Chapter 1
A Promise Made
Aldric stared at her.
“A princess,” he muttered. “You’re a princess.”
She giggled, curling slightly into the cushions, wings rustling faintly.
“I may have… forgotten to mention that.”
“You forgot?”
“I was going to tell you!” she protested brightly. “Eventually. But then there was the bonding… and the sex… and the soul-crushing emotional growth, and then you left and came back again… things got busy.”
Aldric pinched the bridge of his nose.
Nearby, Nimble, a demon dog that Seraphae got recently, let out a pleased snort and flopped over, all dense muscle and contentment.
“And now,” Aldric said dryly, “your parents, who are royal, I might add are expecting me.”
“Only if you want to come,” she said quickly, pushing herself up onto one elbow. “But you are coming, right? You can’t leave a poor demon princess to face court politics alone.”
He met her gaze, long and steady.
“Yes,” he said at last. “I’m coming. I won’t let you travel alone, my little troublemaker.”
Her smile bloomed.
“And for that omission,” he added calmly, “you are absolutely getting punished.”
A soft giggle escaped her.
Then she smiled, delighted.
“Oh, but Sir Knight… I don’t think I’ll be able to help myself. Maybe some regular spanking would help with my memory?”
He huffed under his breath and turned away.
“Demon. Don’t test me. Now, what does one wear to a demon royal court? I want to be presentable when I meet your parents.”
She laughed again, warm and musical.
“Oh,” she said, clearly delighted, “I’m so glad you asked.”
He glanced back at her, already suspicious.
“I’ve already handled that,” she continued brightly. “Weeks ago. Your clothes are in the wardrobe.”
Aldric stopped.
Slowly turned his head.
“…Weeks. Hm.”
She only smiled.
He crossed the room and opened the wardrobe, immediately greeted by an assortment of dark fabrics, sharp tailoring, and more than a few aggressively ornamental shoulder pieces.
He picked up one doublet, squinting at the spikes.
“…What exactly did they mean in the letter,” he asked slowly, “by me taming you?”
Seraphae had relocated to a pile of cushions, stretched out comfortably, watching him with open amusement.
“Well,” she said lightly, “I don’t have the best reputation as a princess.”
“Explain.”
She sighed.
“How much do you want to know?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he turned away, crossed the chamber to the wine storage, and selected a bottle without ceremony. He poured with practiced ease, the dark liquid catching the light as it filled the goblet.
Then he walked back to her and pressed it into her hand.
Only then did he look at her again.
“Everything. Spill.”
She took a sip, eyes bright over the rim.
“Oh—my knight… you really do know me so well.”
And so it began.
The babbling.
The drama.
Hands moving everywhere. Wings twitching. Full reenactments complete with exaggerated voices and dramatic pauses.
Aldric listened.
Patiently.
Occasionally, one eyebrow lifted.
Sometimes he nodded.
Once, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Of course that was crude. Telling someone on the first date that their breeches are too low,” he said at one point.
She waved a hand dismissively and barreled on.
“Yes,” he added later, tone flat, “serving someone ribs for breakfast as an apology is an unusual gesture.”
She didn’t slow.
Moments later, he cut in again.
“And yes, that was an overreaction. He should not have taken a sip from your drink. But pulling down his pants? At an official royal dinner? Really?”
Seraphae just grinned and kept talking.
She was relentless.
It wasn’t until she launched into the story of one particularly ambitious suitor, complete with sound effects and a vivid description of flaming swords, that Aldric finally raised a hand.
“We need to take a short pause, Your Radiance, Princess Seraphae of the Velvet Flame.”
She stopped instantly.
Blink.
Then she straightened.
Her posture shifted as if a switch had been flipped, shoulders back, chin lifted, expression smoothing into something cool and imperious. Authority settled over her like a crown.
Aldric had never seen her like this.
“Don’t ever speak to me like that again,” she said, her voice sharp and precise.
His eyebrow rose.
“Or else?”
She held the pose for half a heartbeat longer.
Then it shattered.
She laughed, shoulders shaking, a hand lifting in surrender as the tension dissolved at once.
“Aldric—stop,” she said between laughs. “I’m trying to give you the princess treatment, and you’re making me laugh.”
He watched her for a moment longer than necessary.
“…I never would have pictured you as a princess.”
Her laughter stilled instantly.
“Oh?” Her eyes lit up, curious and delighted. “And why is that?”
He didn’t answer at first.
Just gave her a look.
Then he stepped closer.
“Because… I’d never do to a princess what I’m about to do to you.”
Her breath hitched.
A shiver ran through her, skin glowing faintly.
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
Then he stepped closer.
“Put on something pretty. Surprise me.”
