Chapter 23
NICK
“I have to enter the dinner with Isadora.” I shrug on another black jacket, this one embroidered with gold snakes skirting the edges.
“That’s fine,” Rhi says, leaning back against the foot of my bed.
Her hands come behind her and settle on the footrest, causing her chest to push out.
The dress chosen for her is a deep, blood red, with fabric wrapping around her neck, followed by two thick straps of the garment covering her breasts.
The two pieces converge at her navel before the fuller part of the gown drips like a waterfall of blood down to her feet.
Her right leg peeks out from a slit in the gown, and my eyes flare with longing, remembering how my fingers found their way beneath another dress only a few hours ago.
I raise my brow at her nonchalance, anticipating some sort of protest. Instead, she smirks. “I’m sure Baal is available this evening to escort me. Have you seen that man shirtless?” She mockingly fans herself.
Prowling toward her, I grip her throat just enough to threaten. “I’m not sure it’s wise to taunt the Devil, my love. He isn’t known for his mercy.”
She lifts on her toes, grazing my lips. “I’m counting on that.”
I kiss her swiftly then slap her ass to get her moving. She yelps, showering me with a glare. “Go. Baal will escort you because he is the only demon I trust and he knows better than to touch my things.”
Rhi smirks and shakes her head before heading towards the door. Baal is waiting for her outside when she opens it. I shoot him a warning glance, which he returns with a rakish grin and an eye roll. The door closes, and I contemplate whether I enjoy his company that much to spare his life.
Isadora and I enter the dining hall, her hand resting gently on my arm.
My eyes immediately find Rhi, standing above her seat positioned to the left of mine, exactly where I had her the last time.
She softly nods in my direction, and in my periphery, I catch Isadora following suit.
Relief washes over me as the two women share a moment of understanding before Isadora glances at me appreciatively.
Scanning the room, I spot Isadora’s father, Lord Argos, already seated, not having bothered to wait for my command. Isadora trembles slightly as we approach him, and I place my hand on the small of her back to signal her to move past him towards her seat while I cement my stance beside the bastard.
His gaze flits up lazily. I know exactly what he’s doing. He believes because he has the favor of my father, it doesn’t matter how egregious he disrespects me as his King.
I’m about to show him how horribly wrong he is.
Using force well beyond normal, even for The Devil, I kick the chair from beneath him. Argos tumbles unceremoniously to the floor, earning a smothered laugh from Baal when he lands right on his ass.
“How dare you—” he starts until I yank him up by the back of his jacket.
“Was I not clear you were to keep your fucking hands off of Isadora?” I spit in his face.
Argos twists and turns, making a fool of himself as he tries to escape my grasp. I splay my fingers wide and drop him like the piece of shit he is. The demon stumbles a bit before regaining his composure.
“You forget, Your Majesty, that Isadora is my property until you properly wed her. Yet, you’ve been too busy fucking your whore—” he thrusts his finger in Rhi’s direction— “to do so.”
The silence that blankets the room is deafening.
Argos is by no means a short man. He might be at least an inch or two over six feet tall.
But my six foot three coupled with the sinister power my presence commands allows me to tower over him, and I relish watching him shrink beneath my menacing glower.
Without warning, I reach into the Demon’s mouth and clamp his tongue within my fist. He haphazardly swings at me, and I grip his shoulder with my opposite hand so hard, bone crunches beneath my palm. He winces, letting out a garbled cry of pain.
“Apologize to her,” I snarl.
The Demon’s black eyes widen before they narrow, and he releases an incoherent slew of what sound like expletives.
I squeeze both his tongue and shoulder even harder, forcing him to his knees. My lips curl in disgust at the drool that pours from his open mouth. Soon, what passes for a garbled apology floats past my ears.
“What was that?” I release his tongue, and the Demon whimpers. My wicked heart soars at how low I’ve brought him, at the embarrassment he suffers at my hands.
Argos deserves worse, and it will come, but for now, I’ll savor this moment.
“I’m sorry,” he says, practically spitting the words like they’re laced with acid.
I squeeze his shoulder again, and he releases a painful groan. “Try again.”
Argos draws in a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”
I nod then I swivel him to face his daughter. “Next.”
“I’m sorry,” he says through gritted teeth.
Isadora’s mouth is pressed into a tight line, but she gives one little curt nod of her head.
My hand still tightly holding his shoulder, I make him face the rest of the room again before I release him. He slouches down a bit, releasing a whoosh of air in relief.
What a fucking fool.
With serpentine swiftness, I reach toward his mouth again. There’s a sickening squelching as I grip tightly and yank, successfully ripping out his tongue.
Startled gasps and shrieks erupt across the room. There’s a thud, and I’m pretty sure someone fainted—Caliste, most likely, judging from the fact the sound came from around Isadora, and she is still standing.
I hold the muscle in my right hand, watching with wicked delight as Argos squirms and squeals like a pig for slaughter. Blood flows freely from between his fingers as he presses his palm to his mouth.
Holding up his tongue, I meet the eyes of every single Demon in that room. “No one is to get him a Healer. Is that fucking understood?”
Soft murmurs of agreement float past my ears, and my gaze flits towards Rhi, her lips twitching as she watches me.
Her eyes find the tongue in my hand, and I fight my own smile as hunger flares within them.
I remember all too well how she ripped out the tongue of her attacker and ate it, right before she devoured him whole.
