Chapter 2
Politics, Demons and Family
As Seraphae marched ahead, Aldric followed a step behind, dust-streaked, sweat-damp, muscles still humming with the echo of steel.
“I’m sorry,” she said, breaking the silence. “I forgot to warn you.”
He rolled one shoulder, testing it. Still there.
“Dad always does this. To every one of our boyfriends.” She winced. “Well… we thought he stopped for good a few decades ago after he broke Lerrick’s pelvis.”
Aldric blinked.
“Who’s Lerrick?”
“That’s not important right now,” she said quickly. “Aldric, please focus.”
“I am focused. That’s why my shoulders are still attached to my body. Gods, your dad swings like a battering ram. Parrying that head-on is not an option.”
Once they were far enough from the dungeon, she stopped.
Turned.
And kissed him.
Hard.
Then she pulled back, eyes bright.
“I think they like you. My whole family.”
He frowned slightly.
“Your mother and sisters, I understand. But your father? You were furious with him five minutes ago.”
She waved a hand, utterly unconcerned.
“Oh, that’s in the past.”
A breath.
“He likes you.”
“How do you know?”
“That last grunt.”
He raised a brow.
She continued.
“I’ve only heard it once in my life.”
Silence followed.
Aldric waited for the story.
None came.
He didn’t push.
He looked at her instead. Leaned in. Kissed her.
Then his attention snapped.
He couldn’t hear the familiar panting at their heels.
“Where’s Nimble?”
“Don’t worry. He’ll be back by the end of the day. Or night. Or dawn. Demon dog thing. They have to smell the entire palace before they’re satisfied.”
Then she guided him out.
They left the dungeon and made their way through the palace.
After twelve staircases, two cavernous halls, and one very deliberate shortcut Seraphae insisted on, purely so she could be pressed flush against Aldric in a narrow stone passage, they finally arrived.
The grand hall.
And that was when the surprise landed.
A royal steward stepped forward and cleared his throat. He was thin and immaculately groomed, a waxed mustache curled just so above his lip, eyebrows drawn into deliberate, razor-fine arches that never seemed to move.
“Your rooms have been prepared.”
Seraphae smiled.
Then froze.
“…Rooms?” Her head snapped toward the steward. “Oh hellfire. You are joking, Clement. He still did not change those damned laws?”
Clement bowed his head respectfully.
“No, Your Radiance. The king did not.” A pause. “You will have your old chambers restored,” he continued carefully, “and you, sire, will be housed in the east wing. The view of the valley is spectacular if I may add.”
Seraphae’s eyes narrowed to glowing slits.
“That is the furthest possible point from my room in this entire cursed palace. Did my father put you up to this?”
Clement said nothing.
Her aura flared.
Sharp, dangerous, unmistakably royal.
Clement folded at once.
“Your Radiance, please, I am only a servant. Yes. Your father requested this arrangement.”
Aldric furrowed his brows as he looked at her.
“Why do we need separate rooms? Your parents aren’t oblivious. You’re a succubus. I’m your bonded. They know we’re… close. And you can’t feed on others.”
Seraphae groaned.
“Yes, of course they know,” she said, rubbing her temples. “It’s just that my father is—”
“Stubborn,” Aldric supplied.
She shot him a look.
“Yes. That.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I’m starting to see a pattern.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“He refuses to change the ancient laws of the palace. And according to them, no unmarried pair may sleep together under this roof.”
Aldric turned to her.
“We’ll be okay… sweetness.”
She giggled, the tension easing from her shoulders in an instant.
He leaned in and kissed her, gentle and brief, a promise rather than a protest.
“I’ll see you soon.”
She nodded.
A small smile lingered on her lips as she watched him.
Then Aldric turned back to Clement.
“Which way is the east wing?”
Clement blinked.
Then bowed.
“This way, sire.”
They walked.
Chamber after chamber.
Corridors stretched ahead.
The walls lined with old paintings. Aged frescoes and oil works framed in obsidian and gold. Demons dominated most of them. Kings. Queens. Battles rendered in ash and flame. And in some—
“Humans?” Aldric asked, slowing.
Clement inclined his head.
“Indeed, sire.”
Aldric studied the figures more closely. Men and women in armor unlike any he’d seen in Isendor’s halls. Banners unfamiliar. Crowns shaped differently. A shared space, not conquest.
“What you are looking at,” Clement continued, “is what once was. Eons ago. The Old Kingdom. Aylindor.”
Aldric frowned.
“I’ve never heard of it. I’ve been taught that humankind colonized these lands and founded Isendor. That demonkind tried to usurp the land and drown humanity. There is no mention of Aylindor, at least not to in Isendor archives.”
