Page 28 of Trial By Fire

A young demon messenger burst into the room his eyes wide with urgency. He faltered for a moment at the sight of Aric and Malekith tangled together, but quickly recovered his composure.

“My lord,” the messenger said, bowing low. “I bring word from the Sovereign.”

Malekith sat up, suddenly alert. “Speak.”

“The Sovereign has ordered an immediate retreat. All forces are to fall back to Drindal.” The messenger swallowed hard. “And . . . the Sovereign will be awaiting you there.”

Malekith’s face was a mask of stone, betraying nothing of the turmoil Aric knew must be churning beneath the surface. “Very well. You may go.”

The messenger bowed again and hurried out, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

Aric turned to Malekith, his heart pounding. Their eyes met, and in that moment, a look of shared dread passed between them. All their careful planning, all the risks they had taken—it had come to this.

The Sovereign was calling them to account, and there was no telling what price they might have to pay.

Nine

Aric and Malekith led the army’s retreat back to Drindal in grim silence.

The soldiers marched with heads bowed, nursing their wounds and their wounded pride. They’d put every bit of their blackest hearts and their hardest work into the campaign, and in the end, it had all been for nothing. The demons had lost more than they’d gained, Malekith’s bargains and Aric’s scheming merely blunting the human’s victory rather than truly achieving one of their own.

Drindal’s hot springs still wafted in the air around them, a bitter memory of the rest and restoration they’d been so close to claiming. Aric itched to peer over his shoulder, to see if the soldiers felt the same emptiness in their core that he did. But he didn’t dare. His place was here, at Malekith’s side.

The demon prince rode with a stony expression, but the weight of his worry settled on Aric’s skin like a shroud. Aric wished he knew the right words to say, the spells to weave, to banish the doubts that clouded Malekith’s eyes. But he was only human, and his own heart was heavy with the knowledge of the danger they were riding towards. Aric could almost taste it, abitter tang on the back of his tongue. Sovereign Zaxos’s fury was a force of nature, and they were but insects, helpless before it.

As dusk began to settle around them and it became evident that even the demons in retreat would have to stop for the night, Malekith finally reached out. His gloved hand brushed against Aric’s, the contact as fleeting as a moth’s wing. But in that touch, Aric felt the silent words passing between them.

I will protect you, Malekith was saying, even though it was the last thing he could promise. Even though Aric’s own actions might have put them both in jeopardy. It didn’t matter. Malekith’s vow lingered in the air, a bright ember of hope against the encroaching darkness.

Aric squeezed Malekith’s hand before letting go. He couldn’t promise the same, not when he didn’t know what lay ahead. But he would stand with Malekith, no matter what storms were brewing on the horizon.

“It is the best we could hope for,” Malekith said quietly.

But his words did not dispel the gnawing emptiness in Aric’s belly, but he returned the smile nonetheless. His heart ached, and he knew that it would only get worse; he’d fallen in love with a nightmare of a man, and somehow, that man had shown him love, too. Just a taste, just a glimpse of who he was in those quiet, vulnerable moments, and Aric had wanted nothing more than to see him defenseless like that forever.

But he was the prince of House Ixion, and Aric knew better than to hope for such things. Even if they somehow made it out of this alive—and the closer they came to the borderlands, the more impossible that seemed—Malekith’s first duty would be to his people. He could not shatter everything he’d ever known, betray his entire realm, just for a fleeting taste of something different. The thought of asking it of him, of even making such a selfish wish—Aric would never forgive himself.

And so he drank Malekith in, and tried to memorize every detail. The way the demon held himself, powerful and fluid. The sharp angles of his face, now dappled gold in the late afternoon sun. His eyes, that had so captured Aric’s attention even through the glamor, turning Aric’s blood to fire and storm. How, as Aric watched him, they shifted from their usual cool black depths to something warmer, softer. Like oil catching flame; like a shadow stretching out to caress him. Aric ached for him. Ached to reach for him, to feel the curve of his waist beneath his leathers, the softness of his lips, the promises of his tongue. Ached to love him, somehow, even as he knew it was foolish to want what he could never have.

But even if it could only be this once, at least Malekith knew how he felt. At least Aric could revel in these waning moments of their fleeting bond, drawing them out as long as he dared—barely acknowledging the hushed, fearful whispers that spread through the demon ranks. He and Malekith were isolated for now, but there was no telling what condemnation and rebuke awaited them at the Wrathforge, so he tried to keep himself in the now, in this stolen time.

It was all that he had left.

It wasn’t until the sun had fully set, and the demon scouts had returned, that he found another opportunity to speak with Malekith. The demon’s eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion, his movements stiff and strained as he dismounted from his horse. Aric had a sudden, vivid memory of the last time he’d seen Malekith in his arms, the demon’s body pressed close to his own, and had to bite back a whimper.

“Aric.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down Aric’s spine. “There are things you must know, before we reach Drindal.”

Aric nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He had a thousand questions, a thousand doubts and fears, but he held his tongue, waiting for Malekith to speak.

“It is not just Vizra who will be a danger to us in the days to come. The Sovereign—Zaxos—he is a shrewd and cunning adversary. He will be watching us, testing us, looking for any weakness he can exploit.”

“How do you know this?” Aric asked, his voice a mere whisper.

Malekith’s grip tightened, his nails digging into Aric’s palm. “Because I know how he thinks. I know the games he plays. And I will not let him win.”

“What can we do?” Aric asked. “We are vastly outnumbered. If he wants to take us down?—”

“Then we will make it costly for him. But our best defense is to present a united front. Whatever happens, do not let them separate us. Zaxos will use any weakness against me, and you?—”

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