A Heart Disguised 1 (The Demon Lords of Aethoria)

16. Robin

16

Robin

T he Great Hall dazzled, a constellation of merriment beneath the vaulted ceiling. I sat at the head of the table, the mountain of food before me serving as both a temptation and a distraction. Every bite was an attempt to anchor myself to the moment and away from thoughts of what awaited once the celebration ceased.

I speared a succulent piece of venison, popping it into my mouth with more enthusiasm than elegance. The din of laughter and chatter from the guests melded into a raucous chorus that underscored my growing anxiety. Meredith and Bernard, lost in a sea of jubilant humans, raised their cups high, their voices mingling with the crowd’s revelry. Their joy was infectious, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gratitude for their unwavering support.

By the hearth, Russet and Fluffy were engaged in a feast of their own, gnawing on bones larger than my forearm. Starling flitted about the table, pecking at a scattering of seeds that had been thoughtfully provided for my winged confidant.

The duke was a vision of composure as he entertained nobles and dignitaries from across Lunaria and beyond. His every gesture exuded confidence, his laughter never quite reaching his eyes when they occasionally flickered in my direction. His lieutenants, those formidable underlings with their otherworldly features, were in high spirits, their plates piled high with food and goblets brimming with wine.

I was just about to reach for a honeyed pear when Caelum slipped into the seat beside me—Duke Darius’ seat. He grinned, his silver eyes alight with mischief. “You seem rather… relaxed for someone on the precipice of their wedding night,” he remarked, his gaze flicking to my rapidly emptying plate.

I swallowed my mouthful, meeting his gaze with what I hoped was an air of nonchalance. “I’ve found that food is an excellent distraction from thoughts of impending doom,” I replied, my voice tinged with wry humor. “And before you launch into another detailed account of your brother’s demonic prowess, let’s just agree that there are some things a bride shouldn’t know.”

Caelum chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Very well,” he conceded. “Let’s talk about something else. Like how you plan to sneak out of your own wedding celebration.”

“Oh, I have it all planned out,” I said, gesturing with my fork. “I’ll stuff myself so full of food that I’ll be too heavy for Duke Darius to carry off. It’s foolproof.”

We shared a conspiratorial grin, our conversation dancing around the elephant—or in this case, the towering demon lord—in the room. Caelum’s company was a welcome balm for my frayed nerves.

Our witty repartee was cut short when Grand Duke Ignatius swooped in, his larger-than-life presence impossible to ignore. With a laugh that echoed through the hall, he hoisted Caelum from his seat, throwing the protesting young demon over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Come on, Caelum,” he boomed. “We’re off to cause some trouble! We’re going to show you how to celebrate in Solarys style!”

I raised a hand in farewell, silently wishing Caelum luck. “Try not to get incinerated!” I called after them, earning a mock glare from Caelum as he was carted away.

No sooner had the two of them disappeared into the throng of guests than the room fell eerily silent. My heart lodged itself in my throat as I turned to find Duke Darius standing beside me, his gold eyes gleaming.

I choked on my wine, my chest constricting as he leaned down, scooping me up into his arms with surprising gentleness. So much for my foolproof plan of being too heavy to carry. The crowd erupted into cheers and raucous laughter as he carried me toward the hall’s massive double doors, my body rigid with a potent cocktail of fear and anticipation.

As we moved through the sea of guests, my heart threatened to pound its way out of my chest. The wedding feast, once a cacophony of celebration, now faded into a distant hum, replaced by the deafening drumbeat of my own racing pulse.

“I hope you enjoyed the feast,” the duke murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Because, my little bird, the real celebration is just beginning.”

I swallowed hard, my wit momentarily deserting me. “The real celebration?” I managed to squeak, my voice trembling with nervous energy. “Is that what we’re calling it now? I was rather hoping for a nice game of chess.”

His chuckle vibrated through me as we ascended the spiraling staircase. I expected him to head toward my quarters—the sanctuary I’d claimed as my own amid this foreign grandeur—but instead, he veered off toward a corridor I had yet to explore.

“And where might we be going?” I asked, striving for nonchalance while inwardly my stomach performed acrobatics worthy of a circus troupe.

“To our master chamber,” he replied, his voice a blend of honey and velvet darkness that could either soothe or smother.

Our? The word stuck in my throat like a thorn. I swallowed hard, the enormity of our expanding like a balloon ready to burst. “Ah, yes. Our chamber. Where we’ll… discuss politics and trade agreements, I’m sure.”

