Chapter 6 Rhianelle #2
Ragnar stares at them without feeling. “This is Her Highness, Rhianelle Wiolant the Second, the Elven Queen of Aelfheim.”
The male’s dark eyes lock with mine. There is no introduction needed on his part. I know exactly who he is now. Tall and broad shouldered, Kheirall Balthazar is a demon with the face of an angel.
His eyes blink with surprise as he looks at me. I do my best imitation of Shade’s bored expression as I stare back at him. The muscles of his throat move as he breaks the gaze.
“Will you give me a chance to make myself proper?” he asks, tucking the thin membrane of his wings behind his back. I wonder if he can even fly with those flimsy things.
Ragnar pulls me to the next room, and I follow him without words. I expect him to say something about my trespassing, but he remains silent. The small chamber we enter is full of artifacts far more ancient than the ones before.
“This is the Demon Lord’s private collection from the Nightwalker’s era,” he explains, showing me around. “I thought you might like it since you followed the artwork of Giltar to Kheirall’s playroom.”
I smile and silently thank him for saving me from the awkwardness and bringing me here. I study the golden coins and medals on the mahogany table until a rare painting in a glass-covered case catches my eyes.
It’s a depiction of a woman strapped and suspended with ropes.
Rows of string wrap around her erogenous areas as she hangs helplessly.
The look of arousal on her face causes me to blush harder than the live event I just witnessed.
But the main subject of the painting is really the creature behind her.
“Vampire, the true immortals,” Ragnar remarks, admiring the art with me.
“We have the twin to this painting in Aelfheim,” I mutter quietly. It’s kept in an underground vault away from public eyes because of its obscenity.
“That’s amazing to hear. There aren’t many items that survived the fall of their empire,” he says solemnly. “This is one of the Vampire Generals, Vaughn. His strength is said to have rivaled a Marquis of Hel.”
The information makes me shudder, but I love the passion in Ragnar’s voice and his vast knowledge.
“Some humans still worship the elves to this day for ridding the mortal world of the vampire’s infestation,” he continues.
“The elves may have claimed they’re the victor to that war, but the Nightwalker’s glorious reign didn’t end because of us. It crumbled because of a civil war between their princes,” I say, keeping my voice even.
Ragnar’s eyebrow raises in surprise. “It’s rare to meet someone from Aelfheim who knows the real history instead of the ones altered by your Elders.”
“Truth will always find its way,” I say calmly. I can’t believe I’m having an intellectual discussion with a demon.
“Will you describe the other piece to this one for me? I’d love to add to my studies of the Nightwalker’s Court,” he requests.
If it were anyone else, I would decline. But Ragnar has such a scholarly aura to him that I find myself comfortable narrating the tiniest detail of the salacious art.
“Fae and vampires. They sure know how to party,” Kheirall says, finally joining us.
The demon is dressed in all black, matching the color of his wings.
His dark hair is partially wet, making him appear carelessly beautiful.
The horns, tail, and wings disappear with a wave of his hand.
He looks completely human now under the glamor.
I have pictured this a million times in my head. The moment I confront the person who took my sister from this world. My lips twitch, but the words refuse to come out.
“I apologize for these circumstances. Few people can resist the Baobhan Sith’s temptation. Myself, included,” he says, casting a lazy glance to his partner.
“That was incredibly rude of me earlier,” Silka says with an awkward attempt at a curtsy. The female demon is taller than me, graced with a lithe body and a voice as soft as morning bells. There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes as she tries to seduce me with her strange power once again.
“Silka, enough,” Ragnar chastises. She bites her lip in frustration and looks away.
“Can you blame her for trying?” Kheirall says with a wide grin. The kind of smile that must have brought countless to their knees. “The invitation stands, by the way.”
I say nothing, not trusting the sound of my voice to keep my emotions hidden.
