Chapter 11
RAPHAEL
After my glacial bath, I dress for dinner as slow as possible, planning to be the last to arrive.
As usual.
Isadora will enter the dining hall with one of her closest confidantes, another demoness by the name of Caliste.
Isa will sit across from me down the long stretch of polished wood, Caliste on her right.
Lord Argos, her father, will be seated to her left.
Several of the other members of the Umbra Court will join us, filling the chairs between Isa and myself.
I will sit at the head of the table, Baal seated to my right and the sorceress to my left.
Acknowledging her position as my official royal mistress.
I plan on making a statement tonight, even if she isn’t aware, and it’ll piss off several people in that room, many of whom I don’t give a fuck about.
Isadora’s feelings are not on my radar, and her father can quite literally go fuck himself. In fact, I might make him do that after I saw his filthy, whoring hands all over Liv. Not to mention the threat of him taking her back to his room…
Glass shatters beneath my fist, the spider web cracks in the mirror splintering my reflection. Well, fuck. So much for composure. A wave of my hand returns the mirror’s surface to its smooth and unmarred state.
Despite my physical reaction to Liv, I’m still wary about why I feel the way I do towards her.
Subtle pangs of recognition shock me sporadically, like the instinct I had to place my mouth on the delicate flesh beneath her ear.
My body was drawn to it, like it knew that particular erogenous spot was one she favored.
Eventually, I will unearth the secrets she’s so desperate to keep buried, but as Baal said, I will do so by attempting to charm her by any means possible.
By the time I make it to the dining room, it’s a decent half past the hour when dinner was supposed to be served.
The guards open the doors, and everyone rises from their seats.
In my periphery, I spot Isadora, jaw clenched and face flushed with anger.
I don’t have to guess the reason for her anger.
My eyes seek out the culprit, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to stumble upon drinking her in.
Just like a typical male, I can’t help but first draw my attention to the indecent neckline of her gown, two sharp edged points covering her breasts before a significant plunge toward her navel.
She’s dressed in Hell’s signature onyx, the dress molding to her body like second skin, every dip and curve on display.
Black gloves cover her graceful fingers up to her elbows.
I drag my ravenous gaze from her body to her face, and my heart nearly stops when her unearthly eyes meet mine, a strange yet familiar yearning in them.
“Your Majesty,” Baal kills the silence, bowing as I stride toward my seat. The rest of the guests follow suit, and I catch Isadora seething across from me.
As usual, I ignore her.
No one sits until I do, and whatever prior conversation was taking place resumes.
Caliste, Isadora’s confidante, does her best to sneak subtle glances at Liv, attempting to use her dark hair as a curtain, but she couldn’t be more obvious.
In fact, there are eight nobles at this table aside from Baal, Liv, and me, and every single of them flits their gaze in her direction.
It annoys me.
“I wasn’t aware you invited our guest to dinner this evening,” Isadora says coldly. I can taste the bitterness in her voice.
“Consider yourself aware,” I reply, my voice equally acerbic.
Snickers scatter about the room, and I match my betrothed’s glacial glare.
Liv clears her throat. “Why did you invite me?”
I swivel my gaze to the enchantress. “It would reflect poorly on my Court to have Hades’ emissary dine alone. I’d rather not piss off my new ally.”
“New ally?” She reaches for her chalice and holds it near her lips. “What brought about this new partnership with Hades?”
“My father and Hades were always on the verge of war. I thought it would be beneficial for our kingdoms to reach a compromise.”
Raising a brow, she continues, “What was this compromise?”
Suspicion kicks in. “Hades never spoke of it with you?”
She slowly shakes her head, still holding my stare, and fuck, when she looks at me like that, it feels like she is peeling back layers of my flesh, burrowing herself deep within my bones.
“I granted Hades access to my realm whenever he should need it,” I answer. She smiles in response and finally takes a sip.
I recall the evening I sat in Hades’ penthouse, brokering the deal. I can still smell the scent of burning wood from the fire, taste the sweet and smokey flavor of the Scotch we drank. His wife, Persephone, was with—
Pain splinters inside my head. I shut my eyes then quickly wrench them open so as not to draw alarm. But Liv stares at me curiously, and Baal bounces his gaze between us, brows furrowed.
The sorceress reaches for me. “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I snap, taking a large gulp of wine.
Liv jerks her hand away from me, and I experience the smallest surge of guilt at the hurt on her face. It quickly morphs into a form of calm fury, a storm brewing in her ocean eyes.
“Liv,” Ball cuts the tension in the air with his velvet smooth timbre, “how are you liking Hell thus far?”
“It’s different than I expected,” she answers, sipping her wine with a demure grace. I wonder what house of nobility she hails from in Hades’ realm.
“What were you expecting?” I ask, unable to hide my curiosity.
The servers set down dinner, a decadent steak with a decent amount of blood pooled beneath the meat, rosemary roasted potatoes, and a green vegetable native to Hell called fenne.
It’s slightly bitter and tastes divine charred, which is how it’s been prepared.
“Has a wedding date been set, Your Majesty?”
The rude interruption comes from far down the table, from none other than Lord fucking Argos himself. Isadora cheeks blaze with embarrassment, but she wouldn’t dare scold her father. He cuts into his meat, not bothering to meet my eye.
I lean towards Baal and drop my voice to a whisper. “Why can’t I kill him again?”
“He controls the ports on the Emerald Isle, handles all the imports and exports from the neighboring kingdoms, and unfortunately—” he shoots a glance down the table toward the prick before returning his gaze— “is very well-liked by your Father.”
I weigh my options: Kill Lord Argos and be free of his menace once and for all but risk the return and wrath of my father, who will more than likely make my life here a living Hell—no pun intended.
