18. DESIRES AND RESOLVE.
Chapter eighteen
DESIRES AND RESOLVE.
The pain in Grand King Daemonikai's chest softened as Emeriel held him close.
His cheek rested against her blossom, her hand moving in a calming, soothing rhythm over his head.
Never did he imagine a day would come when he would willingly revisit their memories. The pain of remembering was too great, so Daemonikai had spent years suppressing those memories as best as he could.
But if he wanted Emeriel to give them a chance, he needed to do the same… no matter how much it hurt.
The guilt no longer had a stronghold on his heart, but every now and then, the grief returned.
Now, though, instead of drowning in despair, he allowed the emotions to flow through him. Acknowledging their presence without giving them the power to consume him.
Perhaps one day, I will go to the hills and roar to the sky.
Perhaps one day, I will be able to speak of them without feeling like I’m burning from the inside out.
But for now, he was content to be held. Comforted, right here, in her arms.
Her presence alone made everything almost bearable. Her scent, her touch, the sound of her steady breath—all of it eased the ache in his soul.
"You have the most beautiful hair, Your Grace," she murmured, threading her hand gently through his locks.
He inhaled her deeply, hungrily filling his lungs with her scent. Lemongrass after rain. A low groan left him, its ambrosia seeping into his senses .
"You smell incredible," he purred. I have missed this.
"Thank you.” Fingers caressed his face, drifting down to trace along his neck. Feather-light, the sparks went through him.
Mine .
She's mine.
Daemonikai's arms tightened possessively around Emeriel's waist, pulling her closer.
She stiffened.
Control your reactions, or you will break this fragile moment. Curling his hand into fists, he resisted the urge to let them wander.
Since his return, he had longed to do this. To hold her, just like this.
Maybe he had imagined it happening horizontally. On a bed. On the floor. Her naked body writhing under him while he spread those pretty little thighs apart, burying his dick deep inside—
Unsafe zone. Retreat.
Don't think about those sexy legs wrapped around your waist. Her broken cries in the air while you—
Emeriel drew back.
Reluctantly, Daemonikai let his arms fall away. "Thank you, sweetheart. I needed that."
For a second, he saw something unguarded in her eyes. A naked longing that mirrored his own.
But she blinked, and the walls went back up.
"What work do you need assistance with, Your Grace?" she asked, politely.
Daemonikai gestured to the empty chair opposite him, using his other hand to adjust his erection.
She settled into it, their knees brushing beneath the desk. They worked in companionable silence, interrupted only by the sound of quills scratching against parchment.
He noticed her watching him occasionally, but whenever he met her stare, she quickly looked away.
So he stopped intercepting, letting her eyes linger on him as they pleased. He enjoyed it too much.
Time drifted by, the hours blending seamlessly together. At some point, his arousal subsided, much to his relief. Now he felt at ease. Calm. Content.
Emeriel was thorough in her work, much to his surprise. Each scroll she completed was neatly organized and eloquently written. He was impressed. Was there anything she couldn’t do?
To think this lady before him, writing gracefully, was the same male slave who had served his meal all those years ago, stooped over and skittish. Completely unbelievable.
And he could still feel her gaze on him from time to time.
Was this the right time to bring up the past? To bring up this rift between them?
That day in the woods, she had been adamant about not wanting to hear his apologies or explanations. With his first attempt a disaster, Daemonikai hadn't figured out how to broach the subject again.
But he enjoyed the calm between them now. Selfish though it might be, he didn’t want this tranquility to end.
No, he would wait. His chance would come. Another time.
***
Emeriel needed a slap. Or maybe ten. Anything at all to stop her from eye-fucking King Daemonikai across the desk.
Your Beloved, that ever-present voice of her annoying little self, reared up again.
No, not my Beloved. The grand king of Urai.
The voice snorted, mocking her shamelessly.
He worked with complete focus, his gaze flitting across the ledgers, occasionally pausing to make calculations.
His brows furrowed when something didn’t add up, only to smooth out once he resolved it.
The way his quill moved across the paper was almost… seductive. Or maybe that was just her.
She felt warm. Every part of her was acutely aware of him. Every sigh, every shift in his seat—Emeriel felt it all.
