Chapter 28
Slade
Piper sleeps late the morning before the Yule Ball—curled around Newt, hair a dark river across her pillow, face soft in a way that makes something fierce and tender rise in my chest. I watch her breathe for a moment longer than I should, then slip out quietly before the bond tempts me to stay with her all day.
I need to think.
And more importantly—I need to plan.
By the time I make it outside, the winter air is sharp with frost and pine.
Piper’s neighborhood glitters beneath a thin veil of snow, as if the world itself is dressing up for tomorrow.
I summon a small transport sigil and let it pull me toward the city center, hoping movement will quiet the restless pulse under my ribs.
It doesn’t.
Because I’m nervous.
Not about the ball. No—I am nervous because tomorrow, I want to ask Piper Bellamy to marry me.
The thought alone is enough to make my steps falter. Me. Slade Athalar. Demon lord of the Ninth Realm. A creature carved from ancient fire and darker instincts. Nervous.
I’ve led armies. Broken curses. Faced horrors that would hollow a mortal mind.
And yet the idea of Piper looking at me with anything less than joy when I ask her—It tightens something under my ribs.
I reach for my phone and call Rhea.
She answers on the second ring with the force of a spell gone sideways. “Slade? Is Piper okay? Where are you? What did you—oh gods, did Draven break something?”
“Rhea,” I say slowly, “I need your help.”
There is a sharp inhale. A pause. And then—“Oh my gods,” she breathes. “You’re doing it tomorrow, aren’t you?”
I close my eyes briefly. “Yes.”
The shriek is loud enough to startle a flock of pigeons off a nearby lamppost.
“Oh THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY ENTIRE LIFE—DRAVEN, GET OVER HERE NOW—SLAAAADE IS PROPOSING!”
“Rhea,” I warn, not even bothering to ask what the hell Draven is doing with her.
“Nope,” she chirps. “You’re stuck with us now. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to the shopping district,” I groan, knowing damn good and well this is about to be a nightmare.
“Perfect! Be there in a second.”
The line goes dead, and I instantly regret my life choices.
They arrive within minutes—Rhea in a coat made of emerald faux fur and unearned confidence. Draven in a black wool trench coat, expression somewhere between amused and resigned.
Draven folds his arms the moment he sees me. “Well, congratulations, little brother. Took you long enough.”
“Draven,” I mutter.
Rhea smacks his chest. “Be nice! He’s trying to do something romantic!”
“Romantic?” Draven lifts a brow. “He’s a demon lord. The last romantic thing he did was burn down a plane of existence because someone insulted his cat.”
“That was one time,” I say.
Rhea waves her hands dramatically. “Focus! We have jewelry to find. We’re not getting Piper Bellamy a mediocre ring.”
She marches toward the first boutique like a general leading troops.
Inside, it’s warm and glittering—rows of enchanted jewelry humming quietly under the lights.
The air smells like polished stone and dark magic, the kind used for warding wealth and protecting secrets.
Rhea drags me from case to case, discarding dozens of rings with the efficiency of a woman who has extremely high standards.
Draven mostly stands behind me, hands shoved into his pockets, offering the occasional commentary like, “She’d never wear that… Too fragile. Piper would snap that in a week…That one looks like something our mother would curse.”
Finally, Rhea stops. Her breath catches, amber eyes widening a fraction. “There,” she murmurs, pointing at a ring nestled in a velvet tray.
My chest tightens—it’s perfect.
A deep, dark green stone—almost black until the light hits it just right—set between two black diamonds that glimmer like nightfall.
The setting is elegant and wicked all at once.
The band—blackened gold or some metallurgic equivalent used by witch artisans—spirals with subtle runes, old ones meant for protection, devotion, longevity.
“It’s…” I struggle for the word. Too soft, too inadequate.
Draven supplies it. “Her.”
Rhea looks at me, eyes shining. “This is the one, Slade. This is Piper.”
I nod slowly, reverently.
“Yes,” I say. “It is.”
She claps once, giddy. “Good. Now let’s get you a tux.”
Rhea ushers us to the register, and the clerk supplies an old fashioned looking ring box that’s set in deep emerald. It’s exactly what I imagined for this ring. After a few moments of interaction, I’ve placed an order for a custom matching wedding band, and we’re off and onto the next stop.
Shopping with Rhea amounts to being bossed around an upscale menswear boutique while Draven offers sarcastic color commentary.
Rhea rifles through fabrics and cuts like she was born in a runway show. “She’s wearing deep evergreen velvet with gold accents,” she informs the tailor. “Off-the-shoulder, sweetheart neckline, slit up the left—no, Slade, you cannot see it. You’ll survive.”
I try to look unimpressed, but the truth is—my heart gives a sharp, anticipatory kick at the thought of Piper in a gown like that. Curves, velvet, gold against her skin—
Rhea snaps her fingers. “Eyes up, demon. Let’s get you something that won’t clash.”