Ragnar seems to read my unease as he clears his throat. “Her court is waiting to meet you in the common hall.“
None of us speak as we descend stairs that eventually lead to two massive oaken doors. They opens to a sitting room, generous with lush velvet chairs and a hearth. Most of the emissaries and Aldarelfs are already comfortably seated.
Aelfric’s face dips into a furious scowl as I slide in between him and Rainer. If only he knew I have paid my price in full for my reckless sneaking.
Kheirall studies his guests with a cool indifference. The Demon Lord of Hel is the youngest to ever hold that mantle. While I struggle with my role as the Elven Queen, he wears his title like a second skin. It’s almost as if he was born into the role.
“I was told you wanted an audience with me,” he says, addressing the Aldarelfs.
“Yes, an alliance.” Lord Ctibor chuckles, but the sound is too nervous for the levity he’s aiming.
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?” Eamon asks, to the point. “We have a proposition from the Aeonians themselves.”
The demons exchange a look with each other. It might be strange to outsiders, but the Elder’s decree comes first, above the queen and all else.
Ragnar nods politely and directs the three Aldarelf to a different hall.
My heart clenches when I see five Maidens of Arawynn in their white hoods tailing behind them.
I feel so useless for not being able to protect the girls.
One of them will be sacrificed to bind the Demon Lord to Aelfheim.
I don’t bother returning Kheirall’s lingering gaze as he leaves.
The rest of us are left in Silka’s company.
The Baobhan Sith is looking at Shade with a certain hunger and desire in her golden eyes.
“Bet you’re handsome underneath that mask,” she whispers to him.
Her cat-like tail caresses his jaw softly.
Too bad for her the Grimsbane is dead inside.
He’s busy drawing a map in his notepad. Aerin once called me a terrible painter, but she should have seen the chicken or griffin this guy is doodling.
I gasp when Garrett suddenly stabs his own thigh with a dagger. “Pain is the only other way to escape her spell if you don’t have the mental fortitude to resist her,” he says to me with a smile. “The last thing we want is an orgy in this room.”
I swallow dryly at his words and dare a glance at my uncle. He has a look as if this whole thing does not deserve his energy. I place my hand on top of his. “I need you to understand that I’m doing this for Blaire. Whatever I do next as well.”
Rainer raises a brow, but his reply is interrupted when Eamon’s voice filters through the hallway. “Do not waste our time! I didn’t know demons speak in riddles like the fae!”
A wide smirk spreads across Kheirall’s face. “We are much more cruel and wicked than they could ever be.”
The look on the Aldarelfs faces as they return into the room says it all. Something must have gone awry in their discussion.
It doesn’t matter.
There is no tell when I move. I am completely forgettable, utterly harmless, so small and insignificant.
In half a heartbeat, I’m in front of the Demon Lord.
It is a fraction of a second too late for Ragnar, for anyone in the chamber, to stop me.
None of them can sense me until my blade is a hair-breadth distance from Kheirall’s throat.
A thick silence permeates the air as I crane my neck to look at the demon right in the eyes.
“What do we have here?” Kheirall says with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Is—is everything all right, Your Highness?” Tierra masters her shock enough to ask.
I don’t answer her, letting the silence resume its hold.
“Silka,” Kheirall calls in a seductive croon. “Add knife-play on the list of things to try, should the queen accept our invitation.”
The Baobhan Sith grins with delight at the promise. Only a demon would think of inappropriate things with a dagger lining his throat.
“I was told that you’d given my sister mercy.” I finally exhale low and deep. “What if I bestow you the same honor right now?”
His smile falls.
Kheirall looks as if I had actually stabbed him with the dagger. Every hint of seduction disappears, and something akin to remorse takes over his expression.
“Leave us,” he demands tersely. His eyes flick to Ragnar, a silent order to lead the others away.
“Rhianelle…” Aelfric cautions, dread lining his usually calm features. He would never call my name without honorifics in public.
“Go,” I tell him, fighting the tightness in my throat.
I give a silent look of apology to Garrett, Darstan, and Rainer as they leave me alone with the Demon Lord from Hel.