Chapter 26 Rhianelle
“Morning, love,” the Demon Lord greets.
It’s almost noon.
Kheirall’s jet-black hair is still mussed from sleep. He is wearing some kind of dark glasses in front of his eyes. I believe it’s a human invention to see better. I can’t for the life of me figure out why he would ever need them.
“We need to talk,” I say, failing to hide the urgency in my voice.
“Can we do it over breakfast? I need coffee,” he asks with a yawn.
His cavalier attitude is unsettling me. But I can’t exactly deny the male food. I bring him to the tables and chairs the Tluryans set beside my tent. Cocoa and caramel syrup is the closest thing we have to what he requested.
“The sun is too bright…” I hear him mutter begrudgingly as he follows me, his steps unhurried.
Aelfric and Darstan maintain a good distance to give us privacy. I know they’re closely monitoring the demon’s movements.
“Kheirall…” I frown as I eye him.
The corner of his mouth curls up. “Say that again.”
I tilt my head in confusion.
“That’s the first time I heard you say my name,” he says with a wide grin. “I think I quite like hearing it from your lips. Though flirting with a married woman is a new low, even for me. Unless the vampire agrees that sharing is a virt—”
“I need to tell you something about last night,” I interrupt him.
A sympathetic look suddenly casts upon his face. “Ah…was he that terrible in bed?”
If I didn’t have to maintain the eloquent High Elf appearance, I would have glared at him. Svenn was a god. In fact, I’m still reeling from the blinding pleasure he gave me.
“He’s great—” I stop myself from falling to Kheirall’s bait.
He gives me another honeyed smirk. “So, where is he?”
“I think he’s trying to find you.” More like hunting him.
“Good thing I didn’t come home last night. Slept over at Lola’s coven,” Kheirall says, stretching like a lazy cat.
A crow swoops down and sings its report to Kheirall. He strokes the bird’s head and dismisses it. “Yeah, he’s in my castle now. Let Ragnar deal with him,” he says with a low chuckle.
I don’t understand how the demon is not taking this seriously. I can still remember the death rattle he made when the vampire tore his collarbone. His wings still sag a little loose.
A sudden guilt fills my chest over the violence that followed Svenn’s release. “Let me have a look at that.”
The demon’s expression changes slightly into something tender. “Save your energy for the long ride home, sweet queen. I will heal.”
I feel a shiver from him when my fingers touch the inside of his delicate wing. Demons have a higher core temperature than elves, almost feverish.
“Sit still. I need to focus,” I say, channeling whatever blessings I have left. I’m a terrible healer, but his ligaments are slowly mending with the favors from Anastarros.
Kheirall sets his gaze on my wrists. It’s a shame I can’t exactly tell the thoughts camouflaged behind those lenses.
“Hey, you used my wedding gift,” he says with a smile that is nearly angelic. “The rope wasn’t meant for you, love. Vampires sometimes get out of control when they feed or fuck.”
“Please listen,” I say, lowering my head closer to him to whisper. “Can we annul the marriage?”
“The human part? He arches a dark brow. “Easily done. But I thought there are no take backs for your Arawynn bond.”
“Is there any way you can reverse it?” I ask, my lips trembling. “Whatever was transferred to me isn’t just some ordinary binding spell.”
I finally commandeer the Demon Lord’s full attention and he takes off the silly dark glasses. Kheirall presses his hand against my belly over the marking.
His eyes go entirely white.
My knights step forward to defend me. Aelfric is seconds away from digging his sword into Kheirall’s throat.
“Stand down. It’s fine,” I tell Aelfric and Darstan. They both sheath their weapons at my command and step back.
Kheirall looks as if he’s about to hurl his stomach contents.
The Demon Lord curses low under his breath. He slams his key to the ground, creating a force field around us. The air buzzes with electrical energy.
“Queen Rhianelle,” Kheirall exhales, his face darkening. “This is a terrible mistake.”
I know. I know. I know.
“That creature is not merely an old vampire. Your Svenn was not turned.” I watch the audible swallow of his throat. “He is one of the Strigons, the True Sires of all vampires.”
Like Ruthvenn and Vlad. The Princes of the Nightwalker Empire.
“That’s not the worst of it all.” Kheirall’s voice turns ominous. “It would mean the curse we moved to you is the Rhunhraefn. The first black magic practiced on the face of this earth.”
I’ve seen the ritual through that strange dream. Five mortal souls who were damned to suffer their eternity as the living dead.
“Careful, Your Highness. A curse that powerful is known to influence the bearer,” the demon mutters darkly. “The thing is trying to inch its way into you. Can’t you feel that?” Wispy black tendrils of the Rhunhraefn are moving towards Kheirall from my stomach. “Look. It’s even reaching out to me.”
I slap the curse to snap out of it.
The Demon Lord’s breathing goes still as he looks at me. “What are you?”
“Kheirall…” I plead to him again desperately. I don’t know who else to turn to.
The demon continues to watch me with a hint of fascination in his eyes.
“About Svenn…”
He shakes his head from his trance. “Yes, about the True Sire. Are you still planning to use him against the fae?”
“I don’t—”
“Here’s my calling card. Summon me after your vows are fulfilled. I will raise the other Lords of Hel to help me.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll take care of him for you,” he says in an eerily calm manner.
My heart stammers. “You mean to kill him?”
