both chaste and indecent at once.

Steeling myself for the reflection that awaited me, I approached the mirror. The person staring back was both familiar and not—like a figure from some enchanting dream where propriety danced on the edge of scandal. The ensemble left little to the imagination, clinging to my slender frame with shameless allure. The bottom piece, a flimsy scrap of fabric, did its best to preserve what remained of my dignity, while the top piece seemed to mourn the absence of curves it was designed to accentuate, emphasizing what wasn’t there with an ironic elegance. The thigh-high stockings completed the ensemble, transforming my legs into works of art.

I felt wanton and vulnerable, the lingerie a brazen declaration of the intimacy to come—intimacy I was woefully unprepared for. The reflection was both enticing and unsettling, the garments shielding just enough to tease and tantalize while exposing far more than I was comfortable with. With trembling hands, I donned my robe, the soft fabric a small comfort against the storm of uncertainty brewing within.

Returning to the bedroom, I found Meredith practically bouncing with anticipation. “Let me see, dear!” she implored, hands clasped in barely contained glee. “I just need to make sure it fits perfectly for the duke.”

I shook my head, a stubborn refusal forming on my lips. “Meredith, I—”

“Oh, Lady Robin, don’t be such a spoilsport!” she chided, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just a quick peek, I promise. I’ll be the judge of whether it’s fitting for a duchess!”

With an exasperated sigh that could have felled a small forest, I relented, untying my robe and letting it fall open. Meredith’s eyes widened, and a delighted squeal escaped her lips that pierced the room like an arrow hitting its mark.

“Oh, my dear, you look utterly divine!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “It’s perfect! The duke won’t be able to resist you! You’re the very picture of innocence and seduction combined.”

Her words filled me with dread at the notion of Darius seeing me thusly exposed—so vulnerable and undeniably male. The reality of my situation crashed down upon me with the force of a tidal wave. I was about to marry a demon lord, a being of power and passion, and here I was, playing dress-up in the most scandalous attire I’d ever worn.

Meredith bustled about, her hands fluttering around me as she adjusted the lay of the lace. “There,” she said, satisfaction oozing from her voice. “Perfect for your wedding night.”

I swallowed hard, the thought of the duke’s gaze upon me in such a state of undress causing my heart to race with a mixture of fear and a peculiar, unsettling thrill.

Without another word, Meredith bustled forward with my wedding gown—a masterpiece of fabric and fantasy—ready to transform me into something precious and unrecognizable for my demon lord husband-to-be.

As she helped me into the voluminous skirts, I couldn’t help but feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter, albeit a very well-dressed one. The weight of the gown, the whisper of silk against my skin—it was all too much, and yet not enough to quell the storm of emotions raging inside me.

As I stood there, encased in finery, I couldn’t help but wonder what the duke would think when he saw me—the real me, hidden beneath layers of lace and illusion. Would he be amused? Disappointed? Or worse, indifferent?

With a gentle push toward the door, Meredith’s voice softened. “Come now, love. Let’s get you ready to meet your destiny.”

M y heart thrummed against the cage of my ribs as I stood before the imposing doors of the main hall. The murmur of voices behind the heavy wood was a din of expectation, a crescendo of anticipation that played on the taut strings of my nerves. Today, I was to be wed—a union of political necessity, yet one that stirred unfamiliar longing within me.

Beside me, Russet’s fur brushed against my leg, a silent show of solidarity. Fluffy frolicked at my feet, while Starling perched on my shoulder. Meredith and Bernard, my surrogate parents in this grand affair, stood arrayed in finery that surpassed anything I’d seen on them before.

Meredith’s gown was a cascade of elegance, every fold a reflection of her joy in this momentous occasion. “You look absolutely radiant, dear,” she whispered.

Bernard, ever the stoic, bore his best suit with a quiet pride. He simply nodded and said, “You’ll do us proud.” The tenderness in his voice belied his usual gruff demeanor.

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, the impulse to flee a persistent whisper in my veins. But there was no turning back now. The doors before us opened like the maw of some great beast, and Meredith and Bernard each took one of my hands, guiding me forward with a gentle, insistent pressure.

As we entered, the hall’s vastness struck me. It was filled to the brim with people, their collective gaze a palpable weight upon my shoulders. From the corners of my eyes, I caught glimpses of richly dressed nobles, stern-faced officials, and curious onlookers, all craning their necks to catch a glimpse of me.

“Don’t trip,” I whispered to myself, a silent plea that my feet wouldn’t betray me in these critical moments. My gaze remained fixed on the marble floor, each step a measured dance with destiny, even as I felt the heat of hundreds of stares upon me.

Finally, I stood before the assembly, the crushing weight of countless eyes upon me. With a deep breath, I lifted my head. There stood the Duke of Lunaria—my betrothed.

His attire was a vision of dark elegance, a stark contrast to the pastel palette of my own ensemble. The black of his garb was rich and deep, like the void between stars, while threads of gold woven into the fabric caught the light with every breath he took. His horns, those regal emblems of his demonic heritage, were polished to a high shine, and his fangs glinted subtly whenever his lips curved into that infuriatingly handsome smile—a smile he now directed at me.