And you wonder why you’ve only managed to review three trade records in hours? Her inner voice tsked. Your most productive work so far has been ogling your Beloved.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she gave herself a firm mental shake. Get a grip, you gawking, horny fool.
Resolving to focus, she picked up a ledger and forced her attention on its figures.
A moment later, Emeriel frowned. "Some of these numbers don't add up."
King Daemonikai raised his head. "Let me see." He extended his hand.
Emeriel passed him the ledger, careful not to let their fingers brush.
"Ah, Lord Zaiper’s transaction records over the year.”
"Yes." Emeriel reclaimed the ledger, her brows knitting together as she reviewed the figures again. “There’s a glaring gap here. These records don’t align at all.”
“With Zaiper, they rarely do,” Daemonikai said in a wry tone. “He always has an excuse for them.”
“But isn’t this a crime?” Emeriel asked incredulously. “The people are starving, and he’s stealing from them?”
“When confronted, he insists he’s given the funds to the poor, starving villagers in the outer settlements. He even manages to find witnesses to back his story.”
“But you suspect his claims aren’t true?” Her lips thinned. “Why does he still get away with it? Lord Zaiper is neither a good ruler nor a decent male. I’m sure many would agree with me."
"Oh, everyone knows Zaiper can be a nightmare.” Daemonikai let out a chuckle. “He has ruled beside me for millennia; it's hard to miss that."
He folded the scroll he had been working on. "But in our kingdom, any accusation, especially one leveled against a ruler, is a grave matter. One must be certain, with irrefutable evidence and reliable witnesses. If not, the allegation holds no water.”
Emeriel shook her head, not hiding her displeasure.
Daemonikai shrugged. “It’s the way of the court, young one. Zaiper is a nightmare, yes, but he's a cunning one. He's careful to leave no trail, no solid evidence, no credible witnesses. Until there's proof, it remains mere speculations."
"He doesn't like you very much," Emeriel said bluntly.
“The feeling is mutual,” Daemonikai said, unbothered. “But for the most part, we keep out of each other’s way.” His eyes met hers. “Zaiper wants to be grand king.”
Emeriel reared back. “Really?”
"Mmm."
She had never considered that possibility, but now that she did… it made sense. Lord Zaiper had always come across as ambitious and scheming.
"If you knew that, why would you keep someone like him by your side?" Emeriel asked incredulously.
***
"She’s gone into heatstroke," Mistress Sinai observed coolly, watching as the young female retch on the floor. "Perhaps you should consider bringing in her male?"
"She’ll get over it," Zaiper said, indifferent. He was sprawled naked across the bed, looking irritated.
All the places where the girl had scratched herself raw from being mounted by the second ruler were red and bleeding.
Her body rejected Zaiper’s touch, which meant every moment with him was excruciating for her. Not that Zaiper cared.
The girl curled into herself, breathing heavily.
Sinai felt a slice of sympathy for her. Zaiper had been choosing nobodies—those whose absence would go unnoticed by society—in his new obsessive quest to sire an heir. Breeding them despite their lack of compatibility.
This youngling, barely one hundred and eighty years old, was his third.
Sinai could imagine the unbearable pain they must have endured, but it didn’t move her enough to intervene.
Not that she could, Zaiper would eat her for breakfast if she tried. In some ways, she actually found this show… entertaining.
Razarr, on the other hand, looked sick to his stomach, as always.
For someone who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at killing, he turned pale whenever his master was ‘at it’ again. He’d excused himself a few times already, slipping out without waiting to be dismissed.
"Razarr, bring her back to the bed," Zaiper ordered, impatient. "I’m ready for another round."
His head soldier hesitated. "She’s nearly passed out, Your Majesty."
"Doesn’t matter. She’s in heat." Zaiper waved a dismissive hand. "Heat doesn’t sleep. Now bring her to me."
Razarr lowered his gaze, obeying, as he pulled the barely conscious girl back to the bed.
“No, n-no…please,” the girl cried weakly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It hurts really b-b-bad.”
Zaiper positioned behind her, proceeding to bury himself deep.
The girl screamed in a distorted, agonized voice, clawing at the bedding.
The grand lord parted her legs even further, slamming into her over and over.
The girl’s fingers dug so fiercely into the sheets, she splintered a nail, leaving streaks of blood across the fabric.
