Page 7 of A Heart Disguised 1

Darius nodded, his calculating gaze sweeping over the figures. “Increase the allocation for the orphanage in the Lower Quarter,” he said decisively. “The miners’ children should not bear the burden of their parents’ labor.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” Alaric noted the instruction swiftly in his ever-present ledger.

Their conversation continued, a dance of words terse and to the point, a cadence of governance that filled the room with the music of productivity. They discussed trade agreements, infrastructure projects, and the latest diplomatic tensions with neighboring nations. Each topic was dissected with precision, decisions made with the cold logic that had made Darius such an effective ruler.

As the final decree was sealed, Darius waved Alaric off. “You’re dismissed. Ensure the foreman knows any delays in the silver shipments will not be tolerated.”

With a slight bow, Alaric took his leave, the door closing with a soft click that signaled the onset of solitude. Darius leaned back in his chair and allowed himself the luxury of a deep sigh. His thoughts, unbidden, drifted to the human bride King Azrael had so thoughtfully thrust upon him.

The notion of a wife was anathema to Darius. He had never desired one, had never seen the need for such an encumbrance. He enjoyed his bachelor life, the freedom to indulge in different partners as his desires dictated. Boredom was his constant companion, and the variety of his conquests kept it at bay, if only temporarily.

Azrael had been insistent. The human nobles were frightened of Darius, wary of the power he wielded and the rumors that swirled around him like a tempest. A human wife, the king had argued, would soften his image, would prove that the Duke of Lunaria was not the monster they believed him to be.

Darius had let those rumors spread, had done nothing to dispel them. Some were rooted in truth, while others were so outlandish they bordered on comedic. He chuckled softly, the sound echoing off the walls of his study. The humans were a superstitious lot, prone to exaggeration and fearmongering.

They said he slept on a bed of bones, a ridiculous notion born from a gift he’d received—a blanket embroidered with skeletal designs from a fellow lord with a macabre sense of humor. The tale of him drinking the blood of his victims? Nothing more than his preference for rich red wine served in ornate goblets.

His shadow, they claimed, could strangle and kill at will. Darius smirked at the thought. The truth was far less sinister—his loyal hound, Umbra, could travel through his shadow at will, a unique ability that had given rise to countless wild speculations.

Some whispered that he could steal courage from his victims by devouring their still-beating hearts. Ridiculous tales spun from threads of truth. Yes, he relished power—what demon didn’t? And sure, he could weave illusions strong enough to make one’s deepest fears dance before their eyes. But eat human flesh? Absurdity.

As for the rumor about his insatiable appetites? Well… even demons couldn’t deny biology. The truth of his heightened libido was perhaps the only accurate piece of gossip circulating about him, though the tales of his sexual exploits had grown to legendary proportions.

A smile tugged at his lips despite himself. They painted him as a beast in man’s clothing—perhaps it made them sleep easier at night. But let them dream their nightmares; they only fortified his solitude.

Darius’ gaze lingered on the city below, the sunlight glinting off rooftops and spires with mocking indifference. His bride would arrive soon, and with her, a whole new set of challenges to overcome. The thought was as exhausting as it was exhilarating. What would this trembling creature make of her new lord? Would she unravel more myths or add her own threads to the intricate web of his legend?

The irony was rich enough to savor: The Duke of Lunaria taking a bride to quell human fears when fear itself was an ally more loyal than any marriage could ever provide. Next week would be soon enough to face the music of the spheres and the discordant notes his new bride would surely introduce. But for now, he would enjoy the quiet, the solitude that came with the midday lull, and the knowledge that his reputation, however exaggerated, served him well in keeping the region’s delicate balance.

A sharp rap on the door jarred Darius from his musings. “Enter,” he called.

The door swung open to admit Sir Zephyr, a figure as imposing as he was enigmatic. Tall and lean, Zephyr’s midnight-blue skin seemed to absorb the light around him, while silver markings traced patterns of power across his flesh. His long white hair fell in stark contrast to the darkness of his skin, framing a face that could have been chiseled from ice. Thosepiercing violet eyes surveyed the room with a detached curiosity, as if already calculating three moves ahead in some unseen game.

The demon lord’s top lieutenant moved with a predatory grace as he crossed the room, making himself comfortable on the plush velvet sofa—a bold move that spoke volumes of their camaraderie.

“Zephyr,” Darius greeted, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Zephyr’s eyes narrowed slightly, a sign of his displeasure. “The Skargen Raiders are causing trouble again,” he said, his voice carrying an edge as sharp as his namesake. “They’ve escalated from mere banditry to kidnapping. The latest raid claimed three souls from the outlying villages, and the people are on edge.”

Darius’ gaze darkened, the gold of his irises flickering with the shadows of impending wrath. “They are relentless, it seems,” he mused. “Their hatred for our kind is a festering wound that refuses to heal.”

Zephyr nodded, his expression grim. “They hide in the shadows of the Evermire Swamps, emerging like malevolent specters to wreak havoc on our people. They’ve become more than a mere nuisance; they’re a blight upon our nation.”

“We must tread carefully,” Darius said after a moment of contemplative silence. “I am already seen as the demon at the gates. We cannot afford to give them more ammunition to use against us.”

“Indeed,” Zephyr agreed, his tone echoing the weight of their predicament. “Yet we cannot sit idly by while they terrorize our people.”

Darius’ brow furrowed, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the desk’s surface. “They forget that we’ve brought stability to Aethoria, prosperity even. What more do these Raiders want?”

“Ah, but fear makes for strange bedfellows.” Zephyr tilted his head slightly. “They’ve joined forces with Kalendria’s anti-demon faction, no doubt seeking strength in numbers.”

“Kalendria.” Darius tasted the name like a bitter draught. “Our neighbors do love to meddle.”

“We could crush them,” Zephyr offered casually, though his eyes were sharp with calculation.

“And give them the martyrdom they so desperately seek?” Darius shook his head. “We must be strategic, dismantle their influence without outright slaughter—our image is tarnished enough as it is.”

Zephyr’s expression darkened. “It’s not just about stability, my lord. Our spies report that the Skargen Raiders have a new leader, one who’s united their disparate factions under a singular, fanatical cause.”

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