Chapter 2 #3
Nods were exchanged around the table, subtle and practiced, and the moment naturally slid into eating.
The women went for the fruit at once. Bowls of jewel-bright slices, sugared berries, and delicate confections that fizzed faintly with enchantment.
Light, bubbly wines followed, laughter rising with each sip.
Now and then, one of the sisters would abandon restraint entirely, pouncing on a pastry with visible delight, eyes gleaming as if she’d won a private victory.
Aldric and Goroth had different priorities.
Meat.
Thick cuts, slow-roasted and lacquered in dark glazes that clung to the knife.
No salads. No greens. None of that nonsense.
Just two men doing what needed to be done.
Carving, tearing, and eating with focused intent.
Demon mead flowed freely, helping larger mouthfuls go down, the clink of heavy goblets punctuating their quiet approval.
For a time, the table split.
Fruit and laughter on one end.
Steel appetites and satisfied silence on the other.
And somehow, it worked.
Then, inevitably, it began.
The talking.
Goroth leaned back in his chair and huffed.
“The government is a mess.” He waved a thick hand dismissively. “Did any of you hear the dignitaries earlier today? Hellfire. Mauzelion and Ushkar could talk for days and the problem would still be there when they finished.”
The queen and daughters said nothing. They behaved as if engaging would only encourage him.
Seraphae rolled her eyes so hard Aldric was surprised they didn’t get stuck.
“Dad,” she said flatly, “you are the government.”
“That’s beside the point, Saphie,” Goroth growled.
“Demons and the branded pay their taxes, and nothing ever gets done. Beast clearings throughout the main roads are supposed to happen biweekly, yet I hear it’s closer to once a month.
It’s bureaucracy from the top down. Endless parchment. Endless delay.”
Seraphae made an exaggerated sound of frustration.
“Then change it. You’re the king.”
Goroth scowled into his goblet.
“I can’t. That’s how the system works. My hands are tied.”
Seraphae stared at him in disbelief.
Then, with visible effort, she followed her mother and sisters’ lead and said nothing at all.
Goroth continued.
Aldric listened in silence, stunned and smiling faintly to himself.
The complaints, the eye rolls, the practiced restraint of the women at the table… it all felt strangely familiar.
He had seen this before. Princesses, queens, ladies of court rolling their eyes while men talked endlessly about war and hunting, about the strength of their liqueur or, if the night dragged on, duels, gambling, and the other favored vices of men.
He smirked.
Different realm. Different species.
Same frustrations.
When there was a lull, he spoke.
“I am curious about something.”
Every head turned.
“How does governance actually function here?” Aldric continued carefully. “Is there an emperor above the throne? Or…”
The silence fell like a blade.
No clinking cutlery.
No breathing.
Goroth went very still.
For a heartbeat, Aldric thought he had miscalculated.
Then the king slammed both massive forearms down onto the table.
Plates rattled.
Goblets jumped.
“Are you sure,” Goroth rumbled, voice low and dangerous, “you want to go there?”
A pause.
Then, quieter. Sharper.
“Now is the time to choose your words carefully. Knight.”
Next to him, Seraphae shook her head just slightly. Her mother did the same. Her sisters followed suit, seven identical expressions of this is a bad idea.
Aldric met Goroth’s gaze without flinching.
“Yes.”
Another heartbeat passed.
Then Goroth leaned forward and exploded.
Not in fury.
But enthusiasm.
“Finally! Praise the gods!” Goroth barked. “Someone asks the right questions.”
He made a broad gesture, already reaching for the decanter of demon liqueur and pouring himself a generous measure.
“What does governance really mean in this realm one might ask?”
Then he launched into it like a storm breaking loose. Hands moving, voice rising and falling, words tumbling over one another without pause.
“First, the emissaries from each land gather proposed improvements for their regions. Sounds reasonable, doesn’t it?” He snorted. “There are at least a dozen trade councils that haven’t convened properly in centuries. Oh—speaking of which…”
He trailed off abruptly.
“Clement!”
The steward appeared at his side instantly.
“Notify Azrael, Mihrull, and Felzar that they are expected at the morning audience. If they fail to appear, they know what consequences await them.”
Clement bowed and hurried off.
Goroth leaned back in his chair, satisfied.
“Old methods are the most effective. Threaten someone with flogging followed by a mandatory salt bath.” He paused, savoring it. “Very effective.”
He resumed his rant without missing a beat.
All the women at the table groaned in perfect unison.
Goroth didn’t notice.
He pointed at Aldric.
“In your empire, you deal with similar nonsense. But here?” He scoffed. “The treaties are written so vaguely they mean nothing. Power gets diluted through committees until no one is accountable for anything.”
Aldric raised a brow, the obvious question hanging between them.