A low chuckle rumbled through Duke Darius’ chest. “Oh, my little bird,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “I assure you, what we’ll be discussing will be far more… stimulating than politics.”

The master chamber was a world unto itself—a vast expanse of opulence that seemed to mock my inner turmoil. At its center, a bed of truly imperial proportions commanded attention, its intricately carved mahogany frame rising like a fortress of comfort. Four towering posts, each as thick as a young tree trunk, supported a canopy of shimmering silk that cascaded down in elegant folds. The mattress, piled high with plush pillows in varying shades of crimson and gold, looked soft enough to swallow a person whole. Atop the luxurious sheets, an artful arrangement of silk love hearts and fragrant rose petals created a tableau of romance so elaborate it bordered on the ostentatious. The entire ensemble was less a place for sleep and more a stage set for the most intimate of performances, its grandeur both inviting and intimidating in equal measure.

Surrounding this centerpiece, the sitting area boasted plush chairs and divans fit for royalty, while flames danced merrily in the hearth, casting flickering shadows upon walls adorned with tapestries and art. But it was the floor-to-ceiling windows and doors leading to a grand terrace that truly stole my breath—offering an unobstructed view of Lunaria’s glittering skyline.

“My, my,” I quipped, my voice only slightly trembling. “Did Cupid sneeze in here?”

The duke’s lips curved into a smirk. “Cupid, my dear Robin, would be envious of what I have planned for you tonight.” His eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and desire. “Though I must admit, your way with words never fails to entertain me. Perhaps I should find more creative ways to occupy that clever tongue of yours.”

His response, both playful and suggestive, filled me with a potent mixture of anticipation and nerves. It was clear that Duke Darius was more than capable of matching my wit, and the promise in his words made me wonder if I had, perhaps, bitten off more than I could chew.

When he set me down on the bed, every muscle in my body tensed, rendering me as pliable as marble. The duke sat beside me, his touch gentle as he stroked my cheek with an almost reverent hand.

“You look enchanting,” he said softly. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t wish to see you like this most days.”

“Oh? And here I thought you preferred me covered in mud and leaves,” I retorted, my wit a feeble shield against the intensity of his gaze.

His face drew closer until our lips were but a whisper apart. Panic fluttered within me. I placed a hand on his chest and nudged him back with all the strength of a leaf against the wind.

“Please,” I begged, “just give me a moment to—to catch my breath. I fear I might faint, and wouldn’t that be a disappointing start to our wedding night?”

The duke chuckled, a rich, deep sound that seemed to reverberate through my very bones. His hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing gently across my lower lip. “Oh, little dove,” he murmured, his voice a blend of amusement and desire, “you won’t faint. I intend to keep you very much awake and alert for every exquisite moment of what’s to come.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through me, equal parts anticipation and trepidation. I swallowed hard, my wit momentarily deserting me in the face of his bold promise.

“Besides,” he continued, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes, “if you were to swoon, I’d simply have to revive you with a kiss. And while that would be delightful, I have far more… elaborate plans for our evening.”

My heart, already racing, seemed to skip a beat at his words. I was caught between the urge to make another quip and the growing desire to discover exactly what those ‘elaborate plans’ entailed. The duke’s confidence was both intimidating and irresistibly alluring, leaving me dizzy with a heady mixture of nerves and excitement.

As I opened my mouth, perhaps to offer a witty retort or to voice my curiosity, the duke seized the opportunity. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between us, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck. Before I could draw breath, his lips claimed mine in a scorching kiss—so fervent it threatened to consume us both. His tongue plunged into my mouth without preamble, igniting fires I hadn’t known lay dormant within me.

At first, fear was my dance partner—leading, guiding—but as the kiss deepened and his warmth enveloped me, fear’s grip loosened. Pleasure stepped forward—a suitor both bold and enthralling—and I found myself melting into him with a moan that bore my surrender on its breath.

His teasing strokes along my lips drew whimpers from deep within me; each groan was both an admission of need and an invocation for more. My body burned beneath his touch, every fiber alight with desire previously unspoken.

When he finally pulled away, I gasped for air, my head spinning as if I’d indulged in too much wine. “Well,” I panted, trying to regain some semblance of composure, “I suppose that’s one way to silence my witty remarks.”

The duke’s eyes gleamed with amusement and desire. “Oh, dove,” he purred, his fingers tracing the curve of my jaw. “I have many ways to silence you, and we have all night to explore them.”

The duke’s lips hovered over mine, his breath a warm whisper against my skin. “You taste so sweet, so intoxicating,” he said.

