The Demon Prince Page 12

  Alastor admired the bas relief mosaic on the far wall and the shiny marble floors as the receptionist clicked a path toward the chancellor’s office. Hers was at the back of the building on the ground floor and he read placards in passing for Exchequer and Roadwork and Historical Preservation. Their route ended in magnificent mahogany double doors with frosted glass etched in sigils he didn’t recognize.

  “Wait here please,” the woman said primly.

  “She’s wolf clan,” Sheyla said, as soon as the lady stepped into the antechamber.

  It might be an insult to leave them cooling their heels in the corridor, but his task was too critical for him to obsess over minor issues—and this was the sort of thing that would set Ded off like a firecracker. “Pine Ridge?”

  “Probably. They’re the majority, but if she’s posted here, she probably doesn’t have strong clan ties. Her first loyalty will be to the chancellor. It’s also possible that she’s from Ice Spire, a rarely seen enclave of wolves in the far north.”

  Before he could ask more, the receptionist returned and gestured for them to step inside, then she hastened back toward the front desk where they’d found her. The waiting room was all polished dark wood panels and expensive maroon carpets threaded in gold. Fine leather volumes lined the far wall, and there were a couple of upholstered chairs that pretended people were allowed to sit in them. Alastor recognized this sort of décor, everything ordered to impress.

  At an immense desk, another watchdog waited, a handsome man who rose with a smooth and empty smile. “I’m told you seek an appointment with the chancellor.”

  “My business is urgent,” Alastor said. “It pertains to the safety of Hallowell. If necessary, I can summon Korin, lieutenant to Raff at Pine Ridge and Callum McRae, the leader of both the Order of St. Casimir and the Burnt Amber bear clan, to corroborate my words.”

  It was an effort to hold the smile when urgency sang in his blood. For each moment he lost to bureaucracy, Tycho trod closer to achieving his ambitions. The other man’s lips formed into a disapproving line. “Name dropping will avail you nothing, Your Highness.” He spoke the final word with a little sneer that told Alastor everything he needed to know.

  Sheyla folded her arms. “Maybe not, but if you don’t get off your ass and tell Chancellor Quarles we’re here, you’ll have an angry bear lord kicking down your damn door next.”

  Since that dovetailed with what he knew of McRae, he waited to see what the aide would say, maybe something about security?

  The secretary paled. “I’ll… be right back.”

  “That wasn’t very diplomatic,” he observed.

  “We don’t have time for that. He wanted to humble you, but the time he wastes on gamesmanship will have a cost in terms of civilian lives.”

  He saw that she was thinking of those who died in the bombing of Ash Valley, and he wished he could comfort her, but the doors to the chancellor’s inner sanctum swung open. Inside her space, it was much more welcoming, small and cluttered with files and papers and open books and half-read petitions. Her furniture was worn too, a rug showing the track where she likely paced and fingerprints on the window that overlooked a private garden, now dead and dry with winter.

  With her white hair and rosy cheeks, the chancellor could have been someone’s kindly grandmother, if not for the keen light in the brown eyes behind her wire spectacles. She wore a simple gray suit and thick-soled black shoes, sensible down to the silver-tipped walking stick propped beside her desk. She shut the door behind them and indicated the two chairs opposite her desk; they were simple wood, not designed for anyone to occupy long, Alastor decided with a trace of amusement.

  “I’m Chancellor Quarles,” she said briskly. “I hope you’ll accept my apologies for Anton. He tends to be… protective of my time. I suspect he senses I haven’t much of it left.”

  Alastor appreciated her forthright nature, though the last comment was worrisome. Hallowell could little afford any political upheaval just then; the external danger was dire enough. “I’m sure you’ve some idea why we’ve come.”

