Chapter 34
A Toast to Damnation
K aan
The wedding feast erupts around us with all the restrained elegance of a natural disaster having a midlife crisis.
Demons in formal wear clink glasses filled with what I'm fairly certain is liquefied screaming, while shadow lords discuss the finer points of creative torture techniques over appetizers that definitely used to have names and possibly families.
"Magnificent turnout," Erlik announces, surveying the assembled guests with paternal pride. "I do so love bringing the family together for special occasions."
By "family," he means every nightmare that crawled out of the deeper realms to witness our marital bliss.
The guest list reads like a supernatural Most Wanted poster—succubi in designer gowns that cost more than most kingdoms' annual budgets, incubi whose smiles could charm angels into committing genocide, and various demonic nobility who consider "recreational disembowelment" a legitimate hobby.
"Charming crowd," Banu observes, eyeing a particularly well-dressed demon lord whose horns have been polished to mirror brightness.
"I see the dress code is 'formal damnation with a side of existential dread.
' Should I compliment Lord Sparkle-Horns on his grooming routine, or would that be considered flirting with the damned? "
"Just smile and nod," Emir murmurs, positioning himself protectively near Banu while surveying the crowd. "And try not to insult anyone who could literally eat you for dessert."
"Where's the fun in that?" she retorts, but I notice she moves slightly closer to my general's imposing frame.
Nesilhan stands beside me, her hand resting on my arm with the kind of possessive grace that makes several nearby succubi reassess their evening plans.
The restored blood bond hums between us like a plucked string, carrying her emotions—fascination mixed with horror, curiosity tempered by the growing certainty that we're surrounded by creatures who consider morality a quaint human invention.
Last night's joining restored our connection, but it was careful, tender—nothing like the raw, consuming hunger that's been building in my veins since we arrived in this realm of beautiful corruption.
The very air here whispers dark encouragements, feeds primal urges I've spent centuries learning to contain.
Every time she moves closer, every brush of her skin against mine, makes me want to drag her away from prying eyes and show her exactly how depraved her monster husband can be when all pretense falls away.
"My dear children," Erlik says, appearing beside us with the kind of dramatic timing that suggests he's been practicing in mirrors.
"I simply must give you the grand tour. After all, it's not every day we celebrate a wedding in Kara Cehennem.
The guests are positively dying to show off their favorite haunts. "
"How delightfully fucked up," I reply with the kind of smile that makes reality consider relocating to a different realm.
"Though I should mention that my wife is pregnant, so perhaps we could skip any attractions that involve excessive screaming, creative dismemberment, or recreational soul extraction. "
"Oh, my boy," Erlik chuckles with genuine amusement, "you make it sound so... clinical. This is refined entertainment we're discussing. The screaming is merely the soundtrack to inspired craftsmanship."
"Refined entertainment," Nesilhan repeats faintly, her grip on my arm tightening as a nearby demon demonstrates his "talents" by making a wine glass weep actual tears.
Erlik gestures grandly toward the assembled crowd.
"Allow me to introduce some of our more distinguished guests.
Lady Lilith there—" he points to a stunning demoness whose beauty could start wars and probably has, "—specializes in corrupting the pure of heart.
Very effective work rate. And Count Andromalius—" a tall demon with eyes like burning coals nods politely, "—handles our more. .. intimate interrogation techniques."
"Intimate interrogation," Banu snorts. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
"The little fairy has such lovely manners," Lady Lilith purrs. "I do hope we'll have time to chat later. I'm interested in meeting Nesilhan's... friends."
The way she says ‘'friends'’ makes it sound like she's discussing menu options.
I catch Banu's eye across the crowd of demons, and she raises one eyebrow with that particular smirk that means our earlier conversation is about to pay off. We'd planned this when Nesilhan was resting—Banu cornering me with her usual blend of manipulation and sexual innuendo.
"You should do the Karanlik Ayini for her," she'd said, perched on a windowsill like a particularly vulgar gargoyle. "Show her what all that dark, brooding intensity looks like when you're not just standing around looking constipated with authority."