“Is that your sophisticated way of saying I’m like a particularly potent mead?” I quipped, arching an eyebrow. “Or perhaps you’re simply drunk on power. Maybe it’s the wine.”

His laughter was a low rumble that I felt more than heard. “If I’m drunk on anything, it’s the intoxicating effect you have on me. And it’s a spell I have no desire to break.”

Before I could formulate another witty retort, his lips claimed mine once more, devouring my words with a kiss that was both a blessing and a curse. The fervor of his embrace threatened to consume me whole, like a wildfire devouring a forest. I melted into him, my body yielding to the heat of his touch, his hard chest pressing against me—a solid wall of muscle that left me acutely aware of the differences between us.

His hand began a slow descent from my cheek, tracing a burning path down my throat. I stiffened beneath his touch, panic fluttering in my chest as his fingers drifted lower still, grazing my chest through the gown. My mind raced with fear, thoughts tumbling over one another like leaves caught in a tempest. Beneath the silken folds of my gown lay a secret as fragile as spun glass—the undeniable truth of my boyhood. My chest, flat as a winter plain, held none of the soft curves the duke surely expected. With each passing moment, each tantalizing caress, I teetered on the precipice of discovery. It was only a matter of time before his questing fingers unveiled the deception I had so carefully woven, shattering this delicate illusion like a crystal goblet dashed against stone.

Desperate, I tried to push him away, my hands pressing against the unyielding expanse of his chest. “My lord,” I gasped, breaking the kiss, “perhaps we should slow down? Even the great city of Lunaria wasn’t built in a day, you know.”

But he was immovable, a mountain unyielding to the wind. His kiss deepened, his tongue plunging further into my mouth with a fervor that made my head spin. A whimper escaped me, swallowed by his hungry lips, followed by a low groan that I scarcely recognized as my own. To my surprise and dismay, I arched into him, my body betraying my mind’s hesitation and seeking more of his touch.

I was buried beneath him, the weight of his body pinning me to the bed, a willing captive to his passionate onslaught. His thigh nudged its way between my legs, igniting a heat within me that had nothing to do with fear or embarrassment. It was a primal, urgent need that I had never experienced before, one that both thrilled and terrified me in equal measure. As his hard, insistent length pressed against my thigh, I realized with a mix of horror and exhilaration that I was responding. My own arousal grew, betraying me in the most intimate of ways, and panic flared anew. What if he felt the evidence of my desire? What if he saw it? The secret I had so carefully guarded was now in danger of being exposed by my own traitorous body, caught between the twin forces of lust and fear.

When he finally released my lips, leaving them sore and swollen, I whispered a fervent plea, my voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. “Please, my lord, extinguish the candles. I fear I might blind you with my dazzling beauty.”

The Duke of Lunaria chuckled, his golden eyes ablaze. “I am more than willing to be dazzled by your beauty. In fact, I insist upon it.” His gaze raked over me, hot as flame. “I want to see every detail of you when we make love. Every blush, every tremor.”

I protested, my voice cracking with a mixture of genuine apprehension and feigned modesty. “But I’m… unaccustomed to such scrutiny,” I stammered, feeling the heat of a blush creep up my neck. “What if my inexperience disappoints you?”

“We are husband and wife now,” he reminded me gently, his hand cupping my face with a tenderness that belied his strength. “There’s no need for shame or fear between us. I want to know every inch of you, dove. And I assure you, your beauty could never blind me—only enchant me further.”

Before I could muster another objection or deflection, his mouth was on mine once more, his kiss a silent command that I was powerless to resist. The duke’s lips moved against mine with a hunger that bordered on feral, our tongues tangling in a heated dance. I struggled valiantly to keep up, to match his fervor, but he was relentless, a storm of passion that swept me away without mercy.

Underneath his commanding presence, I squirmed and writhed, lost in the heady sensation of his body pressing down on mine. His arousal strained against his trousers, a hard line against my thigh that ignited an unfamiliar blaze within me. The heat, the pleasure—it was all-encompassing, and for a moment, the world beyond the bed ceased to exist.

Lost in a haze of pleasure, I was oblivious to the world beyond the duke’s touch. His lips trailed fire down my throat, each kiss igniting sensations I’d never known existed. Whimpers and groans escaped me, sounds I’d never imagined myself capable of making. I was adrift in a sea of bliss, unaware of anything but the exquisite feel of his mouth on my skin, his hands roaming my body. The cool air against my chest, the exposure of my pale skin—all of it went unnoticed in the storm of passion that engulfed me.