An idea sprouts in my mind, one I file away for later.
“Get the fuck out of my sight,” I bark at Argos then toss his tongue on the table.
The Demon has the gall to glare up at me before he slowly rises and retreats from the room. I head over to my usual chair at the head of the table.
“If I find out anyone called him a Healer, they will lose their tongue, followed by their eyes, and then their spinal cord. Am I clear?”
A chorus of “yes, Your Majesty,” ripples down the table.
“Good.” I finally sit. “Let’s eat.”
Dinner ends up being a quiet affair, most too stunned or nervous to speak. Indeed, Caliste was the demoness who fainted, and she had been quietly escorted from dinner by her husband and retired for the evening.
Isadora glances up at me every now and then, her mouth fighting an appreciative smile. My own gaze never strays far from Rhi, who makes small talk with Baal across the table.
Suddenly, there is a choking sound, and my head whips up from my plate in panic, my eyes lasering directly on Rhi. Her gaze is drawn to the far end of the table, where Isadora clutches at her throat, face turning an alarming shade of blue.
“Poison!” someone shouts, and I leap from my seat, joined by both Rhi and Baal as we rush over to an asphyxiated Isadora.
“It’s not poison,” Rhi says, and I know she was ready to unmask the monster within her in order to save Isadora, but she points to a bulge in Isadora’s throat.
The demoness looks up at me with wide, frantic eyes, tears pouring from the corners. Had her eyes not been entirely black, they’d certainly be fractured with jagged red lines.
“Move!” a familiar voice shouts, knocking me out of the way.
Another demon, one I wasn’t expecting, moves Isadora from her chair and lays her on the floor. He begins pushing on her abdomen, alternating between pinching her nose and blowing her into her mouth. A cold panic creeps in as Isadora’s flailing slows, as does the rise and fall of her chest.
“Belial…” My voice catches in my throat.
A sheen of sweat glistens along his forehead, his long, dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. Gold eyes flash up at me in warning, and he emits a low growl before he continues trying to resuscitate Isadora.
Rhi grips my hand, her fingers trembling.
“Nick, we’re losing her.”
“I—
Isadora makes a choked, coughing sound beneath Belial’s mouth, and he quickly turns her to her side as she vomits whatever blocked her airway. Gasping for air, she places one hand on the floor to push herself upright as Belial helps guide her.
She shakily wipes the back of her hand over her mouth, and Belial hooks his finger beneath her chin. Isadora swallows, seemingly mesmerized by the Demon holding her stare.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
Isadora nods, and he offers his hand to help her up before turning to me. “There are easier ways to get rid of your betrothed than a public choking.”
I scowl at him, and Isadora yanks her hand from his grasp.
“What?” he says, ping ponging his gaze between the two of us. “You don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors of how smitten you are with your mistress?” His eyes flit to Rhi, giving her a quick once-over before smirking at me. “I can see why, nephew.”
“He didn’t try to kill me,” Isadora chimes in, flustered.
Belial lifts a brow. “Oh, no? Do you normally consume black stones as part of your entree?”
At that, her mouth parts, and I go rigid. In tandem, we stare down at the vomit-soaked floor, and sure enough, sparkling ominously is a smooth black stone.
“Shit,” Baal mutters under his breath.
“Raph?” Isadora pleads, the tremble in her voice sending my stomach to my knees.
“Isadora Argos,” I say, attempting to keep my voice as neutral as possible. “You are one of the seven chosen for The Harrowing. Prepare accordingly. The trial commences in three days’ time.”
Belial balks, his time away from Court clearly showing, as it seems he’d forgotten one of the most nefarious events is going to take place. He glares at me.
“Surely you don’t mean for your Queen to be a contestant?”
I glare back. “Spare me your mock outrage, Uncle. You were never one to concern yourself with Court or realm politics, so why invest yourself now?”
Belial’s mouth parts, but Isadora interrupts.
“This argument is foolish,” she says, drawing her shoulders back. “What better way to prove I am suited for the Throne of Hell than to triumph at the Harrowing?” With that, she raises her chin and glides gracefully from room, effectively dismissing us all.
I resist the urge to smile, and I see Rhi doing the same.
My uncle, however, watches Isadora with interest and something strangely close to respect.
“Everyone out,” he commands after the doors shut behind Isadora. “I would like a word with my nephew.”
The other demons look to me for assurance, and I nod my head.
My uncle’s jaw twitches, no doubt annoyed at being second-guessed.
Despite him not having a desire to rule, our royal blood won’t allow for the notion of being second-best. Still, I am the rightful heir to the Throne of Hell and his King, so he doesn’t press the issue.
Baal moves to escort Rhi, but Belial whips his head in their direction. “Not you.” His golden glare is directly on her.
Again, I give a slight incline of my chin to indicate Baal can leave. Rhi stands rim rod straight, eyes warily watching my Uncle. Not that I assume he kept her behind to harm her, but even if that were the case, I would obliterate him for the mere thought alone—if Rhi doesn’t beat me to it.
Belial places his hands on his hips, and now it’s his turn to bounce his stare between the two of us.
“Raphael,” he addresses me, though he keeps his gaze on Rhi. “When were you planning on telling me your mistress harbors a Scylla?”
Rhi’s jaw drops, and her attention slices to me, but my uncle has already turned his mischievous, inquiring eyes my way. “Or should I call you Nicholas?”