The duke reached out, his hand engulfing my own. His touch was a brand, searing through the tremors that racked my frame. That smile of his, tinged with amusement, seemed to say, “You and I, my dear, are about to embark on quite the adventure.”

“Nervous, little bird?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

I managed to quirk an eyebrow at him, channeling bravado I didn’t quite feel. “Me? Never. I always tremble like a leaf in autumn.”

His chuckle was soft, meant only for my ears. “Then allow me to be your sturdy oak, Robin.”

We turned toward the priest, an imposing figure who looked as if he’d stepped out of an ancient tapestry. His robes were more elaborate than any royal garment I’d ever laid eyes on, a veritable rainbow of holy significance. With a beard that cascaded like a silver waterfall over his chest and eyes that seemed to peer into one’s very soul, he commanded attention without uttering a word.

As the ceremony began, the High Priest’s voice filled the hall, a monotonous drone that could lull even the most restless spirit to sleep. “We gather here today,” he intoned, “under the watchful eyes of the celestial deities, the moon goddess Luna, and the shadow god Nyx…”

I found my attention wandering, my gaze drawn to the duke beside me. His hand enveloped mine, warm and steady. I couldn’t help but steal glances at him, each one a silent prayer that he wouldn’t catch me staring.

“…and may the eternal flames of Aether bless this union…” the priest droned on.

I snuck another peek at the duke, only to find his eyes twinkling with amusement. Caught red-handed, I quickly looked away, feeling my cheeks burn.

“Is my face more interesting than our impending eternal bond, little bird?” he whispered, his voice laced with humor.

“I was just… checking for horns,” I mumbled, earning a soft chuckle from him.

The priest’s voice suddenly sharpened. “Lord Darius Shadowbane, Duke of Lunaria and Demon Lord of Shadowmere, do you take Lady Robin Aldercrest to be your lawfully wedded spouse? To cherish and protect, in sickness and in health, through demonic invasions and celestial alignments, as long as you both shall live?”

The duke turned to me, his eyes intense enough to melt steel. “I do,” he said, his voice firm and clear.

My heart did a somersault as the priest turned to me. “And do you, Lady Robin Aldercrest, take Lord Darius Shadowbane, Duke of Lunaria and Demon Lord of Shadowmere, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To honor and support, in prosperity and adversity, through magical catastrophes and political intrigues, as long as you both shall live?”

In that moment, my voice decided to take an impromptu vacation. “I do not,” I squeaked, then immediately clapped a hand over my mouth in horror.

The duke’s eyebrows shot up, a smirk playing at his lips. The priest leaned in, cupping his ear. “I’m sorry, my child, could you repeat that?”

“I meant… I do!” I blurted out, my face burning hotter than a dragon’s sneeze. “I definitely do. No not about it. Just a bit of pre-wedding jitters, you know? Happens to the best of us, right? Even to those marrying incredibly handsome demon lords. Not that I’m marrying you for your looks, Your Grace. I mean, they’re a bonus, obviously, but I’m sure you have a great personality too. Oh gods, someone please stop me from talking…”

Duke Darius’ shoulders shook with silent laughter, while the priest looked utterly bewildered.

“Right,” the priest said slowly. “Well, by the power vested in me by the celestial deities and the demonic council, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride… if she’s quite finished explaining herself.”

As Darius leaned in for our first kiss as a married couple, I felt my heart racing, threatening to burst from my chest. I held my breath, nervousness coursing through me like lightning. His face drew closer, and I could see the golden flecks in his eyes, the slight curve of his lips.

When his lips finally met mine, it was soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the passionate kisses we had shared before. It was brief, too brief, leaving me yearning for more, strangely enough. As he pulled away, I found myself leaning forward slightly, chasing the lingering warmth of his lips.

The duke’s eyes met mine, a mixture of amusement and something deeper, more intense, swirling in their depths. “Breathe, little bird,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear. “We have a lifetime for more.”

I exhaled shakily, realizing I had indeed forgotten to breathe. As we turned to face the audience, a tidal wave of applause crashed over us, leaving me both exhilarated and slightly dizzy.

The cheers reverberated through the hall, a din of joy and celebration that seemed to make the very air vibrate. As my eyes swept across the sea of faces, they landed on Meredith and Bernard. There they stood, tears streaming down their faces as if they were trying to fill the castle moat with their emotion. Even through their watery smiles, I could see the unmistakable pride and joy radiating from them. Their reaction was so heartfelt, so genuine, that for a moment, I forgot my own nervousness and felt a warmth bloom in my chest.

Before I could fully process the moment, Grand Duke Ignatius approached, his laughter booming over the crowd’s cheers. He clapped Duke Darius on the shoulder with enough force to stagger a lesser man, before turning to me with a grin that threatened to split his face in two.

“Welcome to the fold, Lady Robin,” he said, his voice rich with amusement and warmth. “I hope you’re ready for the adventure of a lifetime.”

I managed a small smile that I hoped conveyed gratitude rather than the overwhelming urge to find a quiet corner and hyperventilate. “Thank you, Your Grace,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “I do so love adventures, especially the ones that begin with legally binding contracts and end with potential political upheaval.”

The grand duke roared with laughter, while Duke Darius’ lips twitched in amusement.