Sundered by Fate: Dark M/M Demon Fantasy Romance, page 23
"We can't just wait for them to attack again," Valerian was saying. "We need to take the fight to them. Destroy the rift, cut off their reinforcements, and drive them back to whatever hell they came from."
"Agreed." Aster leaned back in his chair. "What do you propose, Lord Regent?"
Valerian leaned forward, his blue eyes glinting in the candlelight. "I think it is time for me to bring my new forces to bear."
A sudden pain tore through Aric's back. He flinched, his gauntleted hand flying up to press against the sigil. The images flooded his mind once more: Malekith, forced to his knees, blood streaming down his face. Malekith wincing as the branding iron approached. Zaxos standing over him, gloating. Sylthris watching from the shadows.
Sylthris.
Sylthris, and her too-familiar eyes.
Aric's heart stuttered. The pain in his back was joined by a different kind of agony, a cold, heavy weight settling in his chest.
The shadows in the court.
The King.
The deadly stillness in his violet eyes.
Aric forced down the bile rising in his throat. All around him, the council continued to argue and bicker, oblivious to the horror clutching at his insides.
Aric's mind shot back to the catacombs, where Sylthris had melded into the shadows like ink in water. He knew she had some way to access the palace, and suspected she was on Valerian's side, for whatever reason he couldn't begin to fathom. But could she really take the king's place? Really usurp him right under their noses?
Possession, or disguise? They were both layers of the same lie.
Aric's train of thought derailed as King Aster turned his head, and his eyes met Aric's.
The gleaming, opaque violet of his eyes.
Aric's breath caught. The candles in their sconces flickered, the shadows in the corners of the room crawling. The king's voice came to him, warped and distant.
"Am I boring you, mage?"
Aric's heart hammered in his chest. He felt the eyes of the council on him, all the distrust and disdain they’d barely held in check the past few days now boiling to the surface. But he made himself meet King Aster's gaze, hold his ground.
"Your Majesty," Aric said, his voice steady, the words like iron in his mouth. "I apologize. I was merely thinking of a spell that could be of use in defending the city."
King Aster's lips curled back in a snarl. "A spell, you say. You think we are not using all we can to stop these demons?"
Aric's jaw clenched, his blood singing with the memory of his fire. But he bowed his head, to play the part of the obedient subject. One wrong move, and he would be cast out of the palace, left to face the demons and the Pureblades on his own.
"I only wish to help in any way I can," Aric said, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.
Aric moved before he even realized it. He was on his feet, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. He staggered, one hand shooting out to steady himself on the back of the chair.
"Valerian," Aster interrupted, his voice too calm, too controlled. "Let him speak. I'm sure he has a good reason for interrupting the council."
Aric swallowed hard, his mind racing. There was no time for subtlety, for careful dancing around the truth. If the king was truly possessed by Sylthris, it meant she was already one step ahead of him. And if she wasn't, if the truth was something even worse lurking beneath the surface, they had to find out before it was too late.
"Blasphemer," King Aster said, his voice dripping with contempt. "You dare question my authority? My judgment?"
Aric stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of Aster's corrupted aura, the wrongness that pervaded his presence. The council's cries faded to a dull roar in his ears. All he could hear was the pounding of his own blood.
"You want to be trusted?" Aric said. "Then show us your face."
The words sliced through the council room, silencing the courtiers' ceaseless arguing. Yhe king's advisers turned towards him, the judgment in their stares as thick as the heavy perfume of the room.
King Aster's eyes narrowed, and the shadows seemed to swirl around his head like a crown. "What are you implying, Aric Solarian?"
Aric straightened, trying to muster all the authority he could. "Your Majesty, I—"
But as he met Aster's gaze, Aric hesitated. The king's violet eyes were like twin voids, drawing him in, promising to devour him whole.
Aric took a step back, his heart hammering in his chest. "You're not—you can't be—"
"Aric," Valerian said, an unmistakable warning in his tone.
Aric's heart clenched at the sound of his name on Valerian's lips, but he forced himself to focus. He'd been too caught up in his own emotions, too focused on Valerian's duplicity and Sylthris's games. He couldn't let himself be distracted, not now.
Aric dropped to one knee, lowering his head. "I beg your pardon, councilors. But my instincts tell me that the king is not who he claim to be."
The room fell deathly silent. The courtiers' stares bored into him, the tension thickening the air.
"I am the King of Astaria." Aster’s voice was solid and frigid as ice. "There is no need for you to question me."
Aric rose, his eyes locked on Aster's. "Then prove it. Show us your true face."
Aster's eyes widened, a glimmer of fear seeping through the haze of shadows. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cruel smile. "You are a foolish man, Aric Solarian. I have tolerated your insolence because of your supposed expertise in the matter of the demon incursion, but do not mistake my patience for weakness." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "I will not hesitate to have you thrown in the dungeons alongside your former demon brethren."
The guards flanking Aric moved forward, hands on their sword hilts. Aric tensed, his muscles coiling, ready to fight or flee. But even if he could escape the palace, where would he go? The streets were a war zone, and he was running on nothing but instinct and adrenaline at this point.