His hand ventured under my skirt, caressing my thigh with such fervor that I could do nothing but surrender to the blissful haze enveloping me. Meanwhile, his lips lavished attention on my throat, nipping and sucking in a way that made me gasp and arch against him. I had never imagined lovemaking could be this beautiful, this all-consuming. The dual sensations of his mouth on my neck and his hand inching higher under my skirt left me dizzy with desire. Then came a touch that snapped me back to reality—the unmistakable feeling of his palm cupping my arousal through the fabric of my undergarments.

I felt his lips curve into a smile against my throat. “Well, well,” he murmured, his voice rich with amusement and desire, “what have we here?” His fingers squeezed gently, then caressed, sending jolts of pleasure through my body. “It seems you’re quite… excited.”

The mixture of embarrassment, fear, and shameful pleasure crashed over me like a tidal wave. My eyes flew open, and for a split second, my heart forgot to beat before thundering back to life with such ferocity I thought it might burst from my chest. Panic surged within me, warring with the traitorous desire his touch ignited.

With all the grace of a newborn foal, I shoved at the duke’s shoulders—my palms slipping against the slick fabric of his shirt—and bolted upright. “I… I…” I stammered, unable to form a coherent thought as his hand continued its maddening caress.

Suddenly, panic overtook pleasure, and I found my voice. “I’m so sorry, my lord!” I blurted out, my words tumbling over each other in their haste to escape. In a flurry of movement, I scrambled off the bed, a tangle of limbs and fabric. My gown billowed behind me like a ship’s sail caught in a storm as I sprinted toward the en suite bathroom—the top of it slipping off one shoulder in an unintended display of seduction gone awry.

In my head, alarms were blaring louder than the bells of Lunaria Cathedral at high noon. He knows! He has to know! Any second now he’ll call for the guards! They’ll storm in here and—oh sweet basilisk eggs—I’ve doomed us all! Rosalind! Lily! Our home! My mind conjured images of Aldercrest Manor in flames because of my little ruse turned catastrophic!

Stumbling into the sanctuary of marble and porcelain, I slammed the door behind me with a thud that echoed through my bones. Leaning back against it, my breath came in ragged gasps—my thoughts racing like wildfire through a parched forest.

“Well, Robin,” I chided myself, my voice bouncing off the gleaming tiles, “that’s one way to end a wedding night. You’ve certainly set the bar for conjugal blunders. Farewell cruel world; you were as confusing as you were beautiful!”

As I stood there, caught between mortification and the lingering afterglow of the duke’s touch, I couldn’t help but wonder how, exactly, I was going to explain this to Duke Darius—the demon lord who had unwittingly become my husband and was now, no doubt, contemplating which circle of hell to banish me to for my deception.

Then I heard it—the low rumble of the duke’s laughter coming from the other side of the door. “My little bird,” he called out, his voice laced with amusement, “I assure you, there’s nothing to fear. But perhaps it’s time we had a little chat, don’t you think?”

Oh, sweet merciful heavens. A chat. With a demon lord. About my unexpected anatomy. Surely there were less painful ways to die?

The knock at the door was more of a courteous tap than an actual attempt to enter, but it might as well have been a battering ram for all the dread it inspired in me.

“Robin, open the door. We really must talk,” Duke Darius’ voice filtered through the solid wood, a gentle request laced with an undercurrent of amusement.

“Just a moment, Your Grace!” I called out, my voice squeaking like a rusty hinge. Open the door? I’d sooner face a den of hungry shadow wolves. “I’m… I’m indisposed!”

But of course, the sanctity of a locked door means little to a duke—and even less to a demon lord. The door creaked open despite my protests, and there he was, a towering figure silhouetted by the flickering candlelight. My heart, which had temporarily taken up residence in my throat, now threatened to leap out of my mouth and make a run for it. I scurried like a startled rabbit behind a massive column that offered as much cover as a twig does for a naked nymph.

“Robin,” he called, his voice echoing through the cavernous bathroom. “There’s no need for this. Come out.”

“No, thank you!” I chirped back, mustering all the cheerfulness of a convict walking to the gallows. “I’m quite comfortable here, in my porcelain sanctuary!”

“Robin,” Darius called again, this time with a patience that seemed to stretch into eternity. “Come out, please.”

Clutching the column like it was my lifeline to this mortal coil, I squeaked out, “I shall emerge only if you agree to be… not rash in your judgment!”

“I promise,” he said, and there was something in his tone—a softness, a sincerity—that coaxed me out from my hiding spot.

