~LUCIAN'S POV
I sat in Alaric's chambers, the musty scent of old books clinging to the air, mingling with the faint trace of smoke from dying embers in the hearth. Candlelight flickered along the walls, casting uneven shadows that stretched and recoiled like whispers as though the room itself were listening.
Alaric had entrusted me with the reins of the demon realm's affairs in his absence due to his sight, knowing Zephyrus's temper remained volatile, and was like a blade without a sheath.
It was my patience Alaric relied on to keep it from cutting too deep, because diplomacy had always been my role, and restraint was my weapon.
The walls were lined with towering shelves, books stacked haphazardly, their cracked leather spines stamped in silver runes worn smooth by centuries of use. Ancient scrolls protruded from the corners, yellowed and brittle, with a faint but persistent magic.
A draft slipped through the chamber, glowing faint green in the air as it stirred pages that rustled like voices too old to remember their own names.
The air was thick with history.
With power, and with Alaric.
The door opened softly, before Ivara stepped inside.
Alaric's concubine. Daughter of Lord Hael of the Supreme Court, and one of the most influential houses in our realm. She paused at the threshold and bowed gracefully, a move practiced with perfection over centuries.
"Lord Lucian," she greeted. Her voice was smooth and careful.
"I need to speak with my brother," I said with a neutral tone, which was commanding enough to cut through the quiet tension that clung to the room.
"Yes, my lord." She inclined her head and withdrew without question, the door sealing behind her with a muted thud.
Even beyond the closed door, Alaric's presence loomed. His blindness had not dulled him a bit. If anything, it sharpened him.
I leaned back, letting the shadows gather around me. Zephyrus was meant to be here with me. His absence left the room too calm, making the quiet stretch thin enough to snap.
I allowed my thoughts to drift back to Dove. The way she had pressed herself into the corner of the room, as if stone might protect her where flesh could not. The way her fear had stayed contained, and coiled tight behind her ribs, searching for meaning instead of mercy.
Most mortals begged.
She hadn't.
She had demanded understanding instead, even while her hands shook. Even as the truth closed in around her, heavy and unavoidable.
I exhaled slowly, forcing the memory back into its proper place. Sentiment was dangerous. Especially now.
Especially with Alaric so close.
Because Dove was merely a mortal in the wrong realm.
And mortals had no place in the demon realm.
Their flesh was fragile, their souls was unshielded and beacons in a world that devoured weakness without hesitation. The realm itself rejected them; the air poisoned their lungs, the magic gnawed at their sanity, and the creatures that prowled its depths would tear them apart long before dawn.
Even demons of lesser standing would either devour the human's life essence or kill them on sight, which wasn't out of cruelty, but instinct.
Mortals were prey here.
That was why her existence within these walls was a secret known only to us.
Dove's presence was not just forbidden, but was also catastrophic if discovered.
Alaric had made it clear: until she was claimed, masked, and bound by his authority, no one was to know she walked our realm.
My thoughts continued to wander while I waited for Alaric, and it settled on the Shadow Covenants whom had been restless, their whispers growing louder in recent years, threatening to undermine the delicate balance that had held the demon realm in uneasy order.
The Shadow Covenants—those hidden factions of sorcerers, witches, rogue demons and rogue vampires moved in quiet meticulous steps. They coveted power, knowledge, and influence, waiting for cracks to exploit.
Not only do they disturb the balance of the demon realm, they had also infiltrated the inner walls of the Vampire realm which brings King Dorian into this.
The Vampire king, Dorian, who was a calculated risk, and a schemer with ambitions of centuries in the making had offered his first daughter's hand in marriage. Again.
Each alliance, each marriage proposal was more than ceremony; it was strategy, chess played on a scale most mortals could never comprehend.
Dravenna, the Vampire princess herself was an independent and cunning piece that could either secure our advantage or create chaos. One misstep, one underestimated ambition, and centuries of careful planning could unravel.
I straightened as Alaric shifted beyond the door.
"Brother," I said evenly. "I bring news that will stir the night."
My fingers tapped once against the armrest.
"Dorian proposes Dravenna once more. A marriage alliance to secure lasting eternal peace between our realms."
Alaric's head snapped up, his blind eyes seeming to bore into mine with an intensity that made me shift in my seat. The firelight caught on his features as he leaned forward, imperceptible movements rippling through the shadows, a silent reminder of the power he commanded even in darkness.
"A thousand years ago," his voice came low and even, "they proposed this." No question lingered in the tone. Only measured reflection of the centuries old memory passing in a heartbeat. His hands resting on the armrests flexed subtly, with veins standing like cords beneath pale skin.
"And now?" I asked. "What has changed?"
He inhaled slowly.
His expression turned indifferent, before closing his eyes as if in thought, but I knew he was seeing far more than I could.
"Now, I weigh the risks," he said finally. "The Covenant's power grows, Lucian. They whisper of overthrow, of reshaping the realms in their image. An alliance with the Vampires could tip the scales in our favor when that day comes."
I nodded, understanding the underlying calculus. The Shadow Covenants were not idle. Over the centuries, they plotted, waited, and pulled strings in silence, but every plan of theirs had failed thus far.
Each diplomatic decision was a risk, and our enemies would not hesitate to exploit even the smallest weakness. Dravenna herself was a wildcard. Her independent streak and hidden ambitions made her valuable.
"I'll dig into Dorian's motives," I said, already calculating paths, contingencies, and shadows we might leverage. "I will know why he proposes again after a millennium, and what he truly seeks."
"Good," Alaric replied. "I want truth, Lucian. Not masks."
The door creaked open.
Zephyrus sauntered in.
The grin on his face was sharp and predatory with a hint of chaos trailing behind him like a scent. There was something subtle in the air, like a delicate sweetness, almost unnoticeable which drifted like a shadow behind him.
