Chapter 2
Aryana
Aryana awoke to being jostled about. Her head felt as if fog was moving through it.
Belladonna, when ground into a powder, might be poisonous to humans, but it made vampires and most demons lose consciousness.
The steady heaviness of her cloak was gone.
Someone had taken it, leaving her in the unadorned, lightweight dress she’d worn on her excursion to eliminate Jonas Harns.
The wounds of the prior evening were long healed from the rejuvenating effects of drinking his blood.
But the damn belladonna was only just clearing out of her system. She attempted to move her sluggish limbs, and with effort, lifted herself into a sitting position, willing her swimming vision to calm enough to assess her situation.
Iron bars surrounded her, and the smell of human urine, blood, and sweat accosted her nostrils.
She was in one of the cages she had liberated the women and children from the previous evening.
Someone had placed large ebony shrouds over the wagon’s cage.
For a moment she thought that Jonas Harns’s men had rallied and captured her.
She breathed deeper, and aside from the human scents, she caught the distinct slightly burnt whiff of demon. Her stomach bottomed out.
She reached out to split the black cloth and emitted a hiss of pain as sunlight seared her fingers. Jerking to the side, she examined the light burn on her skin with minimal concern. The injury would heal within the next hour.
So, her captors were moving her during the day. While vampires and some demons could only venture out at night, other demons had no issue traveling in the sun’s rays.
She jerked to attention when her cage jolted to a stop. Hours had passed, it must be at least midday which meant she had been in her wagon prison all of the night and most of the day. She now made out the clank of armor. The demon scent had increased. Where the hell was she?
The covering parted, and Aryana shoved herself into the corner in order to avoid the beams of light that streamed in. Chains with shackles attached flew through the bars, striking the stained wooden floor before the shroud closed again.
“My instructions are to tell you that you must put on the chains, or we will tear away the cloth protecting your enclosure and force them on you,” a gruff voice said.
She stared at the restraints, her indignation rising. “Such care and deference.”
“I must follow orders, Princess.”
Aryana lifted her intended bonds, all the shackles connected together.
Her stomach curbed, anger seething in her breast. Slowly, she forced the manacles on, each one clicking into place—two on her ankles, two on her wrists, and a single around her neck.
The chains were short enough that they didn’t allow her to stand straight.
“Now what?” she demanded.
Someone moved the opening in the black cloth again, and she finally glimpsed her guard.
He had a sizable flat head with huge tusks poking out of his bottom lip, and thick, long arms that hung nearly to the ground.
There were hundreds of species of demons, but they were arranged into five unique nations ruled by the arch king.
There used to be six nations. Aryana’s kind once upon a time belonged to Kingdom Nocturne, the Night Folk.
But the vampires had driven out other kinds of night demons and broken off from the demon alliance centuries ago to form their own independent kingdom.
This demon was a troll from the Terra Monstrum nation, the land walkers. Enough of them had passed through the vampire court over the years—although most unwillingly—that she knew the heavy, murky scent filling her nostrils. His large eyes took her in. “Now we come and get you.”
The door to her cage opened and two more demons with spears entered.
The first had speckled feathered wings, marking him from Kingdom Aeria, the air stalkers.
The other had reptilian eyes that shuttered from the side and an elongated snout, and crimson scaled skin.
He was from Kingdom Inferna, the underworld dwellers.
What were so many different demons doing in the same place? What did it mean?
The one with wings carried her cloak. After a quick but harsh pull on her chains to make sure they were secure, they threw the covering over her.
Taking her by the arms, they pulled her out of the wagon.
The cloak hung loosely on her back, and if she moved or struggled, it would fall off, exposing her to daylight.
Damn them. They did it on purpose to keep her docile, to keep her from fighting or bolting.
They knew how to handle a vampire.
At least until she got inside.
She studied the ground as they walked. The clean cobblestone and scent of flowers, of all things. She heard heavy doors being opened. So most likely a castle of some sort.
They guided her down a well-lit hallway.
From under her cloak, she noticed beams of sunlight streaming in through the windows.