Clement stopped walking.
He turned to Aldric.
“Sire,” he said carefully, “may I be bold?”
Aldric nodded.
“Please.”
“Your kind’s average lifespan is, give or take, a hundred years. Yes?”
“Correct.”
Clement folded his hands behind his back.
“Higher demonkind live at least two thousand years. Some far longer. Our history, our culture, has endured long enough that records remain of shadows that once walked these lands. Horrors beyond comprehension. Things that were driven back. Defeated. Some forced into hiding.”
Aldric listened without interruption.
“Aylindor was known as the Old Kingdom,” Clement went on. “It fell slowly. Over time. Greed. Division of humankind and demonkind. Pride. No one remembers who struck first, or what exact spark ignited the collapse. But this much is known, your forefathers created the Inquisitors.”
He paused and let his gaze drift to an oil painting with faded edges. It depicted a curved blade driven deep into a pitch-black rock veined with pale, pearlescent streaks.
Clement sighed.
“There is a record describing what five full battalions of Inquisitors did to the settlements they encountered.”
Aldric’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly.
Five battalions.
That much power.
He shuddered inwardly at the thought. In the present age, only three Inquisitors were permitted to exist at any given time.
“After that,” Clement continued, “demonkind responded swiftly. We withdrew. Cut off the majority of our kin from human settlements entirely. What you now call the Demon Wastes were once simply the Black Wastes of Nareth. A place of exile.”
They resumed walking.
“To prevent further slaughter, the gods raised the Endless Fog. Yet the slaughter did not stop on the human side.”
He walked a few steps in silence before continuing.
Aldric’s expression tightened slightly.
“The Red Plague.”
Clement nodded, as if expecting the reaction.
“Yes. The Inquisitors. The ritual made them powerful. Exceptionally so. Stronger than ordinary men. Resistant to control. Able to stand against demons and things far worse. It expanded their lifespan… almost to that of a higher demon.”
He hesitated.
“But the rite had a flaw. They became… open,” Clement continued carefully.
“Curious. Creative. The ritual sharpened their minds as much as their bodies. They began questioning doctrine. Adapting. Changing. Some even started to… interpret divine will in ways the Order had never intended.” His voice lowered.
“And for a time… humankind was drowned in blood. The period you now know as the Red Plague.”
Aldric’s jaw tightened.
“Some Inquisitors were lured and placed into hibernation through powerful magic,” Clement went on quietly. “Others were slaughtered… but the casualties were immense. Cities burned. Kingdoms fell. Entire regions were left barren.”
He walked a few more steps.
“Then… after nearly three centuries… the Red Plague finally ended. The number of Inquisitors in Isendor since then has always been three. Not by coincidence… but by necessity. Killing three Inquisitors requires at least ten thousand men.”
Silence followed.
“Since then, the world has remained… at peace, at least until the next era begins.”
Their footsteps echoed through an empty stretch of corridor.
Aldric absorbed the words in silence, unease stirring at the mention of the Inquisitorial arm, of it’s history, of oaths he once would sworn without question.
After a moment, he spoke.
“How do you know all this?”
“Every demon does. The history of this world is the bedrock of our existence. We are taught it early.” He glanced ahead, expression thoughtful.“Knowing the past, is how we avoid repeating it. At least… we hope so.”
Aldric nodded slowly.
The paintings seemed heavier now as they walked past them.
Finally, they stopped before an ornate door of dark timber, its frame carved with intricate etchings that had softened with age but not lost their intent.
Clement gestured inside with a small bow.
Aldric stepped in.
His coffers were already there, neatly arranged. A wide stone bathtub occupied one corner of the room, steam curling lazily from its surface.
“The dinner will be served in three hours,” Clement said. “I hope you will enjoy your stay.”
Aldric nodded.
The doors closed behind him with a soft, final sound.
He exhaled.
The chamber was pure luxury, more than he’d ever imagined. The bathwater was already warm, enchanted to the perfect temperature.
He smiled to himself.
Moments later, he sank into the tub, muscles finally loosening as the day caught up with him. He leaned back and turned his gaze toward the wide window overlooking the valley.
Night was slowly settling in.
Violet and deep crimson hues painted the sky, the land below glowing softly as lanterns flickered to life among the gardens and vineyards.
His eyes drifted to his shoulder.
The demon brand was still there.
Incomplete.
Questions lingered, but not tonight.
For now, he allowed himself to rest.
He closed his eyes.
The peace didn’t last long.
A faint squeak made him open them again.
He turned his head toward the window.
And there she was.
Seraphae.
Already halfway inside, moving with all the subtlety of a cat that very much wanted to be seen.