  She inclined her head. “My sources bring rumors. I’d like it if you sorted fact from fiction for me. Concisely, mind. I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

  Thus incentivized, Alastor gave her the nutshell of events, starting with the failed conclave, the breakdown of the Pax Protocols at Ash Valley, followed by the bombing and the deaths of the old bear leader and Lord Talfayen. The chancellor listened with a brow growing more furrowed with each revelation. By the time he finished with, “Therefore, we concluded that his next strategic target will likely be—”

  “Hallowell,” she completed the sentence, seeming to share that assessment.

  “That’s why it’s vital that we work with the standing militia to shore up defenses. Burnt Amber has brought war machines for defense and there’s a squadron of wolves who are planning to stay and fight.”

  “Don’t forget the Eldritch,” Sheyla added quietly.

  “Correct. Princess Thalia has also assigned a unit of her best fighters to keep Hallowell out of my brother’s hands.”

  “This must be difficult for you,” the chancellor observed.

  Alastor raised a brow. “What in particular?”

  “Denouncing a member of your own family and facing him on the battlefield.”

  If she understood the dynamics, she wouldn’t offer sympathy. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to play on it. “Yet I am resolved, Chancellor.”

  “Then I must be as well. Hallowell has always maintained neutrality among clan conflicts, but with the Pax Protocols in tatters and a tyrant on the march, we cannot ask him nicely to desist.”

  Beside him, Sheyla smothered a laugh, but she didn’t speak. Alastor rose, noting by the clock on the far wall that he had used seven of his allotted ten minutes. “Please send word when we can speak more and coordinate our efforts. I’m sure your secretary knows how to find me.”

  “Indeed.” Chancellor Quarles stood and inclined her head, escorting them all the way through the foyer. “I’ll bring your request to the ministers personally and hope to deliver news by tomorrow at the latest.”

  Her aide didn’t acknowledge their passing, despite Sheyla’s mocking wave. Minor tensions wouldn’t matter when the man learned how great the threat was. Most likely he would stop sleeping, between the new workload and impending doom anxiety.

  “She was more reasonable than her assistant led me to believe,” she said, as they cleared the government annex.

  “Well, she doesn’t make all the decisions. Let’s hope the ministers she mentioned are amenable to a collective defense effort.”

  “They can’t do it on their own,” she muttered.

  Her half-audible grumbling followed him down the stairs, and outside the ministry complex, Alastor spun in a slow circle, taking in the city’s charm. Apart from the trolleys, there were only pedestrians or people on brightly painted bicycles. The smell of roasting meat reached him, likely from the man selling skewers on the corner. He took a step toward the delicious aroma before remembering he didn’t have a copper in his pockets.

  Lucky for him, Sheyla was already tugging him in the other direction or he might’ve come across wistful as a small boy. “We should get settled and make some plans. While you’re in meetings, I’ll be at the hospital, at least to start. I’ll see about activating secure local comms for us.”

  “Good thinking.” For obvious reasons, he hadn’t used his phone since leaving Golgerra.

  As it turned out, Dedrick already had two units ready, courtesy of an outing with Korin of Pine Ridge. The men had moved in the night before and were ready to get to work but until Alastor made nice with the chancellor and her ministers, he just needed them to stay out of trouble, a request he made crystal clear to Ded.

  “Understood,” he said. “Shall I show you to your quarters?’

  “Please. And make sure the men know not to change in public, unless I’ve ordered them to do so for city defense.
” He loathed the necessity of this, how such concealment felt like shame, but it wouldn’t do to frighten anyone in Hallowell.

  “As you command, sire.” Here, Dedrick hesitated, leading them into a nondescript tenement building. “I wasn’t certain of how many suites you will require…”

  Without even thinking about it, he wrapped an arm about Sheyla and pulled her to him. “One. The good doctor remains with me.”

  13.

  “It’s very beige,” Sheyla said, as if she couldn’t sense Alastor’s tension.

  Things had been strange since Dedrick showed them into the small apartment they would be sharing. The guard gave them a brief tour, not that it was necessary, and then excused himself to check on the troops, who were four to a flat and wagering over who got to sleep in the bed. Now she was watching Alastor flit around, ostensibly investigating the amenities, but it was clear his mind wasn’t on the rug or the tiny kitchenette.