His hand still gripped the back of his chair, and he forced himself to release it, to stand tall. He had to keep his wits about him, even while facing down the King himself.
The words of the dream echoed in his mind, a terrible inevitability. His mind raced, desperately grasping for options.
But then one of the guards grabbed his arm, his grip iron-strong. The Pureblade's voice was a low growl. "You will come with us."
Aric struggled, trying to wrench his arm free, but it was no use. The Pureblade's hand was unyielding, his fingers digging into Aric's flesh.
"Let me go—"
The Pureblade's grip tightened, and Aric felt a sudden, sharp pressure against his wrist. There was a soft click, and then a cool, metal band clamped around his forearm.
Inhibitors.
The Pureblade released his hold on Aric, stepping back as the inhibitor took hold. Aric staggered, his head spinning as his magic was locked away. It was like a part of him had been sliced off, the connection severed, leaving him hollow and empty.
No. Not again. He couldn't lose it again.
The room spun; sweat cooled like ice as it traced down Aric's face, and his knees buckled. Oh, Light, he was becoming unmoored. Nothing was real any longer. Nothing was real—
"Aric! Enough."
Valerian strode forward, his expression one of barely constrained fury. The courtiers fell silent, their deference to him evident.
"I don't know what warped delusions have taken hold of your mind, but you will cease this madness at once."
"Delusions?" Aric spat, the word tasting like ash. "I'm not the one who—"
Valerian's hand shot out, grabbing Aric by the collar and pulling him close. Blue eyes locked onto Aric's with a cold, calculating gleam.
"You will do as you're told." Valerian’s voice fell to a menacing whisper. "Or I will ensure that you never see the light of day again."
"I'll ask you one more time," King Aster said, stepping down from his throne. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"
Aric's heart sank. The rulers were in on it together; he was sure of it. All around him, the courtiers were watching, waiting for his answer. Even if Aric could face the king's wrath, he didn't know if he had the strength to defy Valerian as well.
But he had to try. He had to force the conspiracy into the light.
"My elite mages," Valerian said loftily, "have been stationed throughout the city for months now, gathering intelligence and preparing for just such an assault."
Aric's heart stopped. He kept his gaze forward, afraid to betray anything of the storm raging within him.
"They are the most powerful and skilled members of the Silver Tower, trained in covert operations and magic suppression. I propose we unleash them now, to strike at the demons while they are still disorganized and reeling from their attack."
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to King Aster, the air thick with untapped potential that prickled Aric’s skin.
"Very well, Lord Regent," he said, his voice soft and deadly. "You have my permission to proceed."
Aric's mind was racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. What were these elite forces of Valerian's? Did it have something to do with those plans he found in Valerian's workshop? If Valerian was indeed working with Sylthris and whoever was pulling her strings, if they were behind the demon invasion, then what did they hope to gain from it?
It was too much to process, too many threads to untangle all at once. But one thing was clear: Valerian's "elite mages" were a threat, one that Aric needed to stop at all costs.
King Aster—a ruse, a deception, Sylthris's twisted game—leaned back in his seat. "Thank you, Lord Regent. Your actions will surely save us all."
The advisers nodded in reluctant agreement, their desperation a palpable thing. But Aric's blood ran cold. Astaria was being handed over to Sylthris and her forces, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He reached for his magic, but his golden fire was an ember, snuffed out by the inhibitor's grip. Valerian's rage simmered just below the surface, but there was victory in his eyes. Victory over Aric.
Aric's hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't let Sylthris and Valerian's scheme unfold unchecked. But with his magic locked away, he was powerless, a ghost haunting the palace halls.
He had to think. There had to be a way to stop them. A way to break through the darkness and reach the light. But the clock was ticking, and he was out of time.
Aric wrenched one hand free of the guard's grip, driving his elbow into a chin. He kicked out with one leg, catching another guard in the stomach, and managed a few steps toward Aster's wretched form.
"Aric!" The guards shouted his name, but he was beyond caring. All he could see was the threat before him, the dark shadow poisoning the heart of Astaria.
He was almost to the throne when the guards tackled him from behind, driving him to the ground. His head struck the stone floor, stars bursting behind his eyes, and the inhibitor on his wrist seemed to tighten, mocking him with its cruel grasp. He fought against the guards' hold, but they were too many, their grip too strong. They forced him onto his back, pinning his arms and legs, and he was trapped, unable to move, unable to save the kingdom he'd sworn to protect.
Aster leaned over him, his face a mask of hatred. "I should have known you would be a problem."
Aric was about to reply when a deafening roar filled the air, a sound like the world being torn asunder. The palace trembled, the floor buckling beneath them, and then they were falling, the world spinning out of control.
The explosion threw Aric into the air, the force of it tearing him from the guards' grasp. He hit the ground hard, the stone floor shattering beneath him, and then he was rolling, tumbling, everything a blur of noise and light and pain.
When he came to a stop, the world was upside down, the air filled with smoke and screams. He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it trickling down his face, but it was the least of his concerns. The palace was collapsing down around them, great chunks of stone falling from the ceiling, the walls buckling and crumbling.
