Chapter 22
Alora
The name alone settled in Alora’s chest like a promise and a warning intertwined.
She watched as the God of Shadows slashed his hand through the air and a portal opened. Dark and humming, rimmed with shadow flame. Rune stepped through the portal first, shadows curling behind his heels like smoke from a dying fire.
Before Alora could ask more questions, a rush of shadows and cinders swallowed her whole.
The ground vanished beneath her feet, replaced by weightlessness and the rush of cool mist. Rune’s magic bled like smoke through her senses, wrapping around her spine, coiling tight.
When her feet touched down again, it was not gentle.
She stumbled, an iron grip catching her waist.
Then Alora looked around them, and she stopped breathing.
The throne room stretched before them like a cathedral of nightmares.
Jagged rock walls formed a cavernous chamber.
They stood on a tall, jagged dais carved from obsidian and bone, elevated high above the hall.
The air reeked of sulfur and smoke. The only light came from a molten stream of lava that cut through the chamber like a bleeding wound, casting a flickering glow against black stone floor veined with red.
The Court of Sin and Ruin had gathered.
Dragon-like beasts with long necks screeched overhead.
Below them, hundreds of demons stirred in the dark.
Demons of every size and shape had gathered.
Horned beasts slithered, crouched, and towered, shapes shifting between flesh and smoke.
Some were hideous, grotesque things born of nightmare.
Others were terribly beautiful, graceful, with curling horns, with pretty merciless smiles.
Thousands of glowing eyes watched her.
Their growls echoed through the cavern like the groaning of the mountain itself. A hiss of hunger passed through the crowd like a wave.
Her chest tightened, her breath thinning. Rune’s arm tightened around her waist. His expression was calm, if not as hard as the stone beneath her feet. But the reassurance in his touch calmed her racing heart.
At the base of the stairs stood the Harbingers in black armor.
Calla, Deimos, and Hadeon were poised like statues carved from war. The first line of defense. Hounds circled the dais like guard dogs, with exposed skulls and eyes glowing like living flame.
He had prepared protection.
And on the dais, a throne waited.
It wasn’t a chair. It was a jagged monument carved from volcanic rock, twisted into sharp angles and cruel edges, as though forged from the ribs of a dead beast. It smelled of basalt, and the surface was still warm, as if lava yet stirred beneath.
The chamber quieted as Rune took a seat, pulling her onto his lap.
Alora stifled a gasp, sitting stiffly. A knowing smile played on the corners of his mouth, but his gaze remained fixed ahead.
His voice whispered through her mind in warning.
Don’t move, little bird, or they will hunt what they deem prey.
Her chest tightened with a trapped breath. She straightened her shoulders, composing herself.
Rune leaned back in his jagged throne of black stone as shadows swarmed around him. He growled a command, a single word that vibrated through her core.
“Kneel.”
As one, the demons lowered to one knee.
Not a second of hesitation. Her heart thundered with this grand show of power.
Rune’s voice turned casual, almost amused. “Pardon my absence,” he drawled, trailing a clawed finger lazily down her arm. “I was rather… preoccupied last night.”
Alora shot him a glare and tried to rise, but his arm tightened around her waist.
Rune continued aloud, his tone sharpening like a knife splitting silk. “As most of you have already caught her scent, the rumors are true.” He looked at her now but spoke to them. “I have at last claimed my bride. Your Shadow Queen.”
The title struck like a whip.
Alora flinched, breath catching as a dozen eyes locked on her. The crowd hissed, teeth bared in sharp grins.
“Quite the stubborn one,” Rune went on, idly playing with a coil of her hair. “But the court always claims what it is owed.”
Laughter rippled through the throne room, low and sharp, predatory. The stone beneath her feet vibrated as voices rose together, a chant rolling through the chamber like thunder.
“Ver nocthra vi’ignis va’karr!”
The words struck something deep in her chest, foreign and heavy. A flush crept up her neck as more demons joined in, red eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. Their attention pinned her in place, weighed and measured by a language not meant for her.
The shadows surged around the throne in answer to Rune’s dark grin.
Suddenly, it all felt like mockery. The crown on her head held no more value than rotten mushrooms and twigs. She clenched her gown in trembling fists.
“I trust you will show her the same fealty you owe to me.” Rune’s gaze swept the chamber before fixing on the covered balcony above where six figures sat apart from the others. Watching. “Irrevocably.”
