Angel Princesses are not supposed to be forced into marriages with Devils.
Especially not the Crown Princessânext in line for the throne of The Heavensâto The Devil himself. And yet here I am, face-to-face with Lucef, Lord of Tartarus, and my entire kingdom's eyes are on me.
In the whirlwind rush that brought me out to meet my unexpected new fiancé, I barely had a moment to change into a gown befitting royal company. My brother's messenger had arrived in my drawing room, feathers scattering everywhere, to bid me to the courtyard.
My face is still on fire and my mind reels from the message my brother sent from the throne room. An Oracleâa speaker for the godsâhad appeared to Angel King Aeronis to announce my betrothal to the Devil only minutes before a portal Gate opened in the courtyard ahead of him and three monstrous goons. Goons that stand facing me now.
"Lucef, it's a pleasure to see you after all these years!" The soft, genuinely kind greeting which unthinkingly escapes my lips shocks everyone around me, but myself most of all.
The rigid attention of the Seraphim Honor Guard hides the fear radiating from them in waves. Barely graduated from the Angelic Guard Academy, the Honor Guard stand in the palace walls as a statement more than a fighting force when the rest of our soldiers are away. And away they are, along with the one person who can defend me from this Devil and his goons. My sister, Dorathea.
Pleasure is the last thing any of us feels, but I hope that the forced smile I've practiced for the last thousand years at Court is convincing enough to fool the King of the Dead.
Lucef's freshly-waxed eyebrows shoot up. He was clearly not anticipating such a cordial greeting from the Angel he came to drag from the Heavens. His surprise quickly vanishes, hidden behind a cruel, tight-lipped smile and unpierceable black eyes. I fight to suppress a shudder, forcing the most diplomatic smile I can muster. The deepest, darkest vaults of the Lower World await their unwitting would-be Queen, and this manâthis god of deathâholds no warmth for me.
And yet I find myself extending my hand to him as though he were any Angel noble. Biting the inside of my cheek, I wait in agonizing suspense as he takes my porcelain-white fingers in his white-gloved hand. I long to flee, to escape into the gardens like I used to as a child, but I am no longer a child. Precariously maintaining favor among the Angel courts has prepared me for this day.
And they say The Heavens are a fairer place...
Raising my knuckles to his lips, Lucef's brief kiss scorches my skin, leaving the hairs standing on end and a dark spot lingering in the shape of his lips. My smile falters for less time than it takes to blink, but The Devil grimaces when he sees the mark his touch left behind.
Only my desperate need to remain the image of holiness in front of my people keeps me from cutting my eyes at my younger brother, Thomison, to whom I owe the pleasure of putting me in this situation.
"I'm sure you're tired," I say, moving my hand to the crook of his elbow and shifting so that my back is to my people. "Let me take you to your suite."
Lucef waves for his brutish minions, three Demon-Centaur half-breeds, to follow us. Large splatters of molten skin lie in patches across the Centaur's horse-hair flanks. Swarms of flies buzz constantly around the creatures, barely discernible among the constant black fog swirling around their heads, hands, and hooves. White maggots crawl across their rotting human skin. My stomach threatens to betray my true feelings as a waft of sewage and unwashed hides floats to me on the typically sweet breeze.
As the Centaurs move to follow their leader in silence through the entryway into the Castle of Air, even my mighty Seraphim guards lean awkwardly away.
Two golden gatesâeach more than a hundred Angels highâclose behind us with barely more than a click. My gilded cage remains delicately hidden behind splendor within the castle's entry hall. Glassless windows barred with golden coiled vines let a constant cool breeze filter in, along with endless sunshine. Above me, a similar golden grating allows the sun to poor directly into a grass-filled basin in the floor, across which I lead my guests.
Lucef sucks in his breath and appears to hold it as we pass recently-bloomed daisies, letting it out again in a hiss once they're far behind us. My betrothed's hands are firm on my arm. While he is gentle, the possessiveness in his aura is stifling despite the breeze.
I try to dismiss the fear in my guards' eyes, searching the room desperately for Doratheaâmy Banisher; the first Banisher born to the Angels in three generations. If Banishers can send even the gods to The Void, surely her presence will command Lucef's respect and good behavior.