She picks a black tux with a subtle evergreen sheen when the light hits it, paired with a dark satin tie and obsidian cufflinks etched with old sigils.
Draven nods, approving for once. “You’ll match without looking like an ornament.”
“Thank you, Draven,” I say dryly.
“He means that as a compliment!” Rhea beams. “This is perfect.”
I touch the ring box inside my pocket. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow at the Yule Ball, I will ask Piper Bellamy to be mine—not just by bond, but by vow, by name, by every realm that exists.
Rhea squeezes my arm. “She’s going to say yes,” she whispers. “She’s already there without even realizing it.”
I know. I feel it every time she looks at me like I’m something more than the monster she summoned. Every time her magic curls around mine with quiet trust. Every time her breath catches when I touch her.
The bond hums, deep and steady. My future rests in a small velvet box in my pocket. And for the first time in my long life, the unknown does not frighten me.
We leave the boutique in good spirits—Rhea humming like she’s choreographing a wedding march already, Draven muttering about how sentimental mortals and their lovers make him feel old, and me… feeling something I haven’t let myself feel in centuries.
Hope.
The box in my pocket feels heavier now, not with dread but with promise. A future wrapped in velvet and dark gold.
Before we part, I step back into the tailor’s shop on the pretense of checking the tuxedo’s final alterations. Rhea raises an eyebrow, but she lets me slip inside alone. The tailor bows low when he recognizes me.
“It will be ready by morning, my lord,” he assures, smoothing the sleeve reverently. “Pressed, warded, and delivered to Miss Bellamy’s residence.”
“Perfect,” I say. “And the enchantments?”
“All set. It will react to her magic as well as yours.”
Good.
I need everything tomorrow to feel as if the realm itself is acknowledging my bond with Piper—even if she hasn’t said the words out loud yet.
When I step back outside, Rhea eyes me knowingly. “You’re nesting.”
I scowl. “Demons do not nest.”
Draven smirks. “You just checked your outfit three times in one hour.”
“Because tomorrow is important,” I say sharply.
“Oh, we know,” Rhea sing-songs.
I ignore both of them and teleport home—well, our home now, though Piper doesn’t quite realize it yet—and send her a message before I do anything else.
SLADE: Running errands. Be back by evening. Don’t lift anything heavy at the shop. And drink water.
Three dots appear almost instantly.
PIPER: You make it sound like I’m fragile.
SLADE: You are precious. That’s worse.
Her reply is a single heart emoji and a threat to send me a picture of Newt sitting in my tuxedo bag when it arrives at the apartment. I smile—actually smile—as I step into the Ninth Realm.
My estate sits at the edge of the Ninth, built across obsidian cliffs and waterfalls of molten light. Most beings think the Ninth Realm is fire and brimstone, but that is only what Lucifer shows outsiders. The truth is far older—lush, radiant, balanced by creation and destruction both.
And my home reflects that.
White stone veined in black gold. Balconies that overlook star-fed rivers. Windows framed in iron roses that bloom in moonlight. Rooms full of art and ancient scrolls and relics collected over lifetimes.
I’ve never cared for any of it. Never needed it. Or intended to share it.
But today?
I walk through each room imagining Piper in it.
Her laughter in the atrium. Her curls spilling across my pillows. Her magic weaving itself through the hallways like warm, wandering light. Her tiny, judgmental cat claiming the marble sun lounge as his throne.
The thought does something strange to my chest.
I make arrangements with my staff—wardens and housekeepers who manage the estate in my absence.
“Prepare the east wing,” I tell them. “And the gardens. And refresh the wards around the balcony. Not defensive—harmonic.”
They blink, then bow. “Yes, my lord.”
“And put flowers in the master suite,” I add before I can stop myself. “Something fragrant. She likes soft scents.”
Rhea would call it adorable. Draven would call it pathetic. I call it… necessary.
If Piper says yes—if she allows the bond to settle into something that is not just magic but devotion—I want her to step into a home prepared for her. A realm that has been waiting for her. A future built with her in mind.
A place she can choose for herself.
I walk through the garden last.
Glowing vines twine up marble columns. White blossoms shaped like crescent moons open as I pass. The night sky here mirrors the mortal one but deeper, sharper, starfields layered upon starfields.
This is where I’ll bring her someday.
To show her the realm she unknowingly runs through my blood every time she breathes my name.
And tomorrow… Tomorrow begins that path.
If the Yule Ball doesn’t fall into chaos first.
I glance toward the horizon—a sweep of molten silver and aurora fire. A good omen, some would say. I reach for the ring box again, thumb brushing the velvet. “Yes,” I murmur quietly into the warm Ninth Realm wind. “She’ll say yes.”
And for the first time in centuries, I let myself imagine a future.
A real one—with her.