Chapter 6 Rhianelle
No foul beasts or fae disturb our camp near the Red Road.
Even our travel across the Veil through the tunnel in the Ash Tree goes smoothly.
But my relief is short-lived the moment we emerge into the woods on the other side.
A sense of terror grips my heart as I look at the gigantic trees around us.
They’re probably older than the stones of Aelfheim.
The In Between or, as the humans call it, ‘the Devil’s playground.’ No one in their right mind would venture into this forbidden land. Only the Fae Lords occasionally brave the dangers of the forest to claim their mortal mate.
In a few hours, I will meet the person who killed my sister.
I glance at Aelfric and draw my courage from there. If my friend is willing to meet the person who maimed him for life, then I can be brave enough to meet the Demon Lord for the sake of Blaire and Aelfheim.
As if that thought isn’t distressing enough, the atmosphere of the In Between worsens the fear nesting in my chest. The air is dank, heavy with the scent of leaves and earth.
There is no sound from the usual critters of the forest. It’s far too quiet.
Too unnatural. Even Rainer’s Grimsbane appear unsettled.
Not one of us speaks or dares breathe too loudly.
“Where do we go from here?” Tierra says at last. Her long dark hair is braided into locks down her back.
“We follow the crows. They will always fly home to him,” Lord Ctibor answers warily, as if fearful the forest itself would hear.
The murder leads us deeper into the woods where the trees are thicker and denser. I clutch my cloak tighter to fight against the creeping chill.
“It reeks of rotting flesh around here,” Cedwyn whispers in a low voice.
“Do not accost the strange things in the forest lest you want the spirits to follow you,” Eamon chastises, running a hand to smooth his fair blonde hair.
We soon meet the source of the scent of death and decay; a dead Grimsbane hanging on an elm.
I force myself to look at the desiccated body.
He must have died a while ago. Roots and branches encircle his black armor as if the tree itself had killed him.
The sight before us unnerves the rest of the procession moving forward.
Aelfric’s eye scans the surroundings for movement, his shoulders squared tight. “We keep going.” His voice is calm, filling in the heavy quiet.
Balthazar’s lair finally reveals itself the further east we travel.
The sun is high in the afternoon sky, but it fails to penetrate the thick fog surrounding the six-towered castle and its grounds.
A mess of vines and thorny roses wraps around the iron studded gate, as if no one had passed through in years.
“Bold of the Demon Lord to leave his home unguarded,” Garrett muses over the absence of sentries.
“Keep your guards up,” Aelfric says, training his eyes on the gargoyles and statues lining the walls. His ears twitch at the distant beat of hooves galloping towards us.
My body tenses at the incoming danger; a demon riding a black destrier. I fail to understand the need for the stallion when he himself can outrun the beast ten times the speed.
The demon presents himself under the guise of a human with sharp features and a strong jaw.
His obsidian hair is tied to the back of his head in a rough braid.
Dark tattoos run along the side of his temples down to the back of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his black clothes.
He might have been handsome too if I was oblivious to what he had done to my friend.
There’s no mistaking it. This is the demon who drove a dagger into Aelfric’s eye.
Ragnar.
A small price to pay for being able to run with my life, Aelfric had said. I don’t know how much of that was true.
“What business do the elves have with my liege?” the demon asks, tilting his head like a hawk.
“A hope for an alliance,” Tierra answers firmly. “We were told that the Demon Lord is a neutral party.”
The demon’s jaw twitches as he inhales a deep breath. “You have been told wrongly. We owe allegiance to the Eternal Ruler of the Seven Realms, Eirik Bloodhound.”
“But he is open to discussion, is he not?” Eamon says, crossing his arms. “I have a message from the Elders of Aelfheim themselves.”
The demon ignores the commissioner wholly.
“Go fetch your master, you mongrel—”
I raise a hand to silence the infuriated commissioner.
“This is a request for shelter and refuge from the cold winds. Surely you would not turn away a weary guest at your gates?” I ask the male softly.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Rhianelle Wiolant, Queen of Aelfheim,” I answer, lowering my hood to meet his gaze.
His stone-cold face shifts a little and the amber eyes soften.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” the demon bows his head. The overgrowth and roses covering the gate instantly slither away to grant us passage.