“Then why—”
“Why not change it?” Goroth cut in.
Aldric nodded.
“Simple.” A dramatic pause. “Don’t fix something that isn’t broken.”
Aldric frowned.
He was about to speak when Seraphae leaned in.
“Don’t. Encourage him. If you interrupt, he’ll talk all night.”
Goroth, indeed, kept going.
“It’s brilliant, really,” he growled, rising from his chair and beginning to pace. “Corrupt. Bloated. Inefficient. But the drama of it all?” He spread his arms wide. “Magnificent.”
He scoffed, then grinned, sharp teeth flashing.
“I hate it. Every. Single. Day… And I can’t get enough of it.”
Aldric sat speechless as Goroth took a smug sip of his liqueur.
Then Lillith decided to go rogue.
“Dad?”
Goroth’s attention snapped to her at once.
“Yes, my dear?”
She smiled sweetly. Innocently.
“Explain one matter to me. Why anyone can’t just become king.”
The table went still.
Her sisters and her mother turned toward her in perfect unison, eyes blazing with silent fury.
Lillith only giggled and took a leisurely sip of her wine.
Goroth, meanwhile, nodded slowly.
“Ah. An excellent question.”
And then he was off.
He spoke of ancient rites carved into the bones of the land itself. Of bloodlines tested not by birth alone, but by endurance, will, and survival. Of heritage bound to territory, oaths sworn to the realm, and trials designed to break the unworthy.
“Being someone’s son means nothing here,” he growled, jabbing a finger against the table. “Power is taken, proven, defended. A crown isn’t inherited.”
Politics followed.
Old rebellions.
Failed claimants.
Kings who ruled for days before being devoured by their own courts.
Lillith smiled wider with every word.
Aldric watched it all in quiet disbelief.
When Goroth paused only to breathe, Aldric leaned toward Seraphae.
“Is this… normal?”
She nodded calmly.
“Shockingly relaxed.”
He glanced back at the table.
“How so?”
She sighed.
“Usually when Dad gets this excited, he slams his fists so hard the table breaks apart. Enchanted or not.”
A pause.
She looked to the side, coy.
“I’m sorry. My family is… messy.”
Aldric chuckled softly.
“I like it.”
She blinked.
“Really?”
“Yes. This is… a pleasant evening.”
Seraphae stared at him, then smiled.
Across the table, Goroth was now arguing loudly with Zira about marital rights, land claims, and whether tradition outweighed personal choice.
The night stretched on.
And somehow, amid the chaos, Aldric found himself exactly where he wanted to be.
Seraphae’s sisters lounged back in their chairs, rolling their eyes in synchronized boredom. Thalyn traced idle patterns in her sauce. Vaeris stacked slices of fruit into a precarious tower. Seraphae herself poked at her food, chin propped in her palm, clearly fighting the urge to yawn.
Goroth, oblivious or pretending to be continued, this time on trade treaties.
“And the spice treaties alone are a nightmare,” he rumbled. “Three signatures required, five witnesses, and a council vote that never aligns. You’d think regulating ember-root imports would be simple, but no—”
He finally paused to take a long pull from his goblet.
That was when Kaela leaned forward, eyes bright with sudden interest.
“So,” she said sweetly, cutting through the lingering echo of policy and parchment, “how did you two meet?”
Every sister snapped to attention.
Seraphae froze.
Aldric blinked once. Then smiled.
“Well,” he began, glancing at Seraphae, “it started with me entering the Endless Fog.”
The girls leaned in.
“I went to find her… and kill her.”
A ripple of delighted gasps went around the table.
“Gods,” Nyxelle whispered, eyes wide. “A true enemies-to-lovers story.”
Nyssara nodded eagerly.
“Shh. I want to hear everything.”
Aldric went on.
He spoke of the hunt. Of how Seraphae evaded him, taunted him, teased him…
ahem… persistently. He was mindful to leave plenty of details out of this version of the story.
Primarily because of the audience present.
And because her father had a well-earned reputation for destroying things. And people.
“And then,” Aldric said, voice steady, “we touched. And the bond was born.”
Silence.
Then.
Sparkling eyes.
Soft sighs.
Seraphae blushed, just a little.
“Oh, that is so cute,” Vaeris groaned. “I want that.” She paused, thoughtful. “Saphie… where was that lair of yours?”
Elathiel’s gaze sharpened instantly.
“You are staying here, Vaeris,” the queen said calmly. “You still have plenty of suitors you haven’t met.”
“But mo—”
“Shh,” Kaela hissed. Then, turning back to Aldric with a smile, “Please, continue.”
He spoke of suspicion. Of being bound together by something neither of them fully understood at the time.
Across the table, Goroth stared into his dark demon liqueur, swirling it slowly as if it held answers he wasn’t ready to confront.