My heart sinks. Dorathea's bright auburn hair is nowhere to be seen. Even if my messengers retrieved her from the battle with the Vampires in The Human World via portals, there would not have been enough time for them to have returned yet.
"Please forgive the long walk," I apologize to Lucef as our path takes us to a small wooden door at the end of the entry hall.
Above the door, a perch of white granite awaits. I would normally hop there and soar across the servant's labyrinth to arrive at the Pentacleâthe royal chambers of the Angel kingdom. Noting that both my betrothed and his goons are wingless, I swallow the lump in my throat and steel myself to guide them through the door and into the ground-locked maze beyond.
The lack of air in the enclosed halls, combined with shadows cast from occasional candles along the rough-stone walls, are unnerving. My feathers lie too still, and the halls leave no room to stretch my cramped wings. The increasingly suffocating stench of the Centaurs thickens the lump in my throat into one I barely refrain from gagging over.
More than a few times, the Centaurs scuffle and nearly trip during the steep ascent. Made for function more than easeâas land-locked beings seldom find themselves invited to the Angel courtâthe stairs making up the hallways are awkwardly placed at inconsistent angles in order to suit an Angel's long stride.
Servants, while Angels, fear the gods and my holy family too much to spread their wings within our sanctified halls. The daily traipse through the mazes is said to be one in which the servants reflect upon their sins and sanctify their thoughts before arriving unshielded before me and my family. The path is also winding and steep, meant to confuse the souls of the mortal dead that we care for, should one stray within our walls uninvited.
"I was not aware of your arrival today, or I would have prepared a chariot for you," I continue. "Rest assured, you and your men will not have to make this trek again on foot while you are in my care."
"You honor me with such a fastidious notion, Your Holiness."
His voice, though smooth and charming, hides a guile and ingenuine undertone that sets my feathers on end.
Before he can say another word, we come out of the servant halls into the near-blinding light of the Atrium. Lucef utters a curse, then shoots me an insincerely apologetic smile. I blink hard, hardly maintaining my fake smile.
"Holy Sister!"
Relief washes over me as Dorathea sprints up to us. Her knee-length auburn locks hang in multiple braids, which she has pulled into a single ponytail down her back. Falling to one knee before us, she holds a blunt staff of silver upright before her, training her eyes on the ground.
"Forgive my absence at the gate, Holy Sister," she says, huffing and puffing from her hurried arrival. "I was unaware we were expecting guests."
Laying a hand on her shoulder, I motion for my older sister to rise. I wink at her and smile genuinely for the first time all afternoon. She stands awkwardly, sizing up the three Centaurs and The Devil with a forced stoicism that is not as convincing as my own.
Arrayed in full armor, Dorathea's gold-tinted crystalline breastplate and greaves refract the sunlight into rainbows around her. A single red crystal hangs suspended between her eyebrows, a constant reminder of the blood she has shed in my place as my Banisherâthe person who kills on my behalf, doling out my judgements so that my hands may remain pure of blood.
"There is no need for such formal titles in the presence of our soon-to-be blood kin, Dorathea," I say, motioning to Lucef. "Allow me to introduce King Lucef of Tartarus, my betrothed."
"Your Majesty," Dorathea greets him with a short bow, "it is a pleasure to greet the man who will wed the Treasure of The Heavens."
Though her words are cordial, the ice behind them is anything but. I cut my eyes at her, and she immediately falls into attention behind me, separating me from the winded and wheezing Centaurs at my back.
Had King Aeronis not specifically given word that Lucef was to be treated as an equal to the king of The Heavens during this stay, the vermin accompanying him would never have been permitted to bring their taint into my halls. As it stands, all of our hands are tied, despite the unorthodox break of our rules.
The gods' will must come first in all things. I repeat the only facet of truth I can hold in pure faith over and over again to myself. They have never led me astray. This command came from an Oracle. There is nothing to question.
"The pleasure is mine," Lucef laughs, not at all bothered by Dorathea's terseness. "Shall we continue, Your Holiness?"
Sucking in a sharp breath, I force myself to continue on through the glass-walled atrium and into the Pentacle. To each side of the circular entry hall, golden doors set with stained-glass separate the Royal Family's quarters. Heading straight across the room to the only set of double-doors, I motion for two Seraphim guards to allow us in.