Sinai winced. Poor girl.
Surveying her own nails, she frowned. “I really need to visit the beauty house. This chipped tinctures won't do.”
Razarr excused himself once more, his footsteps echoing as he left the room.
Walking to the vanity, her silken robe trailing behind her, Sinai retrieved a small knife from the drawer. She sat down on the armrest and began scrapping away the polish, the girl’s anguished cries filling the silence.
"You really are an animal, dearest Zaiper," Sinai mumbled, glancing at him.
The grand lord smiled. "We’re all animals, lovely Sinai." Thrust, thrust, thrust. "Besides, beyond the heir, an irritated male needs to work off a little steam every now and then."
"Frustrated about my Daemon’s return?"
Zaiper’s expression darkened. "I don’t know why he refuses to stay dead." His thrusts became sharper, angrier. "Twice now, he’s wrestled with the impossible and won. Who walks through the valleys of death and comes out alive?”
"Perhaps a righteous male," Sinai teased, her lips quirking.
Zaiper shot her a glare. "You’re not funny."
"Apologies, Your Highness," she replied smoothly, arching a brow. "It was only a joke."
"As I said, there’s"—thrust—"nothing"—aggressive thrust—"funny"—thrust—"about it," he punctuated with more brutal thrusts.
The girl screamed, then passed out beneath him.
"Finally, some peace and quiet," he grunted, leaning back to survey her unconscious form with a look of annoyance before thrusting again. "Every time things start going my way, something switches, and I’m back at square one. It’s infuriating."
Pausing, Sinai glared at her nails. "It’s all Emeriel’s fault," she said resentfully. "That little human is a thorn in the flesh. She even saved my Daemon from your assassin, remember?"
"Oh, I remember," Zaiper sneered, venomously.
“Maybe you should take her out. She will be a far easier target.”
"I’d do that, but Ottai’s out for my blood. He’d sing like a canary to the court if harm came to the brat," Zaiper mimicked, his tone dripping with disdain.
"That doesn’t mean you can’t do it, Sinai." He stared at her. "Enough with the childish back-and-forth with her. Strike head-on—poisoned food, poisoned arrows. You won an archery game a millennia ago, didn’t you? You are good with arrows."
Sinai’s lips curved slightly. Good was an understatement.
Though she hadn’t taken aim in a long time, one of the perks of a long life was time for endless hobbies. Archery had been one of hers, once. "I might actually do it."
Zaiper came with a blissed-out groan. Sinai could imagine his knot extending, locking him to the unconscious girl.
"You should," he urged with a satisfied gruff, falling atop the girl. "Use poisoned arrows. Do it from afar and leave no trace. Make sure the poison is rare enough that the antidote might as well be in another universe. Fire as many arrows as you can—ensure she dies on the spot. Her death first, consequences later."
"Mmm." Sinai's gaze drifted thoughtfully before a slow smile spread across her face, her lips curving so wide they almost touched her ears.
A poison came to mind. One so rare its antidote was practically a myth.
"Her death will solve everything. It might even throw Daemonikai off balance again." Lying on his side, Zaiper pulled the girl to him. " It better, because something has to give! Right now, my anger could boil an entire river."
“Stay calm, My Lord.”
"Nothing ever goes my way.” He glared daggers at the wall. “Next thing you know, Vladya will return to the fortress."
Sinai’s mouth twitched. "Now you’re just torturing yourself. The third ruler was in the worst state imaginable when he vanished. I’m sure by now he’s raving mad somewhere."
Surveying her neat nails, her smile grew wide. "Calm yourself, Lord Zaiper. Vladya is gone, and he’s not coming back."
***
"Let’s go back to the fortress," Lord Vladya announced suddenly, his voice breaking the silence between them.
Aekeira turned to face him, her brows furrowing in surprise as she took in the serious set of his features. They were lying side by side, his face as composed as ever, yet the weight of his words hung in the air.
"Are you sure?"
He nodded. "Yes."
The simple word left Aekeira momentarily stunned.
She had spent so long trying to convince him to return, to go back to the fortress and face what he’d been avoiding. He had always been so stubborn, so adamant in his refusal. And now, just like that, he was ready?