  Her observation startled him out of reverie, resulting in a shaded look. “Isn’t it? I had no idea there were so many variations on neutrality.”

  “If you’re up to it, you should shower. They’ve gifted us some staples as a show of hospitality, so I’ll see what I can whip up.”

  “Not soup,” he begged.

  She laughed as he went to the washroom. Digging around, she found that she could make noodles in a basic cream sauce, along with slices of grilled meat. It had been long enough since she’d had anything but the barley soup he’d mentioned that Sheyla’s mouth watered as she put together the meal. There were also frozen vegetables, which she steamed on top of the pasta.

  Half an hour later, when he emerged from the steamy bathroom, she had lunch—or dinner—ready. Alastor paused, towel in hand, staring at the dishes she’d laid out and Sheyla squirmed with surprising discomfort. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out his intensity, and that was more than slightly irksome.

  “I’m no cook,” she said defensively.

  He smiled then. “I wasn’t judging your efforts.”

  “Then what?”

  “Shall we eat?” he suggested. “It would be a shame to let it get cold.”

  Mildly disgruntled, she sat down at the table and served up generous portions. He would need the carbs and protein for the trials to come. “Here.”

  “You’re offering me food again.”

  “So what?” She crammed a huge bite into her mouth and half-closed her eyes in pleasure at the combination of cream and cheese.

  “I shouldn’t tell you.”

  “Are you trying to aggravate me?”

  “Perish the thought. Do you promise that the truth won’t make you angrier?” He wore the impish expression that she distrusted instinctively yet she couldn’t let this go. Curiosity might kill this cat if she didn’t achieve intellectual satiation.

  “I swear.”

  “As I said before, these are mating rituals,” he said softly.

  She cocked her head, trying to put the pieces together. “Are you talking about the blood mark again?”

  “That was the start… and I’m trying to ignore all the other implications because I realize you don’t know our ways.”

  “Explain,” she demanded. It stung to discover that he was making allowances for her ignorance. The fire of embarrassment blazed in her cheeks; she hadn’t felt this silly or small since she forgot the poem she was supposed to recite in junior school.

  “You hunted for me, a demonstration of your strength and prowess, a silent statement that you can provide for my needs.”

  “Everyone ate that meat.” She was aware it sounded like a protest.

  “You delivered it to me,” he said gently. “The fact that I chose to share diminishes your gift not at all.”

  And there was no disputing that. Sheyla nodded. “Is there more?”

  “Most certainly. You’ve shared skinship with me on multiple occasions. While I understand that nudity among the Animari isn’t as rare as it is with my people, it’s still difficult for me not to consider it meaningful.”

  The residual heat of her chagrin melted into deeper color, the flush of simmering attraction. She could’ve said that kisses, like they’d exchanged, weren’t exactly common either, but that would probably encourage him. “Understood. Please, go on.”

  He was eating steadily, not looking at her. “Next, you took down my braids. That is an intensely intimate act, restricted to kinfolk and lovers.”

  “I suspected there was something to it when you asked this morning,” she admitted. “And I had noticed the intricate designs among your men. I’m sorry for overstepping.”

  Alastor waved her apology away with a vague smile. “Finally, we come full circle. You’ve laid a table for me, filled my plate and bade me eat. This is the last stage, where we test our compatibility as mates. We call this first-year trial ‘nesting’ and at the end of that time, if a bond has formed, we would pledge ourselves to one another.”

  “That’s lovely,” she said in surprise.

  “Did you think we are all destruction and brutality? Nevermind, don’t answer. In any event, don’t fret over my odd fancies. I’m fully aware that you’re not courting me.”

  Her overheated cheeks now felt hot enough to fry a pair of eggs, and her heart thundered in her ears. The fact that he wouldn’t meet her gaze registered as actual pain. Sheyla wet her lips and laid down her cutlery with sudden resolve. “What if I said that I am? I just didn’t realize it until now.”