I took a deep breath, adjusted my disheveled attire, and stepped out from behind my meager shield. The sight of him was almost enough to send me scuttling back into hiding—tall, dark, and imposing enough to make any secret quiver in fear of being discovered.

Duke Darius approached with steps that spoke of regal confidence and scooped me into his arms as if I weighed no more than a feather. I let out a startled yelp, my arms flailing like the wings of a panicked bird before wrapping around his neck for dear life.

“Your Grace, I must protest!” I squeaked as he carried me back into the bedchamber. “This is most undignified for… well, for anyone!”

“Ah, but you’re not just anyone,” he replied with a roguish grin, depositing me onto the plush bed with all the ceremony of a cat presenting its human with an unwanted gift. “You’re my wife, Robin Aldercrest. And I find I quite enjoy the unexpected.”

I made a hasty retreat to the center of the bed—not too close to him but not too far lest he think me cowardly—which I was. The duke’s eyes followed my every move, his predatory gleam filling me with thrilling apprehension. Then I bowed deeply, prostrating myself before him like one might before an altar—only my prayers were of the begging variety.

“If you could find it in your generous heart to only end me and spare Rosalind and Lily Aldercrest—not to mention Aldercrest County itself—I would be eternally… well, not eternally since you’d have killed me… but very grateful!” My voice wobbled like jelly in an earthquake. “Please, Your Grace, I beg of you, show mercy. If you must mete out punishment for my deception, let it fall upon me and me alone. I alone am to blame for this… this… debacle!”

The duke chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that seemed entirely out of place given the circumstances. “Robin, look at me,” he said softly, and with a great deal of reluctance, I lifted my gaze to meet his. “I have no intention of destroying Aldercrest or your family. This is not the way of Lunaria, and it is certainly not my way.”

“Truly?” I asked, my voice tinged with suspicion and a hint of hope. “You’re not going to turn me into a frog or something equally inconvenient? Because I must say, I don’t think I’d make a very fetching amphibian.”

He came closer, and before I could react, he gathered me into his arms, pulling me against his chest. “Truly,” he confirmed, his hand stroking my hair in what I could only assume was meant to be a comforting gesture. “We are husband and wife now, Robin. Our marriage is binding.”

“But I’m a man!” I blurted out, my face heating up like a forge in the heart of a blacksmith’s shop. “You’ve… er… touched me. Surely you’ve noticed the distinct lack of womanly attributes? Unless you thought I was hiding melons under my nightgown?”

The duke’s eyes held mine, a steadfast flame flickering within their golden depths. His lips twitched, fighting a smile. “It makes no difference to me whether you are a man or a woman, Robin. You could be a talking turnip for all I care. You, Robin Aldercrest, are my wife.”

My mind was awhirl with questions, fears, and a budding sense of hope that I dared not acknowledge. “But, Your Grace, I’m about as capable of bearing children as a stone is of dancing a jig. Surely a duke needs heirs, not a wife who’s as barren as the Aridian Desert?”

He smiled then, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that hinted at secrets as old as time itself. “Ah, but demons are full of surprises, my dear Robin. We have ways of producing children that would make your head spin faster than a drunken pixie.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Do tell, Your Grace. Don’t keep me in suspense. Do we summon a stork from the demon realm?”

The duke chuckled. “Even better. I myself was hatched from a magical egg, the product of two male parents. And one day, if you wish it, we might just find ourselves proud parents to our very own little omelet.”

My jaw dropped so fast I feared it might detach entirely. “A magical… egg?” I sputtered, my mind reeling with the implications. Though the duke’s lieutenants had mentioned something about it during dinner a few days ago, the reality of it being possible for us was another matter entirely. “So you’re saying we could… what? Lay an egg? Hatch one? Good heavens, Your Grace, I’m not sure whether to be intrigued or terrified. Do I need to start practicing my clucking?”

The duke’s laughter filled the room, warm and rich. “In time, perhaps. But for now, let us focus on getting to know one another as husband and wife. The rest will come in due course.”

I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the concept of magical eggs and demonic procreation. Was it even possible between a demon and a human?

My voice, when I found it, was steadier than I felt. “Very well, Your Grace. I suppose we have a great deal to discuss—starting with the finer points of demonic egg-laying etiquette. Should I be concerned about developing a sudden craving for worms?”

His smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm, bright and full of promise. “Fear not, my little bird,” he said, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. “We have all the time in the world to explore the mysteries of our union. And I have a feeling it’s going to be a most extraordinary journey—though I can’t promise it won’t be a bit… egg-centric.”

I couldn’t help but groan at the pun, even as a reluctant smile tugged at my lips.