A scent I recognized immediately.
Dove.
Alaric's blind gaze snapped toward him, the muscles in his jaw tightening into a scowl.
"Why," Alaric demanded quietly, "do you reek of her?"
Zephyrus grin faltered for the briefest heartbeat before recovering, dropping onto the cushions beside me with practiced nonchalance. "I was showing her around," he said, smooth and casual, yet the sparkle in his eyes betrayed mischief. "She was curious and,"
A shrug. A grin.
"Feisty."
Alaric's nostrils flared slightly, and the temperature in the room dropped.
"What did I miss?" Zephyrus added with a teasing voice, eyes flicking to mine and then the doorway. "Anything interesting?"
I remained still while observing, and letting the interaction play out. Despite the demon lord's intimidating aura, Zephyrus had always been closer to him than I was, maybe because of the age difference.
Alaric was ancient, his exact age shrouded in mystery, but the distance between him and Zephyrus were few centuries, whereas thousands of centuries separated Alaric and I.
"Zephyrus," Alaric warned.
A hint of apology sparked in Zephyrus' eyes as he leaned back, before stretching his arms behind him.
"I was actually showing her around... and maybe I did tell her few things." He started, a sheepish grin creeping onto his face, and his voice dropping to a more contrite tone. "I'm sorry, brother."
Alaric's expression didn't soften, his scowl only deepened as he shook his head slightly, his hands tightening into fists on the armrests of his chair.
"She is mortal," Alaric said quietly. "You don't parade prey through a realm of predators."
The room went still.
Even the fire seemed to recoil, its crackle dulling as the weight of Alaric's words settled. Power coiled beneath his calm, old, vast, and restrained only by will, which made Zephyrus straightened slowly.
The grin he wore a moment ago faded, replaced by something sharper, more cautious. His fingers flexed restlessly at his sides, as if deciding whether to bristle or yield.
"I didn't parade her," he said at last, voice lower now. "I stayed with her."
Alaric's head tilted a fraction in his direction.
"And if you hadn't?" he asked. "If a lesser demon had caught her scent? If the Covenants had felt the disturbance of a mortal soul breathing our air?"
Silence.
Zephyrus's jaw tightened.
"She was warded," he muttered. "Masked."
"For how long?" Alaric pressed, his tone still quiet—too quiet. "Long enough to undo centuries of secrecy? Long enough to stop curiosity from becoming hunger?"
I watched Zephyrus carefully. This wasn't a reprimand, but a warning. Zephyrus exhaled through his nose, irritation flaring before he crushed it. "I know the rules," he said. "I wasn't careless."
Alaric leaned forward slightly.
"That is precisely what concerns me."
The words landed heavier than any shout.
Zephyrus looked away, running a hand through his hair, with the faint scent of Dove still clinging to him, soft, human, and wrong in this place.
When he spoke again, the mischief was gone. "I misjudged," he admitted, grudging but honest. "It won't happen again."
Alaric didn't respond immediately.
When he finally did, his voice was iron-wrapped restraint.
"It cannot happen again."
A pause.
"She exists here because I allow it," Alaric continued. "Because I had bounded her to us. But until the realm itself recognizes that claim, her presence is a liability to her, and to us."
Zephyrus nodded once.
That was his apology.
"I was late," he added quietly, glancing between us. "That won't happen again either." This was a promise he'd made before, one he likely wouldn't keep.
I glanced at Alaric, wondering how he'd react, but his face was a chiseled mask of disapproval, giving nothing away as he leaned back in his chair, his blind eyes seeming to bore into the distance.
The room settled, but something remained off. I felt it like a low hum beneath my skin, both familiar, and unwelcomed.
Dove.
Her presence lingered in the air, faint but undeniable, threading itself through the chamber like a disturbance that refused to dissipate. It wasn't desire that stirred unease in me but, it was recognition and that was a problem.
I hadn't touched her the last time I saw her.
And yet, my blood reacted to her scent coming from Zephyrus.
The realization sat heavy in my chest.
Alaric had made the pact centuries ago which was his choice to do so, his sin and burden to carry. A promise sealed in desperation and blood, binding a mortal lineage to his fate.
But demon blood did not exist in isolation.
What bound one of us, bounds all of us.
Our bond was older than the realms themselves, woven at birth, tempered through centuries of shared war, power, and survival. Fate did not distinguish between us. It never had.
When Alaric claimed the promise, it did not stop at him.
It reached into us, pulling both Zephyrus and I in.
Made the girl part of something far larger than she could ever comprehend.
I glanced at Zephyrus, at the way his posture still carried a restless edge, the way his attention had strayed, not toward the alliance, not toward the politics, but toward the lingering echo of her presence.
Then to Alaric.
He sat unmoving, blind gaze forward, yet utterly aware.
He knew.
He had always known.
Dove was not merely his to claim.
She was bound to the blood of Grimshoor.
And whether we wished it or not—
Her fate now threaded through all three of ours.
Zephyrus, sensing the tension, leaned forward, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "What were you guys discussing?" His eyes flicked to mine, then to Alaric.
"I was discussing Dorian's proposal," I said, voice measured. "The alliance. The marriage. And the risks involved."
A frown made it to Zephyrus face at the mention of marriage. "Dravenna?" He spat, the name sharp on his tongue.
Alaric didn't respond. The silence he left behind carried more weight than any refusal.
Zephyrus shifted, irritation settling into his posture and I noticed where his attention lingered.
Not on the alliance.
Not on the vampires.
But on the mortal now bound to us.
Understanding settled slowly, and heavily in my chest.
Dove was no longer just a promised debt.
She was an influence.
And, influence unaccounted for, had a way of unraveling even the most carefully controlled designs.