"What made you change your mind?" she asked curiously.
"A few reasons." He was staring into her eyes. "I realized I had placed my life on hold, waiting for this, when I should be living it to the fullest."
He paused, and Aekeira kept silent, waiting patiently.
"You are here," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "and suddenly, I don’t want to simply wait anymore."
Aekeira’s heart skipped a beat. Was he aware how words like this affected her?
"I want to go back to my world. I miss my people." His tone remained as monotone as ever, but his eyes turned thoughtful. "And…"
"And…?"
For the longest time, he didn’t answer. Those sharp, storm-gray eyes watched her in silence, as if he were searching for something in her expression.
"And I want to bring you into my world, Aekeira,” he said at last. “To show it to you, properly this time."
It warmed her heart.
To think he had that blank stare, speaking in a flat, dead tone of a soulless male right now. And yet, somehow, the detached delivery made his words feel all the more heartwarming.
An involuntary smile tugged at her lips as she stared at him in wonder. Who is this person before me? she marveled silently.
He was still Lord Vladya, and yet he seemed like someone entirely new.
These past few weeks, he had revealed so many sides of himself she hadn’t known existed. Layers she had never imagined were there. But dread filled her.
What if, when they went back, this version of him—the male before her now—vanished?
What if he was replaced by the cold, distant Grand Lord Vladya she had known before? The one who kept his emotions buried so deep they were unreachable?
What if the real world reminded him of all the bridges between them and everything that had once kept them apart?
Aekeira closed her eyes briefly, trying to steady her racing thoughts. She had loved him before, hadn’t she?
The darkness, the madness, the ugliness… all of him. She had embraced all of it, even when it had almost consumed her. But now… now she wasn’t ready to let go of this new side of him.
This side that looked at her as if she truly mattered. This side that listened to her, that let down his guard, showing her glimpses of vulnerability. This Lord Vladya, who was so attentive to her needs, who spoke words that warmed her heart.
Aekeira wanted more of him. Her heart was greedy for it—yearning, aching to hold on to the male he was becoming.
"Are you alright?" he asked, sensing her hesitations.
The quiet concern in his tone startled her, and when she looked at him, his eyes were studying her with the same attentiveness that had begun to undo her.
She forced a smile, her worry fading like mist under the warmth of the sun. Because she knew, deep down, it didn’t matter.
No matter what side of him re-emerged when they returned to Blackstone, Aekaeira would love him anyway. "I’m fine, Your Highness."
His expression tightened slightly, and for a moment, she thought she had said something wrong. Then, his tone grew firm, resolute. "Vladya."
“Huh?”
"Call me by my name, Aekeira," he asserted. "Not Lord Vladya. Not My Lord . Not Your Highness . Just my name."
Her eyes reached her hairline as a blush crept up her cheeks. "B-but…it’s not proper."
He leaned closer, his voice soft, but no less commanding. "We’re alone here. Go ahead."
"Vladya…" she breathed, tasting the word. It felt strange on her tongue, foreign and intimate, but there was something right about it, too. Her voice softened further. "Vlad."
Lust and possessiveness flared in his eyes. "My name sounds beautiful coming from your mouth," he murmured, his voice husky. "When we are alone, I want you to address me that way, Aekeira. I want to hear more of it."
"Alright… Vlad," she agreed, her heart fluttering.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Did you know my symptoms have gone down since your return?"
Aekeira’s eyes widened in shock. "They have?"
"Mmm," he confirmed with a small nod. "I have lived with this affliction for over three years, and I can assure you—they have. It surprises even me."
He leaned back slightly, thoughtful. "Is it the joy of your return? These… new feelings I’m experiencing? Or simply your presence? I don’t know the reason," he admitted, his voice dropping to a rare softness. "But I can feel it, Aekeira. The madness is still there… but it’s not progressing. I feel better than I have in years." He smiled. “I haven’t heard the voices in weeks."
Her breath hitched, and her eyes stung. Oh, Aekeira, you’re such a crybaby, aren’t you?
But what else could she do? Every time he shared a piece of himself with her, every raw, vulnerable word, it undid her.
How she had lived without this, without him, for two long years, she would never know.
"So, yes, Aekeira," her grand lord added with resolve. "Let's go back home."