Chapter 19
Alora
The meaning of his words hit her all at once.
Alora squealed in horror and scrambled off the sofa, nearly collapsing onto the stone floor in her haste. Her face burned hot as he laughed.
Vile fiend.
Rune reclined against the sofa as though nothing had happened, draping his arms along the headrest. His crimson gaze swept toward his Harbingers. “If you are here, I assume the court has caught scent of my wife.”
Alora glowered. Oh, how he enjoyed that word. But then she blinked, realizing what he said.
The female nodded. “The whole court can smell her, sire. It’s so strong, it flooded the entire mountain.”
Rune tensed at that, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “Hadeon, Deimos. See that they comport themselves, and deal with it if they can’t.” His mouth curved cruelly. “I would hate to spill blood on my wedding day, though I do suppose its tradition.”
The two males bowed their heads, then without a word, vanished into the smoke.
Rune returned his attention to her. He took her arm and pulled her up onto his lap. Reaching for her face, she caught a glimpse of a black mark on his inner wrist. It wasn’t a glyph she recognized, but a twisted loop of interlocking lines, like a knot with no beginning or end.
His thumb brushed her lips. “Now, where were we?”
Gods, he was going to kiss her. She squeezed her eyes shut, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears. The ground shook beneath her, but no kiss came. She peeked through her lashes to find Rune’s glowing ones fixed on her.
“Sire,” the female called warily staring at her as she stood. “Might I suggest not toying with your bride so much. Mortals have a … delicate disposition, if you recall.” Her red eyes swept to him. “Especially when afraid.”
The sly smile faded from Rune’s face. He studied her, and she read the worry in his eyes. He quickly rose off the sofa and moved several spaces back as if now realizing how much she was shaking.
Rune expelled a breath and turned away with a short laugh as he reached for a decanter of wine on his table. “Don’t be frightened. Forgive me. The smell of your fear was intoxicating, and I got carried away.”
Alora stared at him, too stunned to speak. He could smell her fear. Was that what the others meant?
He handed her a goblet of wine. His gaze held hers and his next words were like smoke in the dark. “As for my first vow, I will never allow you any harm. From others or from me.”
Silvery magic rippled through the air and she faintly gasped.
“What spell was that?”
“That was the promise of a god, Alora. Nothing in the realms or throughout the Heavens can break it.”
Alora took in his words and for whatever reason, her fear faded away. He promised not to harm her, which was more than Eldrik ever did. And that same sheen had already rippled through the room before.
Instead of taking the goblet, Alora rose to her feet. The female demon watched her with patient curiosity, as if this truly was the first time a human had entered this far into their mountain. She wanted to ask why Rune insisted on this marriage. But her adrenaline had faded, leaving her drained.
“You must be tired,” he said, knowing, “Come lay down and rest.”
Alora shifted her weight, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she took in the massive bed. It could fit five people. Six, if they were feeling bold. And Rune was stripping off his outer cloak with the air of a man perfectly at home.
“I would like my own room,” she blurted.
Rune paused mid-motion, one brow lifting as if she had suggested they replace the throne with a bench.
“Absurd,” he said smoothly, nodding to the silk pillows. “As husband and wife, we share a marital bed.”
Her face flushed at the thought.
“No,” Alora replied firmly, clinging to what little dignity she had left, despite the trembling of her hands. “I won’t be forced to lie with you. Not until you have bestowed upon me my rightful dowry.”
Rune’s grin curved slow and wolfish, clearly relishing her flustered state. “Forced? You wound me. But alas, pray tell, what does my bride desire?”
What could she ask for that would matter? If she was bold enough, clever enough, perhaps she could twist this into something greater.
Their first bargain was to defeat Calveron. Specifically, the enemy on her shores, and he’d done that. But the kingdom was still under siege by another danger.
Her people’s faces rose in her mind. Pale. Sleeping. Dying.
Alora took a breath. “Break the Sleeping Curse on Argyle.”
Rune blinked.
For the first time, he faltered, his mouth parting as though she had struck him silent.
By speaking her demand aloud, Alora realized she had bound herself to this gambit. If he refused, she had nothing. If he agreed… then she might have forced the hand of a god.
