Page 10 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
“I have a meeting with the trial council.”
Vivane remained undeterred. She sauntered closer until her scent of honeysuckle washed over him. He breathed deeply. She had donned one of his favorite fragrances. “Always so busy, Zarathos, always plotting. You should take more time for pleasure.” She pressed her body against his, her arms coming around his neck, and looked up expectantly into his face.
“I’m the demon arch king.”
“And still a demon has needs.Youhave needs.”
Gods, he did. Feeling the warmth of her soft flesh nestled against him, he wanted to say to hell with it and take her to his chambers, but being late for the council meeting would only make things worse for him in the trials. Not to mention, he also had to ensure that Sabious, the potion supplier, could deliver what he required for the vampress, or his bargain would be in jeopardy.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he said, though he hated the words as they came out of his mouth. He grasped her arms and loosened them, stepping back. She pressed closer, and he growled. “Tomorrow.” Damn it, his nerves were on edge enough having to meet with the council.
She sighed. “Fine. I’ll find someone else to please me until then.” She turned with a flick of her tail before swaying off.
Zarathos cast a final glance at the poor creature writhing under Xaphoron and Balafur’s hands, a twinge of guilt piercing his chest. The role of kalator had changed drastically over time. Once they had been great warriors, meant to protect the champions of the demon trials. But now…
He was taking a risk on Aryana, but she didn’t know that.
He shoved the emotion aside and reminded himself that she was just as much a killer as he was. Ruthless. Unforgiving. Zarathos was only doing what he had to in order to survive.
He always did.
Mils and Ernon reappeared at his side. “Here it is, Your Majesty,” Ernon said, handing him the blood-soul needle. “If I may ask, what do you need it for?”
“You may not ask,” Zarathos said, and Ernon’s shoulders slumped. Miniature imps were notorious gossips, but these creatures remained bound to him. They’d die if they spoke any of his secrets. And yet, it proved unwise to tempt fate, or Ernon and Mils’s self-control.
Mils’s ears flicked, and she cast a dirty glance at Ernon. “Forgive us for prying, master.”
Zarathos nodded as he tucked the blood-soul needle into his satchel. “You may go about your duties.”
The imps bowed, and in the next moment, they vanished.
He proceeded on his journey to the trial council’s chambers, striving to ignore what lay ahead. He passed one of the many alcovesthat lined the hallway, hidden by curtains. Moans and gasps came from beyond the long, black velvet drapes, and the smell of their arousal reached him. He always craved that scent, but it was a risk to him all the same. His cloak inside his satchel held his elixir vials—an empty and a full one. He kept a spare on hand, even though it had been years since he’d had to take more than one a day.
When he came to the doors that lead into the council room, he paused, his hands balling and unballing. The guards bowed. “Your Majesty, they are waiting for you.”
He summoned his wings, imposing, expansive. Appearance mattered, and they never failed to make him look larger, more formidable. “Open the door,” Zarathos commanded.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The doors swung wide and Zarathos stalked in, allowing his wings to span out behind him. This chamber served as the meeting place for the trial council, only used every hundred years for the Demon Trials. It was spacious, with a long obsidian table running down the center, polished like the rest of the room. The braziers glazed off the walls, their warmth seeming to be sucked into the depths of eternal blackness.
The room’s chill, however, stemmed not from its adornments. It was because of those who inhabited it.
There they sat, all ten of them, frowning at him.Demons from each kingdom. A single large demon with muscular limbs and eyes raging, glared at him from the other end of the table.
Zarathos moved to the table’s head and stood there.
“Your Majesty.” Lady Braxia, the leader of the council, nodded a welcome, but her face held no warmth. One of the taller goblin species, she wore flowing robes draped over her red skin. Her cracked flesh, etched with jagged black lines, and her glowing orange eyes marked her as an emissary from the Kingdom of Spiritu Malignos. A kingdom made up of spirits that possessed the bodies of other demons.
“I have come to sign the contract,” Zarathos said.
“Yes, we have it ready.”
A gleam shone in the eyes of those around the table, each barely concealing their murderous intent. Each demon in this room wanted to place their own champion on the throne, thus they had a shared objective.
Taking down Zarathos.
All except one. The royal court, true to form, carefully selected demons with whom he had no prior bargains, forbidding him from making any with the trial council, even from kingdoms reliant on him. But it was an unspoken rule, not magically binding, and they remained ignorant of Zarathos’s bargain with one of them.
