Page 31 of A Serenade To The Elf Queen
“Truth will always find its way,” I say calmly. I can’t believe I’m having an intellectual discussion with a demon.
“Will you describe the other piece to this one for me? I’d love to add to my studies of the Nightwalker’s Court,” he requests.
If it were anyone else, I would decline. But Ragnar has such a scholarly aura to him that I find myself comfortable narrating the tiniest detail of the salacious art.
“Fae and vampires. They sure know how to party,” Kheirall says, finally joining us. The demon is dressed in all black, matching the color of his wings. His dark hair is partially wet, making him appear carelessly beautiful. The horns, tail, and wings disappear with a wave of his hand. He looks completely human now under the glamor.
I have pictured this a million times in my head. The moment I confront the person who took my sister from this world. My lips twitch, but the words refuse to come out.
“I apologize for these circumstances. Few people can resist the Baobhan Sith’s temptation. Myself, included,” he says, casting a lazy glance to his partner.
“That was incredibly rude of me earlier,” Silka says with an awkward attempt at a curtsy. The female demon is taller than me, graced with a lithe body and a voice as soft as morning bells. There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes as she tries to seduce me with her strange power once again.
“Silka, enough,” Ragnar chastises. She bites her lip in frustration and looks away.
“Can you blame her for trying?” Kheirall says with a wide grin. The kind of smile that must have brought countless to their knees. “The invitation stands, by the way.”
I say nothing, not trusting the sound of my voice to keep my emotions hidden.
Ragnar seems to read my unease as he clears his throat. “Her court is waiting to meet you in the common hall.“
None of us speak as we descend stairs that eventually lead to two massive oaken doors. They opens to a sitting room, generous with lush velvet chairs and a hearth. Most of the emissaries and Aldarelfs are already comfortably seated.
Aelfric’s face dips into a furious scowl as I slide in between him and Rainer. If only he knew I have paid my price in full for my reckless sneaking.
Kheirall studies his guests with a cool indifference. The Demon Lord of Hel is the youngest to ever hold that mantle. While I struggle with my role as the Elven Queen, he wears his title like a second skin. It’s almost as if he was born into the role.
“I was told you wanted an audience with me,” he says, addressing the Aldarelfs.
“Yes, an alliance.” Lord Ctibor chuckles, but the sound is too nervous for the levity he’s aiming.
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?” Eamon asks, to the point. “We have a proposition from the Aeonians themselves.”
The demons exchange a look with each other. It might be strange to outsiders, but the Elder’s decree comes first, above the queen and all else.
Ragnar nods politely and directs the three Aldarelf to a different hall. My heart clenches when I see five Maidens of Arawynn in their white hoods tailing behind them. I feel so useless for not being able to protect the girls. One of them will be sacrificed to bind the Demon Lord to Aelfheim. I don’t bother returning Kheirall’s lingering gaze as he leaves.
The rest of us are left in Silka’s company. The Baobhan Sith is looking at Shade with a certain hunger and desire in her golden eyes. “Bet you’re handsome underneath that mask,” she whispers to him. Her cat-like tail caresses his jaw softly. Too bad for her the Grimsbane is dead inside. He’s busy drawing a map in his notepad. Aerin once called me a terrible painter, but she should have seen the chicken or griffin this guy is doodling.
I gasp when Garrett suddenly stabs his own thigh with a dagger. “Pain is the only other way to escape her spell if you don’t have the mental fortitude to resist her,” he says to me with a smile. “The last thing we want is an orgy in this room.”
I swallow dryly at his words and dare a glance at my uncle. He has a look as if this whole thing does not deserve his energy. I place my hand on top of his. “I need you to understand that I’m doing this for Blaire. Whatever I do next as well.”
Rainer raises a brow, but his reply is interrupted when Eamon’s voice filters through the hallway. “Do not waste our time! I didn’t know demons speak in riddles like the fae!”
A wide smirk spreads across Kheirall’s face. “We are much more cruel and wicked than they could ever be.”
The look on the Aldarelfs faces as they return into the room says it all. Something must have gone awry in their discussion.
It doesn’t matter.
There is no tell when I move. I am completely forgettable, utterly harmless, so small and insignificant. In half a heartbeat, I’m in front of the Demon Lord. It is a fraction of a second too late for Ragnar, for anyone in the chamber, to stop me. None of them can sense me until my blade is a hair-breadth distance from Kheirall’s throat.
A thick silence permeates the air as I crane my neck to look at the demon right in the eyes.
“What do we have here?” Kheirall says with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“Is—is everything all right, Your Highness?” Tierra masters her shock enough to ask.
