Epilogue One
ISADORA
The limestone corridors are eerily silent as I walk along them, the only sounds reverberating the long halls are the crash of waves against the shore and the footsteps of mine and my ladies’ maids as we glide towards the Grand Ballroom.
My bravado wanes with each step I take, knowing that although the crown rests comfortably atop my head, this is Hell, and the bloodthirsty men of the Umbra Court will stop at nothing to rip it from my scalp so they can wield the power it signifies.
My left ring finger twitches, reminding me of another adornment, of a promise made and exchange of vows.
I glance down at the glistening black diamond, a reminder that my reign is tied to man, but so is my life.
A life he promised to protect with his own.
From this day forward, you will never know fear. I will find you in darkness and shadow, in oblivion and chaos. So long as I breathe, you will never know harm. I will shield and protect you from those who dare touch what I claim as mine.
Ah, I had thought. There it is.
Pretty words, Prince, I had said. But what of your vow to stay silent?
Belial had simply smiled. Then I will crave you in silence.
He had nearly stunned me into silence. I swallowed and said, And what of your touch?
His dark eyes narrowed. What of it?
You dare to claim me, promising harm to anyone who would dare touch me - touch what you claim as yours. But what of your touch?
I imagined he would vow not to touch me - this marriage was arranged after all, and Belial knew damn well I had no desire to have a husband.
His smile softened into something sensual. Less of a smile and more of a…
Promise.
You will beg for it, Hellfire.
I shake the memory away, twisting the black diamond ring on my finger to ease my nerves. I hate that this habit is what brings me comfort in times of distress, that I resort to a symbol of being shackled to a man against my will, but I have resigned to pick my battles.
Especially when it is war that lies ahead.
Indeed, the arched double doors of the Throne Room might as well herald my death with what awaits me on the other side. A room full of treacherous, deceitful demons, intent on stealing the power I now possess.
But as I had said in the Council Room days ago, I will make them bow to me.
The doors open of their own accord, and hundreds of pairs of eyes swivel in my direction, brows arched as I enter.
Shoulders squared and chin raised, I glide gracefully through the parted bodies, making my way toward the skulled encased Throne perched upon the dais.
Lucifer, with his golden wheat hair spilling across his shoulders, awaits next to the Throne, his trademark, sinister smirk on his lips.
Nick’s father makes no attempt to quiet the whispers as they reach audible levels.
What the Court assumes, of course, is that Lucifer has returned to claim his Throne and is claiming his son’s betrothed for himself.
Aurelia and Mira trail behind me, making sure the magnificent train of my dress glides as effortlessly down the parted path as I do.
Heart trembling, I take the four steps up on the dais, eyeing Lucifer, who tilts his head in affirmation.
I inhale heavily through my nose before I turn, allowing my two ladies’ maids to fan out the train, and settle comfortably into the large Throne.
If I thought my entrance raised brows moments ago, that was nothing compared to this.
“What is the meaning of this?” A fair haired demon of the Umbra Court questions.
Faces that were once curious now twist in anger and abhorrence. Though I will my heart to steady, it does the exact opposite as those nefarious gazes fixate on me.
Yet Lucifer stands with his hands in the pockets of his gray suite, appearing entirely unbothered. And why wouldn’t he? Though they may question him, he cannot be harmed, but I cannot say the same for myself.
And something tells me Lucifer cares little if I live or die.
“Demons and demonesses of the Morningstar Court, as well the noble lords of the Umbra Court, may I present to you, Isadora Argos, Queen of Hell.”
Uproar ensues. I spot Calliste, gripping her bland husband’s arm, mouth dropped in shock. I have no doubt she will seek me out after this, begging to be a member of my Court.
If I make it out alive.
Lucifer holds up a hand, and the hundred or so members of the crowd quiet, before someone shouts, “Is she your wife?”
Lucifer shakes his head. “No.”
Chaotic shouts follow, the majority confused by this proclamation. Mostly the demons, because of course they cannot fathom the reality of why I sit upon this throne, yet are not claimed as Lucifer’s wife.
The demonesses however, are silent. Because they know. They regard me with a mixture of fear and admiration, and as much as I want to revel in their esteem, it is their fear that takes root within my abdomen, mingling with my own.