  Though their rituals weren’t set as the Golgoth appeared to be, worry and wanting to care for someone… that was universal. Alastor raised his eyes then, scanned her face as if trying to gauge her expression. His lopsided smile wavered, and she didn’t miss how his long fingers clenched on the table’s edge.

  “I’d first say it’s cruel to tease,” he managed in an uneven tone.

  “If I said that, it would be sincere.”

  “Then I would praise all gods old and new and welcome you with open arms. I’ve made no secret of my desire.”

  She hesitated. Once she said the words, they would become fact, no longer theoretical. Innate fairness compelled her to add a caveat. “I don’t think my family would understand… this. I can’t promise a full nesting.”

  Pain and sadness flickered in his jade eyes, along with understanding. “No need to set terms or limits, I’m not free to choose either. Let us consider this a lovely, unexpected interlude. You have my oath that I’ll never stop you when you choose to go.”

  Her heart ached at hearing that. “It seems sad to start when we already know there must come an ending.”

  “Everything ends, some way or another. The question that we should ask is whether the good memories will someday be more precious than the pain.”

  Sheyla finished her food in silence, and she could tell Alastor had taken her deferred response as a rejection. Out of respect, he might never mention this again, but she required some deliberation on the matter. Once made, she would never regret the decision, either; such certainty took time, so she let him simmer while she washed the dishes.

  If we’re doing this, I can’t continue as his primary physician. I need to turn my notes over to Dr. Seagram and manufacture medicine instead.

  As dark fell and Alastor switched on the lights, she turned, leaning on the kitchen counter, stared at him across the width of it. He wore disappointment like a laurel wreath, his shoulders slightly hunched, though she doubted he was aware of it. Then she reached for his hand and kissed the palm deliberately.

  “I’ve decided,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “While we’re in Hallowell together, I want to be yours. Or more candidly, I’d prefer you to be mine, because I’ve never been… passive in that regard.” It was hard to tell if he took her meaning because he was smiling so brilliantly that she almost went sun-blind.

  “We can take turns. Will that do?”

  “Probably,” she said.

  “I’ve never begun like this before,”
he said in a wondering tone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This feels… weighty because I’m so certain that you’ve sorted through the ramifications and chosen me.”

  That seemed obvious. “Yes.”

  Alastor tipped his head back with a sigh that was nearly a groan. “I thought I’d be suffering the whole time, unable to touch you for fear of losing control. My darling Sheyla, you are such an unanticipated gift.”

  In the past, she hadn’t been susceptible to sweet sentiments. Flattery slid away from her like oiled leather. Yet Alastor’s words arrowed to the core of her, and it felt like her entire body might be melting. Back in Ash Valley, he’d teased her about a wartime romance, and it seemed they were destined for precisely that.

  So be it.

  “If I’m a gift, then unwrap me.”

  On the verge of acting on her suggestion, Alastor stilled when Sheyla pulled her shirt over her head. He had seen her beautiful tawny skin before, but never with the surety that he had the right to touch her. It seemed proper to let her set the pace, and besides, he was trembling too much to trust his hands right then. Thankfully she continued that measured unveiling, sexier than if she had been flinging clothes everywhere. Her care assured him that this wasn’t a hasty impulse, one that would have her crawling from his bed tomorrow in shame.

  “Are you planning to watch me all night?” She stood before him, gloriously naked, and for a few seconds, he was speechless. “If that’s your preference, you can but I’ll admit to a certain level of disappointment.”

  Alastor shook his head quickly. “I am overcome by your magnificence.”

  And it was true. Her body was a wonder, strength and muscled curves, thick thighs and generous hips, breasts that he ached to touch and taste. Everything about her filled him with a yearning so strong that he didn’t know where to start.

  “That doesn’t sound like a joke,” she said.

  “It isn’t. I often want, but I rarely achieve my desires, you see.”

  “Then let me assist with some instruction. Do you mind?” She was smiling now, her expression so open and avid that he couldn’t get his breath.