"I don't look?—"
"Oh, please. You brood like it's an art form.
Very sexy, don't get me wrong, but imagine what she'll think when she sees you actually move those deliciously muscled thighs for something other than intimidation.
" She'd grinned wickedly. "Though I suppose intimidation and seduction aren't mutually exclusive in your case. "
Now, watching the demons circle us with their dark fascination, I give her the slightest nod.
Banu's grin turns absolutely feral. "Oh, this is delightful," she announces loudly, fluttering her wings with theatrical excitement. "Ladies and gentlemen—well, demons and various hellish nobility—we're about to witness something truly spectacular."
"What are you plotting now?" Nesilhan asks, though I can feel her amusement through our bond.
"Not plotting, darling. Enabling." Banu settles onto a nearby pillar with obvious relish. "Your husband is about to perform the Karanlik Ayini —the Shadow Court's traditional groom dance. Very ancient. Very... athletic."
The way she says "athletic" makes several demons lean forward with interest.
"What's the Karanlik Ayini ?" Nesilhan asks, her curiosity spiking through our connection.
"Oh, you're in for a treat," Banu purrs, clearly enjoying herself. "Think of it as... cultural foreplay. With more shadows and dramatically more testosterone."
I give her a look that could melt steel. "Banu."
"What? I'm being educational!" She turns to Nesilhan with mock innocence. "It's a dance that shows strength, heritage, all those deliciously primitive masculine qualities that make women forget their own names. Very traditional. Very?—"
"Very likely to get you murdered if you don't stop talking," I interrupt.
"Promises, promises." She waves a dismissive hand. "Besides, someone needs to explain why half the demon ladies just started fanning themselves."
I look around and notice she's right—several succubi are eyeing me with renewed interest, clearly anticipating some form of exotic entertainment.
"Musicians," I call out with quiet authority, ignoring Banu's theatrical commentary.
From the shadows emerge demon servants carrying traditional instruments—a haunting reed pipe that resembles a zurna, drums that pulse with their own dark heartbeat, and something that looks like a cross between a lute and a weapon of torture.
"Oh, this is even better than I hoped," Banu stage-whispers to Nesilhan. "Live music and everything. I do love a man who comes with his own soundtrack."
The musicians begin, and the ancient melody fills the chamber—haunting, powerful, speaking of mountains carved from midnight and warriors who claimed dominion over darkness itself. The rhythm builds slowly, deliberately, like a heartbeat gaining strength.
I move to the center of the space, and the demon chatter immediately dies. Even Erlik watches with genuine interest now.
"For my bride," I announce formally, my voice carrying over the music. "The Karanlik Ayini of my bloodline."
"Oh my," Banu breathes with obvious appreciation as I begin the opening movements. "Nesilhan, are you taking notes? Because this is definitely going in my personal collection of 'Things That Make Me Reconsider My Taste in Men.'"
The dance begins with the ancient postures—arms raised like wings of shadow, movements sharp and controlled, telling the story of conquest and power. Each step follows the music's rhythm, but there's something deeper here, something that speaks to instincts older than civilization.
My shadows respond to the choreography, writhing around me like extensions of my will. They follow the pattern written into my bloodline, weaving between my limbs as I turn and circle, arms cutting through air with deadly precision.
The music intensifies, and I move with it, the dance becoming more aggressive, more primal. This is the part that speaks of shadow lords who bowed to no one, who carved empires from the bones of their enemies, who loved with the same fierce intensity with which they conquered.
Around the chamber, demons watch in stunned silence. Whatever crude entertainment they expected, this isn't it. This is art and warfare and raw masculine power woven together.
I catch Nesilhan's expression and nearly stumble in the complex footwork.
Her lips are parted, eyes wide with wonder and something much hotter.
She's completely transfixed, watching every movement like she's memorizing it.
Through our bond, I feel her pulse racing, feel the way her breath has quickened.
Beside her, Elcin leans in close and whispers something I can't quite hear over the music. Whatever she says makes Nesilhan's cheeks flush deeper, and a small smile curves her lips even as her gaze never leaves me.