Rune’s sigh came deep and heavy. “I could grant you anything in the world. Endless crowns laden with jewels, a mountain of gold and silk, even a kingdom in your palm. Yet you ask me for this?”
Meaningless trinkets, all of them. The true value of things was not counted in jewels or crowns, but in life. In freedom. In a future worth fighting for.
If he wanted her, she would make sure it cost him.
“You already swore to bestow me with a dowry of my choosing.” She folded her arms, smirking. “So until then, I will remain in private chambers of my own.”
Rune opened his mouth, but no objection came. They both knew she had turned his own game upon him, as she had in the cavern.
Alora glanced up at the vaulted ceiling. “Please?” she asked, voice more hopeful than commanding.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then, with a soft hiss, the wall beside her melted into a doorway. A new tunnel. The faint shimmer of distant light shone from within.
Rune’s expression darkened, and he turned a slow glare to the shifting stone. “Traitor,” he muttered.
The mountain did not respond, but Alora thought she heard a smug rumble in the walls. She had half expected him to deny her request.
Rune nodded at the female demon. “Calla, escort Alora to her quarters.”
Calla bowed her head in compliance, looking mildly entertained. “This way, Your Majesty.”
A ball of shock tumbled into Alora’s stomach at the title. “Majesty…?”
Calla’s eyes gleamed with her smile. “As the wife of our king, that makes you our queen.”
Her heart jolted. No longer princess, but queen.
Of demons and darkness.
Shuddering, she followed after Calla on shaky legs. The she-demon moved with an eerie grace, her steps soundless on the ground. The halls twisted like veins, and every step echoed with strange, soft sounds. Whispers … or shadows.
They stopped before a carved stone door etched with silver markings, flanked by sconces with burning candles. The light … it must be for her, because she had a feeling demons had no trouble seeing in the dark.
Calla placed her hand on the center and the door materialized away.
Alora stepped in, eyes widening.
The chamber inside was hauntingly beautiful.
The walls were the same dark stone as the rest of the castle but coated with ivy, as if the mountain had grown her a garden in secret.
Candles floated in shallow alcoves, flickering softly with golden light.
Beneath her feet, the floor was carpeted in living moss, releasing a faint earthy scent with every step.
A velvet canopy bed was fashioned from twisted roots and driftwood, draped in soft bedding of sage green and cream, with pillows that smelled faintly of lavender.
In the corner was a carved table made from stone.
A blackened mirror sat atop an ornate chest of drawers, carved with the design of a forest.
Warm firelight flickered in a hearth, and the air… the air was gentle here. Lighter. Like the forest had followed her underground and curled itself into a lullaby.
“Here is your room, your majesty,” Calla said, offering her a polite smile.
It was a careful smile, one intended to appear friendly and harmless.
Her sharp claws motioned to another entryway where Alora spotted a tub carved into the stone floor, steam rising from the water within.
A vanity rested near the bed, already filled with dark glass bottles and combs made of silver.
“There is a bathing chamber there. Clothing, and anything else you need the castle will provide. But do let me know if you have other needs that must be sourced elsewhere.”
Alora’s stomach gurgled at that moment.
“Ah, right.” Calla frowned. “Forgive me. Human food is not easy to come by… seeing as our kind has a particular diet.” She trailed off, her brow furrowing. “Your Majesty—”
“Please call me by my name,” she said quietly.
The demoness bowed her head. “Of course. Alora, please heed my warning. Do not wander the castle alone without myself, Deimos, Hadeon, or Rune. Sustenance will be brought to your chambers. No matter how tempting, do not eat demon food. Not unless you wish to be bound to the dark.”
Alora’s throat dried, wondering what that meant.
“Can I provide anything else?”
Alora’s throat tightened. There was little she possessed of true value, yet their absence made her feel naked in this strange, dark place.
“There are a few belongings of mine left behind in my rooms in Argyle,” she said softly. “A satchel with items that held meaning to me.”
Calla inclined her head. “It will be done.”
Folding an arm across her chest, the demoness bowed and vanished in a swirl of smoke.
Alora stood alone in the unfamiliar chamber, her mind slowly processing everything that had happened as she stared at her new home.