“Yes, we will try.” The demon runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t make any promises, Your Highness.”
My heart jumps to my throat. This is not what I expected.
“It took the betrayal of another Vampire Prince who sacrificed himself to seal Vlad the Impaler. Ruthvenn’s descendants still roam the human world freely, meaning the fucker is very much alive and well.
The other princes were lost to history until you found one.
” His dark eyes meet mine. “There is no known method to kill them.”
“No, I won’t let you harm him.” I shake my head, backing several steps from the demon.
Kheirall reclaims the distance between us with little effort. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t free that monster into the world.”
But Svenn doesn’t want to be free. He wants to be human. I hope Kheirall can’t read the vow tattooed on my hand. There’s no way I can trust him with this information. I’ve turned to the wrong person for help.
Stupid, stupid me.
I search frantically for a way out of his barrier, like a trapped rat.
“Take my card, at least. You may need it.”
The paper appears in my hand magically. I rip it to pieces and cast them to the ground.
Kheirall seems darkly amused. “What was that for?”
“You’re trying to kill my husband,” I say exasperatedly.
“Husband?” He gives a disbelieving grunt. “You didn’t even know the guy before last night.”
The card reappears in my palm unscathed. “What is this trick? I—I don’t want it.” I shake my head.
“Just take it—”
“I’ll take that.” A cold, smooth voice interrupts us. “I’ll call you myself.”
The air shifts completely with Svenn’s sudden appearance. Kheirall’s shield shatters into pieces of glass before disintegrating into the air.
My breath catches at the back of my throat at the sight of him.
His intense features somehow become astounding in the light of day.
He has tamed his long hair neatly, leaving the temples with sheared with fades.
The freshly clipped hair makes him appear more menacing than before.
Every nerve in me becomes attuned to his presence.
But he doesn’t spare me a single glance. All his wrath is directed to the Demon Lord.
“What did you do?” he asks, slamming Kheirall against the tree. The rest of the words come out in a strange ancient tongue as the pendant can’t keep up.
The Demon Lord replies something back to him. His hand snaps to throttle Kheirall’s throat over the answer.
“I might have failed to mention a few things but at least you’re out of that dungeon,” the demon says carelessly.
“I’d rather stay there!” A ferocious growl erupts from Svenn. His voice darkens to a dangerous edge.
“You’re fucking free now, dammit!” Kheirall shrugs.
The Demon Lord doesn’t understand. This isn’t freedom. It’s servitude. The Arawynn vows meant nothing the moment I conveniently inherited the Rhunhraefn.
With a single order…
No.
With just a simple thought I can bend this vampire to my will. I shudder at the complete dominion I have over Svenn. The whole thing must seem like a betrayal to him.
His grip tightens, cutting off Kheirall’s air supply. The demon’s pet crow caws in distress, fearing for its master’s life.
“Svenn!” I call to him.
His punishing gaze turns to me. The intensity of that stare freezes me in place. His jaw is set, as if the very sight of me disgusts him.
I search for traces of the man I met yesterday, the one who holds me like I’m the most precious thing in the whole world.
“I’m going to keep my promise.” It’s the only thing I can think to say.
“The elven marriage bond, Arawynn, or whatever the hell this is… it means nothing, and you know it,” he rasps, his voice strained. The skin over the vow on his wrist is red and raw. It looks as if he tried clawing it away.
I reach for his hand to heal it, but he recoils from my touch. This hurts more than I thought it would.
Look at him…cowering before us like a broken dog. One of the curse’s vessels laughs in my ear. I shove her into another casket next to Lilith. A warning to the rest of them in case they try to speak again.
Svenn glances at me and frowns, as if he is waiting for something. I release a shaky breath when he removes his sharp gaze.
“This isn’t over,” he snarls at the demon before stalking off towards the trees.
“Are you alright?” I ask Kheirall after a while.
“I’m fine.” He offers me a pained smile.
The demon is definitely not fine. I touch the red markings on his neck to restore him. Weariness begins to seep into me. I’m running out of blessings.
We both turn at Ragnar’s approach.
“What’s up with the buzzed hair?” the Demon Lord asks his second. “You gave him an asshole’s haircut.”
“He recognized the style from the human’s viking age,” Ragnar says easily. “It’s the least I can do for the guy in exchange for—”
Kheirall’s crow continues its harsh crying, flying to perch on his shoulder.
“Kevin says we don’t have a home now. What the fuck does that even mean?” Kheirall narrow his eyes.
“The vampire… Svenn destroyed half of the castle,” Ragnar reports in a level, calm tone.
“What?”
“Don’t panic. Your libraries and books are safe,” the Berserker adds quickly. “I traded them for the haircut.”
“Some bargain you made there.” Kheirall exhales.
“And, also, for your life. He was going to rip off your head.”
“Did he hurt you?” The tone in Kheirall’s voice swiftly changes.
“He saw my slave brand and went easy on me,” Ragnar says, lifting his sleeve to show the faded scar on his forearm. A demon could have healed that burn easily. This marking must have been done during the time he was human.
“I guess it’s inappropriate to call him a Nightwalker now.” Ragnar stares into the woods before turning to me. “I was worried something had happened to you.”
His concern for me is heartwarming.
One of Eamon’s Valorians interrupts me before I can reply to him.
“We are ready for you, Your Highness. Your judgement awaits.”