Page 8 of Trial By Fire

Aric shifted from one boot-encased foot to the other, adjusting the high neckline of the dark, gossamer tunic Malekith had sent for him. The thin, filmy fabric rippled with the movement of his arms, and the strange sensation of bare, chilled flesh on those parts not covered by the tunic’s generous folds was as disconcerting as it was alluring. He’d rarely worn anything but his mage robes and armor before he came here, and the dense weave of cotton and silk designed for comfort and protection, so to don such an intimate garment was . . . a lot.

He picked at the intricate clasp cinching the tunic closed, its curved design too alien for him to grasp at first. But with a muted huff to steady his hands, Aric carefully slipped the clasp into place, the circular piece clicking shut.

Straightening, Aric smoothed down the tunic’s front—though given the filmy fabric’s cling, it was a largely unnecessary gesture. Or perhaps all the more necessary. Aric’s mouth went dry as he took in his reflection. Was he supposed to be so plainly visible beneath the gauzy layers?

A deep breath filled Aric’s chest, the cologne Malekith had gifted him for the occasion—something dark and spicy and far more exotic than his usual concoctions—steaming his nostrils.His skin was flushed, and his eyes were far too wide, the icy, heart-thudding realization of just where he was and what the coming days called for leaving him light-headed.

He was getting ahead of himself, he knew. This was just a celebration, as Malekith had promised, a final send-off before their army’s departure. But even so, his thoughts insisted on pulling him back to the memory of the few fleeting nights he and Malekith had managed to spend together amidst all the turmoil. Recollections fluttered around him like moths: Malekith’s thick arousal against his leg, the prince’s urgent cries as they’d both spilled over in the privacy of his chambers, the whispered assurances that maybe, just maybe, Aric’s hopes and dreams weren’t so impossible . . .

Perhaps Aric was a fool to indulge Malekith’s suggestions of whatthismight mean between them, but what was he to do? As a prisoner, he’d had no choice but to endure whatever torment was visited upon him. But Malekith, he’d chosen for himself. Malekith, hewanted, despite who he was, what he was. This might be their last night together before the ravages of war made everything so much worse.

And then there was the matter of his own traitorous body. Whether Aric wanted it or not, his thoughts raced back to the heat of Malekith’s skin, the lean cords of muscle shifting with each of Malekith’s moves. The way he’d growled Aric’s name, a dangerous and seductive promise. The scorching heat of his breath and the slide of his tongue as he tasted Aric, claiming him?—

By the First Flame, he was a mess, and the festivities hadn’t even started.

When he emerged from his chambers and began the long descent down the grand staircase to the Ebon Spire’s main entrance, the view awaiting him at the bottom nearly stole the remainder of his breath.

The ornate crystal chandeliers flared with the magic of colored flames, vivid and dancing. Tables were groaning beneath the weight of exotic delicacies, foodstuffs he’d never seen before or even dared to imagine. The sharp scents of roasting meat, heady spices, and something almost sweet lingered in the air, and Aric’s stomach growled despite himself.

But it was the demons gathered in their finery that most captured Aric’s attention, dressed in garments that ranged from the opulent and ridiculous to the seductively sparse. Their scales, their skin, their horns glimmered with powders and oils, their eyes painted and lined, and their expressions ranged from smiles to sneers to wicked grins.

And, all around him, they were looking at him.

A pair of female demons whispered to one another, their forked tongues flicking out as they both turned away. A group of men eyed him speculatively as they drank from cut crystal goblets, their laughter a harsh rattle. One of the servers, a sinuous, red-skinned being with a tray of spiced meats, stumbled past him, and Aric caught the look of hunger in their eyes before they straightened and moved on.

He forced himself to stand tall, to not falter under their stares. They believed him to be one of their own now, and he refused to be cowed by the foes who were, in theory, his allies tonight. Malekith had assured him of his safety, and Aric was determined to believe him.

“Excuse me, milord.”

A servant appeared at Aric’s elbow, their head lowered respectfully. Aric forced himself to relax, the confrontation at the gates with the sentries already weighing on him. He couldn’t afford to draw any more attention than he already had, and that meant blending in, at least for now.

The servant lifted a cut crystal goblet brimming with a shimmering, dark liquid. Aric’s mouth watered at the sight, andhe realized with a start just how long it had been since he’d eaten. Aric took the goblet with a nod of thanks, careful to keep his movements slow and deliberate, and waited until the servant had disappeared into the crowd before he brought it to his lips.

The first sip was like liquid fire, burning a path down his throat and spreading warmth through his chest. The flavors were unlike anything he’d ever tasted—rich, complex, and with an underlying note of danger that made his pulse quicken. Aric took another sip, savoring the sweetness that lingered on his tongue, and closed his eyes.

It was far too easy to imagine he was back in his chambers, back in Malekith’s embrace, and not surrounded by enemies on all sides. He let out a soft exhale, his mind already beginning to cloud with the drink’s potent magic, and the tenseness in his shoulders started to unravel. Malekith had wanted him to relax, to enjoy himself, and Aric would be a fool to deny the prince’s wishes.

With each swallow, the magic of the drink worked its way through him, loosening the tight bands of worry and guilt that had plagued him since their meeting with the council. The demons around him blurred and softened, their harsh edges melting away. Aric’s senses sharpened, the perfume of spice and exotic fruits dancing in his nostrils, the rich strains of music and lewd laughter caressing his ears. The cool tile floor shifted under his boots, and he swayed slightly, his head dizzy.

Aric tried to refocus. He had agreed to this, all of this—had wanted it, at least in part. Malekith had promised him that no harm would come to him tonight, not on this night of celebration. Aric was safer here, arguably, than he was in his own suite. He just needed to remember that, to keep his wits about him.

Aric’s head felt light as he wove through the crowd, the gauzy layers of his tunic and the intoxicating magic of thedrink propelling him forward. He caught snippets of hushed conversations, his hearing honing with every step.

The demon prince’s new pet.

I heard he went to Malekith willingly.

A bold move, taking him in full view of the council like that. I think it’s a distraction, one he can ill afford.

Malekith will get careless, mark my words4.

Aric’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep moving. If his presence here could unnerve the other demons, could plant the seed of doubt in their minds, then he would consider it a success. They didn’t know the truth of what had passed between him and Malekith, and Aric was more than happy to let them speculate.

A group of lower-ranking demons were clustered in one corner, their voices rising with excitement. They dissected battle strategies in hushed tones, debating the merits of a direct assault versus a more subtle approach. Aric suppressed a grim smile; they had no idea of the real plan Malekith had in store. And he would do everything in his power to ensure that the prince’s true intentions remained a secret.

Further into the throng, he caught sight of Jaz’lira, her serpentine coils draped over a chaise as she held court with a group of admirers. Her eyes locked with Aric’s for a brief, assessing moment, and he shivered in spite of himself. She knew something was amiss, even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Aric quickly looked away, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself.

He moved closer to General Vezara’s group. The savvy commander of House Ixion’s forces, Aric had found her more trustworthy than most of the demons, though he still couldn’t ascertain her true motives. Her voice carried over the hubbub of the crowd. “—but the question is, who stands to gain the most from such an alliance?”

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