He had to move. He had to get out of there. But his body felt like it weighed a ton, his limbs refusing to obey his commands. He tried to stand, but the ground was shifting beneath him, the floor tilting at a crazy angle. All he could do was crawl, dragging himself across the shattered tiles.
He had to find the others. Valerian, Sylthris, King Aster. They were all in danger, all at risk. He had to warn them, had to stop whatever evil had been unleashed upon the palace.
But as he struggled to his feet, a figure emerged from the smoke, their silhouette backlit by the burning debris.
Aric's blood chilled in his veins. It was one of Valerian's soldiers.
An Ixion soldier, clad in shadowed glass and silver.
But that was impossible. Truly impossible.
Aric scrambled backwards, his boots slipping on the blood-slicked floor. His heart was pounding in his ears, drowning out the chaos around him. He couldn't look away from the soldier's face, those dark eyes that had haunted his dreams for so long.
Malekith.
First he wanted to laugh, laugh and laugh at the cruelty of it all. They had been here too, and somehow, through blood, grief, and so much desperation, Aric had found his way back; all so that they could be torn apart.
Then he wanted to weep. To weep for all the threads of fate that had brought them here, to this terrible moment.
Malekith.
General Malekith of House Ixion.
His former captor.
His lover.
A thousand memories crashed over Aric all at once. The first time they'd met, the hatred burning in those dark eyes. The nights they'd spent locked in a battle of wills, each trying to outmaneuver the other. The moments of tenderness they'd shared, those rare glimpses behind the mask. The physical ache of waking up without him. The raw, bleeding wound that had never fully healed in his absence.
And now he was here, right in front of Aric, Malekith whom he'd come this far to not let down, and he couldn't even make himself move.
But then Malekith stepped forward, and Aric's heart stopped.
There was nothing in the inky depths of his stare. No recognition. No thought. Nothing at all.
Twenty-One
Aric stumbled back, struggling to keep his balance in the shifting ruins of the throne room. Malekith—General Malekith, Prince of House Ixion—stared at him, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Nothing but coldness and hatred.
The air was thick with dust and smoke, the acrid stench of burned magic and the remnants of the explosion sizzling around the edges of the hole in the palace wall. Aric's heart was a deafening roar in his ears, drowning out the panicked shouts of the guards, the cries of the advisers as they fled.
Malekith took a step toward him, and Aric's body moved on instinct, his feet carrying him forward. He had waited so long for this moment, for the chance to see him again, to ask him all the questions that had haunted him for so long. Why had he left? What had happened in the demon realm after Aric had fled back to the human world? Had their time together meant anything, or had it all been a lie?
But as he drew closer, Malekith's expression didn't change. If anything, the hatred in his eyes only deepened.
Aric's chest felt like it was caving in. The agony was almost visceral, a physical wound opening inside him. He had thought he was prepared for anything—another fight, more lies, even a cruel dismissal. But this . . . this was like dying all over again.
"Malekith," he choked out, his voice cracking. "Please—"
Malekith's hand shot out, and Aric flinched, expecting a blow. But instead, Malekith grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, yanking him close. Aric's hands went to Malekith's chest, trying to push him away, but the demon's grip was iron.
"Stay out of our way, human."
The words were a low, venomous hiss, Malekith's breath hot against Aric's skin. And then he was gone, the grip on Aric's collar vanishing, the scent of smoke and blood still lingering between them.
Aric stumbled forward, his mind a whirl of confusion and hurt. He reached for Malekith, but the demon prince was already turning, striding out through the gaping hole in the wall, into the night beyond.
"No," Aric’s voice was a broken whisper. "No, you can't—"
He started after him, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn floor. But the palace was still shuddering around them, bits of stone and wood raining down, the air thick with the smoke of burning magic.The energy of the rifts called to him, the tear between their worlds, and a part of him wanted to reach for it, to test if it were the same.
But he couldn't think about that now. He had to reach Malekith, had to make him remember who he was.
"Malekith!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Please, listen to me—"
The demon paused, his silhouette framed in the jagged edge of the portal. And then he turned back, his eyes meeting Aric's.
For a moment, Aric's heart dared to hope. But then Malekith's expression hardened, the fury and hatred all the more brutal for their return.
"I have work to do," Malekith said, and then he was stepping through the crack in the wall, the darkness swallowing him whole.
Aric felt himself shatter.
Aric scrambled to his feet, the debris of the shattered throne room clutching at his legs, pulling him down. He kicked it away, forcing himself upright, but the palace seemed to tilt around him, the world off-kilter and wrong.
Malekith was only a shadow now, just past the wreckage of the intruders who'd stormed the court.
"Malekith!" Aric called again, his voice breaking on the name. "Please—don't leave me!"
More smoke, more rubble, more screams—why was no one headed toward the breach in the wall, toward Malekith and whatever his forces were up to?
The inhibitor iron cuffs around Aric's wrists felt like deadweight, and he sank to his knees, bile rising in his throat.
What had Malekith done?
What had they done to him?