"Take the Centaurs to chambers suitable for them," I bid Dorathea. "I believe there are some down my third hall that would be perfect; the view of the meadow from there is lovely this time of year."
Dorathea's hands ball into fists, and her jaw tightens a moment. Biting back whatever protest she wishes to say, she finally nods, bows her head to me, and ushers the Centaurs away. Leaving them in her capable hands, I continue on into the center receiving room of my chambers. A table has already been prepared with a tea service for two, presumably mine and Dorathea's, since no one seemed to know Lucef was coming to whisk me away.
"Please, have a seat," I say, motioning to the chair across from my own.
I wait to see what he'll do. Whether he'll pull out my chair for me. How he'll sit. Whether he'll wait to eat until I do. How he takes his tea. Where he focuses his gaze when he finally has a chance to look at me without the hindrance of a crowd about.
The littlest things say so much of a person.
Releasing my arm, Lucef rounds the table and sinks into his chair. Not a gentleman, it seems. That comes as no surprise, though. Devils are not known for their empathy toward what they deem to be weaker or lesser beings, and being the Crown Princess of The Heavens, he should see me as neither of those things.
He surveys the spread of the cakes and petit fours with barely-contained disgust, but does not speak. Sinking into my own seat, the tension in my back and shoulders gives way to the relaxing comfort of the satin-covered cushions beneath me. My feet throb from walking so much in heels, as I am more accustomed to flying and hovering wherever I need to go.
Stretching out my wings to drape casually over the arms of my chair, I lean forward to pour our tea when I do not see a servant in sight. My fingers barely grasp the kettle, though, when a servant gasps in the background and rushes forward to take the pot from me. I hold out a hand to still her.
Lucef does not seem the slightest bit surprised by the fact that the Crown Princess of The Heavens is serving his tea.
Did he not notice? Or does he take for granted that I will serve him?
Either way, my time to appraise him in my own territory is limited, and I must make the most of it.
"Do you take cream or sugar with your tea?" I ask him.
His brows shoot up again.
"I beg your pardon?" he asks, dumbfounded. I'm unsure whether it's because of the question, or because of my unfurled white wings.
"For your tea," I say again, motioning to a small silver tea server between us, "would you like cream or sugar?"
"Neither," he says, wincing. "I prefer mine black."
I hide a smile as he warily eyes the cup of barley tea I hand him. It is almost as though he has never seen a brown tea before.
"If you will let my servants know what you and your men prefer to eat, I will see that you are brought a meal better suited to your tastes."
At that comment, he grins slyly and raises his eyes to me for the first time since greeting me outside the castle. His wavy black hair is cropped short, gelled, and combed over without a single stray strand, despite the breeze blowing in through the open windows around the room. Despite being rather pale, his face has a ruddy, coppery tone to it, belying his pure Devil blood.
I wonder if it's true that Devils turn red when they use their powers...
"No more true than the saying that an Angel glows silver when she uses hers," he admonishes with a chuckle.
My smile vanishes, and Lucef pauses mid-way to lifting his teacup to his lips. My lessons about Devils come rushing back to me, especially the ones warning of mind control. Sighing, Lucef places his teacup back on the table and leans back in his seat.
"My Lady," he says, "if I may be so bold, may we speak plainly?"
I want to say no. I want to run as far away from this creature of darkness as I can. But my fingers trace the golden circle pendant hanging upon my chestâthe Crown of Queens.
The gods have never led me astray. They will not start now.
I nod, unable to choke out a response, and too aware that my thoughts are an open book to him. Reaching across the table, he extends a hand to me, which I reluctantly take. The firm squeeze of his fingers is likely meant to grant me some relief, as Angels are known to gravitate towards physical affection, where Devils and Demonsâtheir half-Human, half-Devil descendantsâare not. However, a dark malignance swirls in his aura like a living poison in the air, nauseating me.
"You, Princess Seracuse the Holy, are beyond anything I could have ever hoped or dreamed. You not only accepted the decree to become my bride, but also welcomed me, the Devil, warmly into your home without reservation. You are, truly, my prize, and I am thrilled to vanquish you."
My breath hitches in my chest at the sparks in his black eyes. Slipping my now-shaking fingers from his, I return them to my lap at the declaration.
