Chapter 50
Aryana
Aryana walked into the throne room, Zarathos at her side.
“I remembered my true name,” he said to her.
Her eyes widened. “You did?”
He nodded. “Rumpelstiltskin.”
Her nose wrinkled, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“You don’t like it?”
“It will take some getting used to.”
“Gresil called me Rumpel most of the time.”
“Do you want me to call you that?”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’m used to being called Zarathos. It would be strange to change it now. But I still wish to claim it somehow.”
The throne room was vast and dark. A throne made of bones sat at its center. Shadows seemed to dance in the corners, alive with whispers and unsettling echoes.
The healing potion she’d taken had gone into effect immediately for her, returning feeling to her limbs.
But Zarathos had been much more injured than her, and he was still mending.
But she knew better than to offer him assistance.
Right now, he needed to look like he was capable of being the king he was.
He turned toward a soldier, awaiting orders. “Search anyone who enters. Ensure they are who they say they are.”
“Yes, sire,” he said.
Marbas returned from his task and, after being searched, bowed. “Are you sure this is the right path forward, Your Majesty? You’re rewarding these rebels.”
“I’m remedying a grave error made by myself and the kings before me,” Zarathos said. “Today is a day for rectifying mistakes.” He nodded to Aryana, handing her the scepter. “Go sit on the throne.”
She stared at him in surprise. “But you’re the arch king.”
“And you’re the demon arch queen. You saved this kingdom. You are their ruler, and everyone who walks through that door will know that.”
She held the scepter in her hands, feeling its power flow through her. “What did you mean earlier? About me being able to wield this?”
“Only royalty can use the scepter. Long before now, I’d acknowledged you as my queen and the scepter responds to that.”
She took his hand, and they proceeded to the throne. Zarathos grabbed the side of it, strain on his face. She spun to look at him. “Are you certain—”
“Sit, Vampress.”
She sat down, a wave of relief washing over her—light, quick, and overwhelming. They had survived. Both of them. It felt like a miracle.
“When all of this is behind us,” she said softly, “we should have a ball. Celebrate everything we’ve made it through.”
“What? A celebration that’s not about flaunting power and gloating over our victory against the other demon kingdoms?”
“I didn’t say it can’t have multiple purposes.”
He smirked. “You have yourself a deal.”
Marbas and members of the council searched those who entered—soldiers, other members of the council, and shapeshifters. The shapeshifters, who were dressed as guards, were not bound, and they watched Zarathos carefully. One walked up to him. “You said that you will grant us our own nation?”
“Yes, if you swear you will never again decide to overthrow me or the demon alliance.”
He pressed his lips and walked over to the other shapeshifters and began to converse. Some started arguing.
Marbas stepped up next to Aryana. “The human Neri attempted to escape out the window, however when she tried to descend the castle, she slipped and impaled herself on one of the spires.”
Aryana didn’t care about Neri one way or another, but she had wanted to pass judgment on the one who had so fully upended Aryana’s life. Then again, perhaps this end was more appropriate than anything she could provide. “Thank you for informing me,” she said.
Marbas bowed low. “Your Majesty, forgive me for doubting you. I was wrong to assume you’d get my master killed.”
“You were only trying to protect him,” she replied. “I can’t fault you for that.”
“Thank you,” he said with another bow. “I hope to prove my loyalty to you in time.”
“Keep fighting for him. That’s all the proof I need.”
“Yes, my queen.”
“Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet,” Zarathos cut in, his gaze sharp. “Loyalty to me from this moment on means loyalty to Aryana.”
She shot him a look, her heart lifting despite herself. He always had to have the last word.
Marbas gave a final nod. “Yes, master.”
The argument among the shapeshifters grew more intense.
“I need to speak with them,” Zarathos muttered, and then straightened his shoulders, which had slumped a bit, and stepped forward.
He cleared his throat and the shapeshifters turned to look at him.
“I know you are uncertain, maybe even angry about my victory today. My father and the demon kings before this have delivered nothing but death and destruction upon you. And I, in years past, helped them do so. I thought he succeeded. That you were gone, and I alone was left. The sole half-incubi who had to hide who I was for fear of being destroyed along with the rest of you. And in that isolation, and fear, and hiding, I finally realized that my father was wrong. I deserve to exist.” He pushed a fist to his chest. “I from this point forward shall be known as Zarathos Rumpelstiltskin, the demon arch king.”
The shadows swirled freely through the room, bursting around him, gathering at his feet.
He stepped forward, motioning to those who stood before him.
“And just as I deserve to exist, you deserve to exist, free of fear and death. I shall grant that to all demons. And I grant you your own kingdom—independent of the demon alliance, if that is your wish—where you may live in peace and rebuild.” His jaw clenched.
“But there are some conditions. You must make a deal with me that you will never again decide to infiltrate these kingdoms under the guise of seeking its destruction or to overthrow me. You must agree to grant incubi and other demons the same freedoms you enjoy. Those are my terms.”
He stood amidst the swirling shadows, eyes glowing with unshakable resolve. Gods, how she loved him.
The shapeshifters didn’t respond. Slowly, they turned and discussed in hushed tones.
After a bit, the shapeshifter who had spoken to Zarathos earlier approached.
“You have granted us something we thought we would never have. We will agree to your terms.” Suddenly, the form of the demon guard shifted and transformed into a demon with a half dress, half suit and dark eyeliner, highlighting their impish eyes.
Zarathos visibly started. “Sabious?”
“Who is Sabious?” Aryana whispered.
“My… potions dealer.” Tense, he clenched his hands into fists.
“I joined the rebellion to help my kind, supplying them with the very potion that also hid you all these years, Your Majesty,” Sabious said, emotion in their eyes.
“But I never thought I’d see the day when a demon arch king would offer what you have offered to my people.
I had planned to leverage my favor that you owe me to destroy you, or to bargain for my kind to save them from your wrath if things went awry. But now I put it to better use.”
They turned to the shapeshifters. “Today the demon arch king grants us a new beginning and while we agree to his terms, we ask this favor of him in return. Arch King Zarathos Rumpelstiltskin, we ask that you extend your protection to our fledgling kingdom for the first five hundred years of the shapeshifters’ reign, guarding us against any external threats. ”
Zarathos didn’t hesitate for a second. “I grant my protection.” He motioned for Aryana to join them.
She rose, bringing the scepter and holding it out to him, but he shook his head.
“This day,” he said, addressing the demons gathered around him, “when a bargain is struck, it is not only with me, but with my queen.” He placed his hand over hers, and a smile tugged at his lips as the scepter began to glow with undeniable power.
One by one, the demons stepped forward to accept the agreement.