Better the Devil I know I suppose.
I lean back in my chair with a lazy indulgence, the goblet of wine tipped towards my lips. Liv does her best to keep her eyes fixed upon her plate, but they traitorously drift toward me.
“When it has, Lord Argos, you will be the first to know.” Sarcasm drips like venom from every word. I swallow another healthy gulp of wine, morbid delight coursing through my veins at the way the insufferable demon’s knuckles turn white as he clenches the stem of his wine goblet.
Knowing better than to retort, Lord Argos strikes up conversation with two nobles adjacent to him, and Caliste leans in to whisper in Isadora’s ear. The Demoness’ onyx eyes flick toward Liv, burning with hatred.
I throw a sliver of power in her direction, the sensation no more than a slap on the wrist. Isa turns her wrath-filled gaze on me, and I shake my head slowly, like I’m scolding a child.
Isadora scowls, returning to her meal. My attention returns to Liv, whose eyes drop swiftly to her plate but not swift enough. I know she caught the exchange.
“What did you expect?” I ask her again.
She looks up at me, brows drawn together in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“Of Hell.” I make a sweeping gesture with my left hand. “Of my Court.”
“Oh.” A beautiful blush paints her cheeks. “Legend paints your realm as a place of suffering. Darkness. Death. Yet, your skies are the bluest I’ve ever seen, and your ocean shimmers like the rarest diamond.”
I lean forward in my chair so my broad chest drapes across the table. Her scent envelopes me like a shroud, soft yet vicious in its intensity. That odd spear of recognition once again jolts through me.
“I’m well aware of the stories told about my realm.
On its surface, yes, Hell is beautiful, but beautiful things are often deadly.
Make no mistake: this place is no stranger to suffering.
Darkness. Death. Wolves cloaked as sheep lurk in every dark corner.
” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Monsters may very well hide themselves within your bed.”
A devilish grin graces my lips, and her mouth curves in an answering smirk. “I’m no stranger to monstrous creatures, Your Majesty.” And this time, her voice drops seductively. “Especially in my bed.” There is a slight hint of invitation in her voice that keeps my normal jealousy at bay.
She straightens at the same time I do, the servers clearing our plates and swapping out the utensils for dessert. In the interim, I ask, “Am I what you expected?”
That melancholy longing settles in her eyes again. “You are everything and nothing like what I expected.”
Before I can prod further, both at the sadness in her voice and her comment, dessert is placed before us. Horrified, I stare at the mass of green on my plate. It jiggles after being set down before me.
What. The. Fuck. Is. This?
“You aren’t going to like that,” Liv says, clasping her spoon.
“What is it?” I poke at the blob with my spoon, as though it might attack me any moment.
“Where I’m from, we call it Jello.”
Jello. How fucking absurd. My stomach churns at the mere mention of its name.
Glancing to my right, I notice Baal digging in. In fact, no one else seems to take umbrage with this gelatinous substance. Even Liv spoons a helping into her mouth, her eyes on me as she does. Her mouth twitches, as though fighting a smile.
Feeling ridiculous, I scoop a healthy amount of the dessert, despite my brain screaming at me in protest, and shovel it into my mouth.
Immediately, I spit it back out on the plate, gagging. I grab my goblet and chug the wine at alarming speed, liquid pouring from the corner of my mouth. My hastiness to wash my mouth out of that foul substance results in an embarrassing coughing fit.
“His Majesty has been poisoned!”
The alarmed screech comes from Caliste, the idiot. I can’t be poisoned. I can’t fucking die. Yet, I hear the scraping of chairs on the floor as everyone gets up and surrounds me.
“Someone fetch a Healer!”
“This is why he should have a taster!”
Delicate hands fall to my face. I open my eyes, and black ones stare back at me.
“Raph, let me—” Isadora starts.
“ENOUGH!” I bellow. Dark kernels of power leak through my control, rattling the table and the dining room walls.
Isa jumps back before glaring down at me and crossing her arms. I rise, finding the entirety of the dinner party staring at me in bewilderment.
Most of the faces express concern, save for Isa, who skewers me with a glare.
Lord Argos looks a combination of pleased and perplexed.
Baal is the only one not paying me any mind. His attention is fixed on Liv.
She stares at me wide-eyed, still fighting a smile, as though there is some cosmic fucking joke at play. Her voice dances in my memory: you aren’t going to like that.
I narrow my eyes. She fucking knew.
In fairness, she did try to warn me, but the growing suspicion I’ve had about her only intensifies. How the fuck would she know something like that about me when I didn’t?
I tear my gaze from her and leave the room. I don’t bother to say a word to anyone, my mind racing with possibilities of not only who, but what she is.
My first inclination is to head toward the veiled room, but I think better of it.
I turn left around a corridor and make my way up two flights of the winding staircase, stopping about halfway down the hall.
The locked door opens beneath my fingers, as no room in this castle is off-limits to its King.
Liv’s lady’s maids are here, turning down her bed for the evening.
“Get out,” I growl. “And say nothing to anyone that I wait within these walls.”
The two demonesses swiftly curtsey before scurrying out of the room.
The door slams shut behind me. Liv’s chambers look much like every other bedroom in this castle, with my chambers being the only exception.
Her jasmine scent lingers heavily, and my eyes find the black lace nightgown draped across her silken navy bed sheets.
I groan, imagining the fabric on her, how her stiff nipples would be perfectly on display, how the hem would fall just to the top of her creamy thighs.
I crumple the nightgown in my fists and toss it aside then position myself at the foot of the bed so I’m the first thing she will see when she enters. She claims to be familiar with having monsters in her bed? Well, let’s see how she fares with the most monstrous one of all.