The stillness was too deep.
Perhaps a bath would help. She went through an arched stone doorway into a cavern cloaked in steam.
The pool was a hot spring shimmering beneath the rock ceiling.
Stalagmites glistened, and the pool shone faintly from some unseen light beneath the water.
Scents of lavender and mineral filled the air.
A wooden bench rested beside it with oils and folded towels.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the water. Her reflection wavered, unsteady. As if the mountain itself questioned her presence.
She dipped her toes in. Warmth curled around her skin, welcoming and soothing. Undressing, Alora slipped into the spring and sank up to her shoulders. The lower edge had been carved into a bench.
She leaned her head back against the bath’s rim, the hot water loosening the knots in her muscles though it couldn’t touch the weight in her chest. What would her father think of her now and of the choices she had made?
Her chest tightened as she thought of that night of the keep and Rune’s glowing eyes falling on her father.
All choices have consequences, songbird. I cannot spare you from this one.
Alora stilled, the steam rising around her thickening. Did he know? Had he known her father would die? He was a god. His reach stretched far beyond her comprehension. If Rune had foreseen this and kept silent…
Her throat tightened as she thought of the spindle next.
He had stolen it, kept it from her when she tried to take it again. But it was originally her mother’s... traded through a bargain that, too, bore Rune’s fingerprints.
His shadows moved the pieces, his designs tangled with theirs.
Alora covered her mouth with a shaky hand. Both her parents were gone, and somehow, in every path of ruin, his shadow lingered.
Hatred stirred in her chest, hot and choking. He was no savior. He was death.
And now he wanted to sink his claws into her.
Water splashed as Alora climbed out of the spring. She needed a plan.
Escape wouldn’t be easy. The tunnels twisted in all directions like a labyrinth of stone. There were no stars, no wind to guide her. The shadows moved wherever she went, lurking in every corner.
Even when she didn’t see Rune, she felt him.
Alora wrapped a towel around herself, slowing as she remembered a cold truth. Argyle remained in Calveron’s clutches. If her kingdom had any hope of fighting back, she needed all of her people awake.
Then she had no choice. She had to stay… long enough for Rune to break the curse. Then she would run. To the Midlands … or to the one place she knew he couldn’t reach her.
But the thought of waiting within the dark depths of Karag D?r made her heart sink.
She was never more utterly alone.
Alora stared down at her blurry reflection in the pool. She missed Theia and Caelum. Lady Zinnia. Even her empty cottage and the sterile hallways of Argyle. She missed her father and mother’s voices.
Voices she would never hear again.
Alora returned to the bed chamber. A neatly folded white nightgown waited on the sheets and the table now held a crystal decanter of water and a bowl of fruit.
Such an accommodating castle.
As she dressed, the silky nightgown fell like mist on her clammy skin. She sat on the bed, sinking into the softness she hadn’t felt in years.
“Thank you,” Alora whispered to the walls, or to whatever had heard her plea. “I suppose you couldn’t provide me a friend, too, could you?”
No answer came but the mountain rumbled again.
She laughed at herself, half mad, half incredulous. She was talking to a castle which may or may not be sentient. Unless she truly had lost her mind.
A soft, high-pitched mewl cut off her thoughts.
Alora blinked and looked down.
From beneath the bed, a creature emerged on delicate paws. A kitten, black as void, but with fur that shimmered as if it had been dusted with starlight. Its eyes were twin galaxies, swirling amethyst, yellow, and deep blue, like it had plucked the universe and tucked it into its gaze.
The kitten stretched, gave a delicate little yawn, shaking out a pair of feathered wings. On its head were tiny little horns. It padded over to her with unhurried confidence. She stared at it, her breath catching. It mewed again and bumped its tiny head against her ankles.
“Oh…hello,” Alora said shakily. “My, you’re far too precious to be a demon.”
She carefully picked up the small creature in awe, and it licked her cheek.
It was affection without strings. No bargains.
No crowns. No blood spilled on cold stone.
Tears welled up, hot and blinding. Everything she had held inside poured out and Alora broke.
She curled forward, hugging the kitten to her chest as she wept.