The guards clutching her arms drew her to the edge of the light so that they could easily pull her in should she try to fight.
Another set of doors clicked open, and Aryana was dragged forward. They swept away her covering.
She was in a throne room that was mostly gray, made of granite. Long umber drapes fell over thin, color plated windows. Her stomach hollowed. Chained to the cold stone walls hung the skeletal remains of various demons, twisted forms frozen in silent testament to the horrors they had endured.
A massive minotaur with immense horns jutting out from the sides of his bull’s head sat on a huge throne.
His broad shoulders were enveloped by a tyrian purple cloak.
A slight gray tinged the dark, coarse fur covering most of his body, the only sign of his age.
He observed Aryana with beady, angry eyes.
His hands clutched the ornate handle of a falx, a double edged curved weapon with a blade so sharp it cut through flesh with ease, leaving nothing but rough, splintered bone in its wake.
She didn’t need an introduction. This was King Salen, the Skin Flayer, ruler of Terra Monstrum.
Two other demons stood to the king’s right.
One was enormous and bulky, twice as tall as Aryana and twice as big as any of the troll guards surrounding her.
His coarse, mottled outer skin resembled the earth.
His massive fists were clenched and hanging down like meat cleavers.
This colossal beast had to be at least half-giant.
The other demon, standing next to the first, looked similar to the king, though younger.
He wore battle armor and maintained his position at attention.
He observed her with a look of cool calculation.
Another demon stood on King Salen’s left, exuding a scent she recognized. It was the same aroma from the night before.
He moved with confidence, if not the full weight of regal grace.
His skin shimmered like smoke, horns curling through shadow-dark hair, and vast, bat-like wings were unfurled behind him.
But it was the twisted silver crown, gleaming atop his brow, that spoke the loudest, telling her all she needed to know.
This was Zarathos, the demon arch king.
She should have realized that only one thing could unite demons from different nations—service to their infamous ruler. An icy serpent slithered down her spine. He was the great monarch renowned for holding the fates of others in his hands, for making or breaking them on a whim.
He gazed at her with dark eyes that had a heated yellow tint around the iris. They glowed slightly, as if they were on fire. She glared in return. This was the demon who had captured her and given every order since.
“Aryana, is it? Princess of the vampires?” the Skin Flayer, sitting on his throne, asked in a gruff, ungiving voice. “I'm King Salen.”
“I know who you are.” Aryana’s shackles clanked as she focused on him. “As niece to the vampire king, and heir to the throne, if you do not wish to go to war, then I demand that you release me this instant.”
“War? Was it not your vampires that stole our land?” The outrage in King Salen’s voice echoed throughout the vast room.
Aryana’s heart sank. Not only had her uncle allowed encroachments into the human kingdom, but he had also sought to expand vampire lands by invading the northern edge of the Terra Monstrum nation.
“What do you want with me?” she asked.
His eyes narrowed, and he rose, taking a step toward her on large hooved legs that bent the wrong way.
“My son, Kaelroch, witnessed the devastation that your kingdom wrought on ours in the north and barely escaped with his life.” He motioned to the demon that was nearly his twin on his right.
“Luckily, his body has healed from his injuries in time for the upcoming Demon Trials.”
She straightened, attempting to hide her surprise.
Every hundred years, they held the Demon Trials to determine who would become the next arch king.
Each of the five nations chose two contestants and the current arch king also competed.
They endured four grueling tests, each forcing them to fight one another to the death.
The victor became the new demon arch king.
Since Aryana's kingdom separated from the demons, that was a merciless event that the vampires no longer took part in. She hadn’t realized the next trials were so close to occurring.
King Salen puffed out his chest. “He and Tigon here,”—he indicated the glowering half-giant—“will be our champions in the upcoming Demon Trials.” He cut a glance at the arch king, trying to either show off or intimidate him.
Arch King Zatharos didn’t appear moved.
The leader of Terra Monstrum ran an agitated hand over a gold band attached to his forearm. “Slave, bring me water! I thirst!” he shouted.