Lucifer scans the crowd, again raising his hands to quiet them. Then, he says, “Isadora shall rule as Queen, with no demon by her side as King.”
What happens next can only be described as apocalyptic outrage.
The remaining members of the Umbra Court are the first to head toward the dais, their irate gazes focused solely on me.
They know they cannot take on Lucifer, so instead they channel that rage toward the opponent they know they can eliminate swiftly.
Shakily, I glance at Lucifer. His silhouette blends with the shadows, becoming one with the inky darkness, before he disappears entirely. Leaving me alone.
Defenseless.
I rise from my seat, pulling the daggers sheathed on either side free.
The advancing Demons share humorous looks, laughing at my feeble attempt to defend myself.
And who can blame them? They are members of the feared Umbra Court, skilled warriors and merciless strategists.
Up until a few nights ago, I was nothing but the abused and frightened daughter of one of their own.
No doubt a laughable subject among them when they became bored.
Mira and Aurelia are shoved to the wayside.
I hear their bodies hit the ground, and fury ignites in my blood.
Three Demons surround the two women. I strike at the first Demon who approaches, the blade slicing through the flesh on his cheek like fine silk.
Black blood bathes the blade, but I pay no mind as I turn towards the Demons leering down at my lady’s maids.
“Do not touch them, by order of your Queen!”
The demons turn at that, their faces skewed with disbelief.
One of them, a dark haired, lanky Demon with a scar on his upper lip, scoffs. “You are no Queen of ours, not without a King to rule you.” The three advance in my direction, and as much as I want to backpedal, I steel my spine and hold my ground, daggers raised.
“We could, of course, remedy that.” Another one sneers.
“I don’t know, boys,” the third chimes in, his sharp teeth yellow. “Not only did Lucifer not want her, but she was cast aside by his son, as well.” He sneers his eyes slither down my body. “Still might be worth a good fuck, though.”
The three demons advance, and from my periphery, I can see the crowd still. No one objects, save for Aurelia and Mira, who scream no over and over. No one comes forward to defend me, or try to escort me to safety.
They just stand there and watch.
I was a fool to think this plan would work, and even though I knew Lucifer would never be my savior, a small part of me thought he would at least stick around to calm the ire of these demons and allow me to leave safely.
But then again, Lucifer loved my father, and I am nothing but the useless daughter of the man who couldn’t even seduce his son.
Blinking back tears, I tighten the grip on my daggers. If I am going to die, I will go down fighting, and I certainly will not beg.
A fourth demon from the Umbra Court joins the other three, the group descending upon me like a pack of Hell Beasts. Their mouths are twisted in feral snarls, obsidian eyes glistening with malice.
“Think she can take the four of us? Fucking her, I mean,” the fair haired one says. “Everyone in this room knows those daggers you wield might as well be sewing pins.”
The one with the yellow teeth cocks his head. “She spread her legs for Raphael, then his father. My guess is she probably craves it, the little who-”
That’s as far as he gets before an entire fist protrudes through his mouth.
The fingers curve around his tongue, and the Demon releases a garbled cry of pain as the fist yanks backward, pulling the demon’s tongue out through the back of his skull.
He falls to the floor with a sickening thud, black blood pooling around his corpse.
Belial stands in his place, his right hand and wrist painted in sticky onyx. Tongue still in his grasp, his mouth curves into a chilling smirk as his wrathful gaze swivels between the other two Demons.
Their faces ghostly pale, neither are able to take a step before Belial reaches out with both arms, punches through their rib cages, and tears out their hearts.
Another two bodies drop, and Belial slowly turns toward the fourth Demon, attempting to push his way through the crowd toward the doors.
The Prince of Hell doesn’t move. He simply watches.
Waits. Allows the demon to get as far as placing his hands on the handles, escape just within reach, before the demon’s entire body snaps backward with a disgusting crack as his body folds itself in half.
Satisfied, Belial finally turns his golden eyes on me.
Dressed in black trousers and a black brocade jacket with gold embroidery, he is my match in every way.
Another onyx crown sits atop his ahead, the jagged spires on his sharper and more profound.
I suck in a sharp breath at his glorious, terrible beauty.
As much as I want to deny my attraction to him, the stir of something warm and forbidden low in my belly screams liar.