For half a heartbeat, she just stared at him.
Then her grin exploded into something bright and giddy, barely contained excitement dancing in her eyes.
“Ohhh—I love it when you do that.”
She turned, hips swaying with deliberate exaggeration, glancing back over her shoulder as if daring him to look away.
“I can’t believe I met you out there in the fog,” she said softly. “I can’t believe you’re real…”
He chuckled.
Met.
Yes. That was a generous way to put it.
The truth was far less gentle.
He had wanted to kill her the moment he saw her in the Endless Fog.
To the man he had been, she was an abomination.
Demon.
Sin given shape.
Everything he had sworn to erase from the world.
Then they had touched.
And the bond had formed.
A thread between their souls, sudden, undeniable, winding tight and bright, divine. A balance that should not exist, yet did.
He smiled faintly.
A knight sworn to destroy demonkind, bound to a succubus.
Seraphae hummed to herself, tossing armfuls of clothing from the wardrobe in growing disarray. Silks, leathers, lace, discarded without ceremony as she muttered half-formed thoughts aloud.
He remembered how he had tried to resist her.
How she had teased him relentlessly.
The bond made it impossible to strike her.
And she could bind him with her magic at any time.
And she did.
Still he tried to resist.
Because the truth, one he rarely admitted even to himself back then, was that the very moment he had seen her, some deep, instinctive part of him had known.
She was… his type.
Beneath duty and oaths and outrage, something in him was drawn to her.
Her voice.
Her demeanor.
The unapologetic sway of her hips as she moved through the world like it already belonged to her.
Mesmerizing.
He shook his head, a quiet breath of laughter slipping free.
That relentless demon.
His demon.
His Rae.
His thoughts cut short as the wardrobe doors slid open.
She stepped out.
Wrapped in a silk bathrobe, the fabric clinging lazily to curves it had no hope of hiding.
Black fishnet stockings hugged her legs, high heels clicking softly against the floor as she took a step closer.
Her hair spilled loose around her shoulders, eyes glowing gold, a dangerous smile playing on her lips.
She tilted her head, voice dropping into a playful coo.
“These lace panties are being terribly stubborn…” she said sweetly with that innocent pout. “I need your strong hands.”
Whatever else he had on his mind… had to wait.
? ? ?
The next morning, preparations were already underway.
Supplies packed.
Giant coffers hovered near the door. Far too many of them, overflowing with clothes. Silks. Leathers. Lingerie in alarming quantity. Aldric didn’t comment. After all… she liked to switch things up.
He, on the other hand, had very little to pack.
His gaze fell instead on the armor and blade resting nearby.
Demon-forged. Dark. Familiar.
Dreyrath.
The memory came unbidden.
Kael’durith.
The blacksmith.
The one who had given him the armor and the sword.
Freely.
He just asked for one thing in return.
“Rae.”
“Yes, my knight?”
“We need to take a small detour.”
She turned toward him, one brow arching.
“Why?”
“I promised someone a conversation if I returned here.”
“But we’ll be leaving for the palace today,” she said carefully.
Aldric met her gaze, steady.
“Rae… without that blacksmith, I’d be dead.”
She studied him for a long moment.
An exhale.
“Fine. I’ll make the arrangements.” A small, knowing smile bloomed on her face. “But for that, you owe me.”
He was already at her side.
His hand slid into her hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail, pulling just enough to bare her throat.
She purred, the sound low and pleased.
“You need to be careful, princess,” he murmured near her ear. “You’re being quite spoiled.”
Her eyes widened.
Her hands wandered, bold, unrepentant.
“Mmm… and what are you going to do about that?”
Their lips met.
Tongue.
Heat.
When he pulled back, she was breathless.
He stepped away.
Smiling.
And started to pack the armor pieces carefully.
She stared after him, lips parted.
“…Tease,” she muttered.
When the time came they stood before the Crimson Mirror.
All three of them.
Aldric.
Seraphae.
And Nimble, quivering with barely contained excitement, tail wagging so hard his whole body swayed.
Behind them the coffers floated, massive chests, iron-banded and heavy, hovering obediently in the air. Seraphae had enchanted them with a lazy flick of her fingers, as if lifting such weight was a minor inconvenience at best.
Aldric just looked at Nimble.
“No leash?”
“He doesn’t need one. He’s always such an obedient and good boy.”
Nimble preened at that, tail flicking once.
Then her smile faltered, just a touch as she wrinkled her nose.
“I just hope he’ll be all right with the ash of Kael’durith.”
Aldric glanced at her.
“We won’t take long. Promise.”
He reached for her hand.
She squeezed it back, then let him pull her forward.
Together, they stepped through the Crimson Mirror.
Ash greeted them first.