Always balancing the high-stakes decisions of the worlds alongside Angel King Aeronis has prepared me for many diplomatic discussions with beings of other cultures. This, thoughâthis blatant statement of the truth, without thought of the consequencesâis more brazen than I have ever encountered.
"I do not know why the gods brought us together, Lucef," I force myself to say at least, thankful that my voice carries a resolute calm that I do not feel, "but they assuredly have brought us together. I am the Crown Princess of the Angel Throne; perhaps our union is fitting."
Leaning back, he runs a hand through his hair, leaving trails from his fingertips behind.
"Really? What makes you think that?"
"Perhaps this assumes too much for a lowly Angel," I admit, "but perhaps the gods wish to re-join The Heavens and The Underworld once more."
Electric cracks of red flare out from him for a brief second, scorching the white-lace tablecloth and floor. This is not the first time I've met Lucef, though it has been decades since we last attended a Court of the Worlds together. His temper has always been renowned, but I've never considered being party to it beyond Court walls.
Bouncing back quickly, Lucef takes the smallest sip of his tea from a now-blackened teacup. The palms of his white gloves are pitch-black as well. How they didn't burn off completely is beyond me. Maybe they were enchanted?
"My dear," he says, his devilish half-smile having returned, "we have little time together before your king sends us both on our way, so let me be completely clear in the predicament we have found ourselves in."
"Predicament?" Did he not choose this?
Something within his gaze freezes me where I sit, as though physical chains have strapped me into my seat. His grin spreads, and darkness creeps out from where he sits, engulfing us in a bubble of blackness so thick I am surprised I can even see my own teacup in my hand, much less Lucef's face across the table.
Everyone and everything else beyond the bubble appears frozen in time, unaware of the strangeness between us. Blinking a couple times, I realize with a lurch where we are.
"How dare you?!" I snap, slamming my teacup onto the table and jumping to my feet. "You enter my consciousness without an invitation?! We barely know each other! This violationâ"
"Is not a violation at all."
He chuckles, then stands and stalks around the table toward me. His eyes drag up my form, from my toes to my chest, but no higher.
"Sweetest bloodmoon," he whispers, raising a hand to brush a stray lock of my wavy blond hair away from my face, "you're tantalizing."
His eyes capture mine, and cold runs through my veins.
"And you're mine."
He reaches for me, but I step away, surprised at my ability to do so with both grace and resolve in this unprecedented assault. Devils and higher-born Demons can absorb the power Angels put off by changing our emotions unexpectedlyâan imbalance of power that is both brief and potent to our darker peers. My fear, nerves, and resolve all evening must have set him off, but that does not mean he had a right to enter my consciousness, my only sacred space, without my permission.
"You forget yourself, fiancé," I say, trying to remain as neutral as possible.
I should not have to be holding myself responsible for this man's lust. But here I am.
"I am not one of your Harpy consorts, and we are not married yet."
He flinches at my words and backs up a step, reassessing me.
"I am the holy Crown Princess of The Heavens. Ceremony or not, there are pilgrimages that must be completed so that I can retain my holy status once I wed. I will follow the gods' will in all things, but the gods are clear that their directions will not contradict their ordinances. You will not touch me until we are wed in the sight of the gods. I will not sacrifice my dutyâmy throneâfor you."
For a brief moment, Lucef's entire body flares bright red, a deeper red than the fires of the Underworld. Then, without another word, Lucef returns to his normal ashen color. He makes his way back to his seat while motioning for me to return to mine.
Locking his gaze onto mine, he asks in genuine, "do you truly believe you can be married to the Devil in a manner that will maintain your purity to rule The Heavens?"
I ponder his question and pray for a clear answer as I slowly retake my own seat. Taking a deep breath, I nod.
"The gods will not ask of me what is not in the best service of all. They see a way, and I have faith I will find it."
It is impossible to tell what Lucef thinks of my answer, as his face hardens into a mask of indifference. Raising his hand, he snaps his fingers, and the darkness retracts to him in his chair, freeing me from his intrusion into my soul.
"If you'll excuse me, Your Holiness," he says, standing again and bowing, "I will be retiring now. I believe we have a long night ahead of us."
Without a word of explanation, my betrothed storms off down a hall following a servant.
