Page 20 of A Heart Disguised 1

Moments later, Darius entered the great hall, Ignis behind him. Darius’ eyes were drawn immediately to Robin, who was turning in circles, a mix of awe and fear evident on his face, his gaze darting from one demon to the next. The boy was clearly overwhelmed by the imposing presence of Darius’ lieutenants.

As Darius approached silently from behind, he observed Robin’s trembling form. He could practically sense the wild rhythm of Robin’s pulse, a prey animal among predators.

Just as Robin blurted out, “Which one of you isn’t going to eat me?”, Darius materialized behind him. He watched, amused, as a ripple of laughter passed through his assembled lieutenants. Robin’s face burned with embarrassment, the blush creeping down his neck in a most enticing manner.

Sensing the new presence behind him, Robin spun around with the grace of a startled fawn. Darius’ breath caught as he finally beheld his bride up close. Robin’s chest rose and fell rapidly beneath the elaborate gown, his fear palpable.

Darius towered over Robin, acutely aware of how the boy had to crane his neck to meet his gaze. He saw the awe and fear in those emerald eyes as they took in his imposing stature, his broad shoulders, the rippling power barely contained beneath his skin.

“You must be Lady Robin Aldercrest, my bride,” Darius said, allowing a hint of amusement to play at the corners of his lips. He watched as Robin managed a nod, his breath hitching as he attempted a clumsy curtsy.

“Your Grace,” Robin squeaked out, his voice betraying his fear. “I am Robin Aldercrest, at your service.”

Darius’ gaze roamed over Robin, taking in every detail. From the top of his pale-blond head to the hem of his gown, Darius absorbed the sight of his bride. His eyes lingered on Robin’s chest, memories of the boy bathing in the stream flooding back, stirring his blood hot. The flatness there, so at odds with Robin’s disguise, awakened something primal within Darius.

He recalled Robin’s pale, smooth skin glistening with water droplets, the gentle curve of his collarbone leading down to a chest that was decidedly masculine in its leanness. Darius’ mind conjured the image of Robin’s small pink nipples, pebbled from the cool air, enticing in their innocence. A sudden, unbidden thought of tasting those nipples, of drawing them between his lips, sent a jolt of desire through Darius’ body.

Forcing his gaze upward, Darius locked eyes with Robin once more. The boy’s emerald eyes were wide with a mix of fear and something else—a curiosity, perhaps, that mirrored Darius’ own. His gaze drifted to Robin’s lips, soft and slightly parted in awe. Darius found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss those lips, to feel them yield beneath his own. Would Robin taste as sweet as he looked? Would he tremble or melt into the kiss?

Darius quickly reined in these thoughts, reminding himself of the delicate game he was playing. Yet the desire lingered, a smoldering ember in the pit of his stomach, promising to ignite into something far more intense given the right fuel.

He watched as a strange heat bloomed beneath Robin’s skin, spreading like wildfire. He felt the tension between them, an invisible thread pulled taut. Robin looked both thrilled and terrified, his pulse visibly quickening.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Darius could see the gears turning in Robin’s mind, frantically searching for something to say. And then, in a moment thatwould be seared into Darius’ memory, Robin blurted out, “Do demon lords prefer their brides rare, medium, or well-done?”

Darius’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, his lips parting slightly. He felt a chuckle building in his chest, amused and oddly charmed by Robin’s outburst. But before he could respond, he saw Robin’s knees buckling beneath him.

Without hesitation, Darius moved. In a swift, fluid motion, he caught Robin before he could hit the floor. The boy felt light in his arms, fragile and precious. Darius cradled him gently, acutely aware of the contrast between his own strength and Robin’s delicate form.

Just before Robin’s eyes fluttered closed, he looked up at Darius with a dazed expression. “My apologies, Your Grace,” he murmured. “I seem to have… fainted.” And with that, Robin’s head lolled back, consciousness slipping away.

Darius looked down at the unconscious boy in his arms, feeling a mix of concern and amusement. He couldn’t help but marvel at Robin’s ability to narrate his own fainting spell. He was vaguely aware of the surprised looks from Ignis and his lieutenants, but his focus was entirely on Robin.

“Well,” Ignis said, breaking the stunned silence, “I must say, that’s a novel way to greet one’s future husband.”

Darius adjusted his hold on Robin, cradling the boy closer to his chest. “Indeed,” he replied dryly. “Though I must admit, I’ve never had someone announce their fainting before actually doing so. My bride seems to have a flair for the dramatic.”

The scent of lavender and sunshine clung to Robin, an unexpected and alluring complement to the cold stone and dark magic of the castle. Darius found himself oddly charmed by this unconscious, candid boy in his arms.

“It seems my bride needs rest after her long journey,” Darius said and carried Robin out of the hall.

7

Robin

Iawoke with a start, my heart pounding against my ribs. For a terrifying moment, I couldn’t recall where I was or how I’d come to be there. The last thing I remembered was standing before the Duke of Lunaria, his golden eyes piercing through me like molten sunlight. Had the demon lord devoured me whole?

Panic seized me, and I frantically patted myself down, searching for any signs of injury or… incompleteness. To my immense relief, I found myself whole and unharmed. The realization that I was still alive and intact washed over me like a soothing balm, momentarily calming my frayed nerves.

But as the fog of confusion lifted, a new horror dawned on me. I’d swooned. Right at the duke’s feet. Like some delicate, wilting flower at the first whiff of danger. A groan escaped my lips, my cheeks burning with mortification. How could I have collapsed so pathetically? No doubt the duke thought me a spineless whelp, unworthy of his time or consideration.

“Ugh,” I croaked, my voice sounding embarrassingly weak in the silence of the chamber. As I took in my surroundings, the sheer opulence of the bedchamber struck me speechless. Every inch of the space spoke of wealth and power, worlds apart from the modest accommodations I was accustomed to back home.

The bed I found myself in was an extravagant affair, easily large enough to accommodate five people comfortably. Its four posts, carved from a rich, dark wood, rose majestically toward the ceiling, supporting a canopy that could have sheltered a small family. Intricate, otherworldly designs adorned the posts, depicting scenes of demonic lore that both fascinated and unnerved me.

The bedding itself was a sumptuous expanse of silk and velvet, so soft against my skin that it felt almost sinful. Guilt pricked at me for having mussed such finery with my unconscious form. Plush pillows in various sizes surrounded me, embroidered with gold and silver thread that caught the light filtering through the tall, arched windows.

Those windows, I noticed, were draped with gauzy curtains that allowed a gentle, diffused light to fill the room. Beyond them, I could make out the silhouette of what appeared to be a private balcony, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the world outside.

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