My heart stammers as I enter Balthazar’s lair.
We walk past the night-blooming flowers and the well-tended garden.
They are in such contrast to the charred, dark material covering the wall of the castle.
My eyes lift to the Black Rose of Death banner snapping wildly atop the crenellations. That can’t be a good sign…
There have been many names to the realm where the demons come from. Humans call them Hel, Hell, Hella, or the underworld.
We simply call it the Hollow.
Perhaps the door to that place is somewhere here in this compound. None of my retinues dare stride too close to the towering demon guide. I fall into step beside the well-spoken male to dissuade their distrust.
“I’ve long admired your statues and paintings in the human world,” Ragnar says, guiding me through the double-door entrance. “You are as fair as they pictured, Your Highness.”
I feel a flush of warmth on my cheeks. “Those are my mother’s. I am Rhianelle the Second.”
I expected the interior to be grim, like the castle of horror it displayed outside, but Kheirall Balthazar’s home is rather cozy.
“Allow me to get you some refreshment,” Ragnar says, casting a glance over my weary envoy, leaving us in the main hall to rest. I try to read Aelfric’s reaction to the demon who hurt him.
Instead of fear or a fiery wrath, my friend offers to accompany the demon.
I see the rare, sincere smile tugging his lips as if meeting a long-lost acquaintance.
Their good terms surprise me but now that Aelfric’s keen eye is no longer on my back, I take the chance to explore the place.
Brilliant works of art from decades or centuries ago bedeck every corner of the castle.
I meander down the massive stone hallways, marveling at the sculptures of warriors and brutal beasts carved into the dark castle stone itself.
Some of these tapestries and crystal figurines precede my own existence.
Everything is glistening and polished to perfection.
My eyes glance over a painting of the Nightwalker court on the high ceiling. Most of the vampires perished after their war with us.
Every manner of debauchery and horror of their empire is depicted in great detail.
The artwork becomes more macabre the longer I walk down the passageway.
I follow the paintings until they reach the end of the path to a silver ornate door.
The illustration should continue in the next room.
It’s unlocked and slightly open. I push the slab without thinking, the rug covering the floor muffles my footsteps as I enter.
I suck in a startled breath as I look at two people lying on a dark scarlet chaise. It’s not their wings, tail or horns that drive this nervous feeling in my gut. My eyes fall over the place they are joined as he pounds into her relentlessly.
Gods help me. I’ve interrupted a demon love-making session.
It’s such an unholy sight, but I can’t look away. Neither of them seems to mind my presence. They’re too busy with each other as he turns her body to drive into her sideways. I watch her futile attempts to escape the hold he has on her thigh.
“Tell me how that feels,” the dark-haired male leans in to whisper in her ear, angling his hips to grind deeper.
“It’s…so good,” the sultry reply from her comes in short gasps. “We have…company.”
“But you like that even better, don’t you? You naughty, naughty girl,” he says in a voice as smooth as velvet, as dark as sin.
A tortured moan escapes her lips when he grips her tail, slamming hard. Her spine arches as her entire body shudders with overwhelming pleasure. I swallow dryly, watching the aftermath of her orgasm wrecking through her.
I don’t know what finally snaps me from my trance, the roaring groan of his release or the sound of his balls slapping on her skin in that final thrust. Either way, I’m free now. I almost turn when my eyes suddenly lock with the beautiful blonde demon in her daze.
“Join us,” she says, reaching for me with her hand. Wispy tendrils of her power surround me, coaxing me to go to them.
Ummm…nope.
She tilts her head, confused.
“I said come to me,” she commands more forcefully.
Ribbons of her strange magic attempt to pull me again. I shrug it off as my eyes frantically look for an escape. The female demon shivers, staring at her hand.
“Silka, love?” the winged male asks breathlessly, his face taut with elated exhaustion.
“Something is wrong. It doesn’t work on her…” she mutters, shuddering with a mortified look on her face.
“There you are…” Ragnar says with a long exhale, appearing from the corridor.
“You know I love an audience, but must you bring an innocent elf?” the winged male says sweetly.
The female quivers when he withdraws from her slowly, turning to face us.
He is without a stitch on his body, completely on display for us but that fact doesn’t seem to bother him.
“I thought I made it clear I will only entertain their queen.”