1
Atlantis, the queen's parlor adjacent to the throne room, February 28th
"Demons! Demons! DEMONS!”
The noise of shouting and the sound of pounding feet raced down the corridor toward them, and the ceremonial guard at the door looked in at Conlan.
"Sire?”
Just as he spoke, the warning bells, which had been silent for more than eleven thousand years, started pealing great, thunderous claps of sound, telling Atlanteans to beware, take cover, to arms, stand ready!
King Conlan, whose ancestor had ruled in that long-ago catastrophic battle, put a hand on the hilt of the sword that rarely left his hip, even in these modern times of relative peace.
"Ambassador, I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short,” he told the obsequious toad of a diplomat who'd been fawning over Conlan's wife for the past half hour.
Fawning over Riley's breasts in that dress, to be more precise, causing Conlan to ignore the conversation and instead consider which of several particularly horrible techniques he'd employ to destroy the pervert. Drawing and quartering currently held first place.
Demons. Unlikely, but still a great excuse to get out of this meeting.
"Duty calls,” he told his wife, bending to kiss her.
"Conlan—” Riley's eyes were flashing, which told him he'd be in trouble when this was over, whatever this was.
"Protect the ambassador,” he requested, before she could get the rest of that sentence out.
"To hell with the ambassador, I'm going to find our son,” she said, shoving the tea cart out of her way and reaching for the dagger at her side. Riley was damn good with a dagger—and even better with an umbrella. He almost smiled at the memory, but then remembered the fallout from that battle. Not good. And those had only been vampires, not demons.
As they started for the door, Aidan's nanny ran in with the boy, and Conlan's heartbeat calmed a notch. Pelia, too, was armed with a short sword—she took her duty as caretaker to the royal prince very seriously—and ready for battle.
"Your highness—Riley—the bells,” she gasped, holding a very annoyed toddler out to his mother.
Aidan twisted his face into his too-familiar and utterly terrifying pre-scream grimace, but then he saw his father and cheered up mid-breath. "Daddeeeeeeeee!”
Conlan grinned at his son, who was already a warrior at not quite two years old. "Not this time, Aidan.”
"Be careful,” Riley demanded, already moving into position to protect the others.
"Always.” He took a step, whirled around and kissed them both, and then he strode out of the room to join in a fight that probably wasn't happening, with demons that probably didn't exist except in some hungover guard's imagination.
Wrong.
The clamor of clashing metal and shouting that reached his ears told him how wrong he'd been.
As he ran down the corridor and out of the palace, a phalanx of his guards falling in behind him, the sounds of battle grew into a roaring thunder. By the time he made it out the front doors of the palace, he was grimly prepared for the sight of battle, but not for the sight of his people battling scores of Minor Demons.
Demons? They dared to attack here?
"To me, Atlantis!” he roared, holding his blade up into the air.
An answering roar sounded in the throats of all his people. "Atlantis!”
King, warrior, husband, and father—with all that he was, Conlan plunged into the fight.