The demons below hissed and muttered like restless beasts, yet those six did not stir. Their stillness alone made Alora’s skin prickle. Shadows clung to them thickly, as though darkness itself bent in deference.
Whoever they were, they were not like the others.
“For you know what I do to those who covet what is mine,” Rune finished, the words curling like smoke.
As if on cue, the gathered eyes shifted toward the walls. Alora followed their gaze, then nearly retched. Bodies hung there, or what remained of them. Heads and torsos, limbs twisted and nailed into black stone. Entrails dangled like grotesque garlands.
The fate of demons who had gone mad with hunger for her scent.
Bile surged up her throat.
Rune turned her chin, so she’d look at him instead. Instead of commanding, his voice was now quiet. “Now be gone.”
In bursts of smoke and shrieks scattered through the court as demons vanished into the dark one by one or flew away into tunnels in the ceiling. All but the Harbingers.
Alora sat frozen on his lap, her heart slamming against her ribs, every breath a shiver. She could feel the heat of Rune’s body beneath her, the weight of his arm still firm around her waist, like she was a … possession.
“This wasn’t a coronation—it was a claiming,” Alora said, pushing Rune’s arm off. “You presented me like a prize to your court!”
He chuckled, resting his elbow on the armrest, his chin supported by his fist. “Oh, but you are a prize.”
She was still trying to breathe, to think, and he was already reshaping her identity with a single title.
Shadow Queen.
She wanted to rip it off her skin.
Alora reached up to remove the tiara, but he caught her wrist.
“Leave it. You wear it with perfect disdain.”
“I don’t want it!”
“Nevertheless, you were crowned the moment we were wed.” Rune glanced pointedly at the ring still resting on her finger. The ruby flickered like it bore fire inside. “We are now bound,” he said softly. “Forever.”
Do you choose to bind yourself to me by accepting this ring?
His words had been intentional.
“I hate you,” she seethed, tearing her wrist from his hold.
Rune laughed.
“You find that amusing?”
“I find I am pleased you feel anything for me.” He took her chin, making her meet his crimson gaze. “Especially something as arduous as hate.”
She scowled, jerking her chin away.
“Don’t think of this as mockery, songbird. You are the bride of the Netherworld King. Acknowledging you before the court grants you safety. Especially in Karag D?r.”
The demons hadn’t merely knelt to him. They had looked at her as if they could already smell the power bleeding off her. Power she hadn’t asked for. Power she didn’t know how to wield. And yet, what choice did she have?
The court had seen her now. Title or not, even she knew they craved her. The bracelet could do so much to mask her scent.
And Seven help her... being his queen was no longer a choice. It was survival.
But that didn’t mean she had to surrender.
“I told you,” Alora said tightly. “I am not your wife until you give me what you promised.”
“Your bride’s price?” Rune echoed, his tone laced with amusement. “Let us discuss it later.”
Alora crossed her arms. “No. Now.”
“You’re becoming more demanding.” His grin sharpened. “I like it.”
Alora paced the length of the dais, her steps echoing faintly off the cavern walls. “You know, Rune,” she said sharply, “for someone who claims to be all-powerful, you’d think you could conjure up something more exciting than a hole in the ground.”
“It’s not a hole. It’s a lair.”
“A lair,” she repeated with exaggerated disdain, spinning on her heel to face him. “How impressive. Shall I embroider that on a pillow for you? Welcome to Rune’s Lair. Abode of Darkness and Dust.”
His lips quirked, but his gaze remained steady. Standing, his towering frame forced her to look up as he prowled closer, but she held her ground.
“Would you prefer chains and fire instead? I can arrange that.”
Her heart stuttered at the mild threat.
“Oh, how generous,” she shot back, throwing up her hands. “If I cannot step outside then at least spare me a window.”
Rune chuckled as he sat in his throne again. “Rest for the day. I will call for you once the night falls.”
Alora opened her mouth to argue, but shadows surged before she could breathe the words, swallowing the throne room whole.
When she opened her eyes again, the throne room was gone, and she stood once more in her chambers.
Alora had no way of gauging time in the windowless room.
She had traded her black gown for a long-sleeved dress in pale green velvet, warm and elegant, lined in silver thread. Less scandalous, more modest. It was one of many dresses now hanging within the new wardrobe in her room.