MOLLY walked the hallways searching for the dining hall, glass stained windows of Fallen ripping out a heart, of battles and victory telling a story in their court.
Tensley returned to their bedroom, soaked in sweat, and showered. He told Molly he had to meet with someone before dinner, and he’d meet her back in the bedroom, but he hadn’t returned, and she had grown restless and hungry, and decided to venture out on her own.
Turning a corner, she came face to face with a red-haired girl dressed in a simple gown of cloth.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, a haunted look passing through them as her hand reached out, fingers skimming Molly’s belly.
Molly caught her wrist and flung it away. “Don’t.” The edge to her voice was pure panic.
The woman wouldn’t stop staring at her belly.
“You’re the daemon,” she breathed out. Her eyes finally lifted and found Molly’s as she sniffed the air. It was as if she could smell something strange on Molly, her eyes growing wild and empty once more. The strange woman inhaled abruptly as if she had suddenly fallen back into her own body.
“I can feel a demon inside of you. But it feels foreign. I’ve not quite sensed something like this before,” she said her head tilting with excruciating slowness as she pondered what it could mean.
Molly wanted to throw up, her panic growing at fast speed. She tried stepping around the woman, but she grabbed her upper arm with surprising force, stopping Molly.
“Of course,” the woman said as she came to a conclusion, her eyes becoming slits once more. “You’re pregnant. I can feel the strength of the daemon and the ruthlessness of the demon as it battles inside of him. What an incredible creation. Frightening, but incredible.”
Him?
Him...
They were having a boy. And this woman had somehow discovered it. Molly’s breathing stopped, terrified of what this could mean if the woman told someone.
“Warlock,” someone shouted, and the woman jerked, turning to see a man marching towards them.
The prince.
Molly’s heart pounded against her ribcage.
Oh god, no!
“What’s wrong?” the prince asked, frowning at the warlock’s widened eyes, still focusing on Molly’s stomach.
“I have to go,” Molly said fast, wanting to walk away before he could draw any conclusions of his own.
No, no, no.
As she stepped around them, Molly heard the woman whisper softly, as if to herself, “It has a heart.”
But Molly couldn’t stop to ponder what that could have meant. Too panicked, she wiped her sweaty palms on her dress and dashed down the hallways.
She needed to warn Tensley, to let him know someone else knew about the baby.
She marched into the dining hall, a few curious glances following her.
She took one deep breath and—
“Miss Darling? Your seat is this way,” a servant told her, dressed in a black gown of silk. “A request of Lady Lilith.”
Molly looked behind the servant’s shoulder to see Lilith and Fallen seated at the head table.
“Okay.” Molly followed the servant to the very back, and she pulled out a chair for her, sitting down.
Her table was full of women, dressed lavishly with rich gowns of satin and silk and sheer, and gold rings and necklaces of pearls.
“Welcome,” one woman said softly, a genuine smile on her face.
One woman grimaced. “Another one?”
“Fiona,” another hissed.
Molly ignored their comments and searched for Tensley, eyeing the crowded tables, loud and rowdy.
“You’ll get to see him after,” the first woman said, nodding at the further tables. “They like to sit us separately from them.”
Molly frowned and sat back, fidgeting with the blue lace gown.
She looked up, again searching each table until she saw him.
He sat next to Fallen at the highest table, his brow furrowed.
Her heart sank.
She wasn’t allowed to sit beside him because of her position in the court?
A hand gripped her elbow and hauled her to her feet. The women gasped.
She turned to see the prince, a knowing smile tied to his full mouth. “Come.”
He outstretched his hand, and she hesitated, trying to pry her arm away from his grip.
“Don’t touch me,” she spat angrily, the memory of how he had acted and the things he had said to her the night before still vivid in Molly’s mind.
His smile fell. “Unless you’d like to sit with mistresses of the court,” he whispered, cocking a brow. “I would advise you follow me.”
Molly’s stomach dropped painfully fast. Mistresses…Lilith had placed her with them. This was the second time now Lilith had tried to make a fool out of Molly.
She didn’t take his hand, but nodded, walking beside him.
“My mother likes to play games,” he added after a pause. He strolled beside her, his hands clasped behind his back like a proper gentleman, but she knew he didn’t have a gentle bone in his body. Behind his cold and controlled façade, she knew lurked a dark, hungry wolf who craved for things people didn’t openly discuss. She knew this because that wolf had come out to play the night before, and he had almost sunk his salivating teeth into her. “She sat you with the lowest group in the High Court, the ones with the least power.” Molly gritted her teeth, eyeing Lilith at the head of the table.
Instead of looking pissed, Lilith grinned at her.
Tensley, however, did not look pleased. He stood from his chair and marched toward them.
When he neared, he placed his hand around the base of Molly’s neck, blocking the prince from walking beside her.
“I panicked when you weren’t in the bedroom,” he whisper-hissed, squeezing her side.
“You looked cozy up there,” she said sweetly but deadly underneath.
“I wasn’t.” He clenched his jaw, restraining himself from saying more.
Tensley pulled out a chair beside him for Molly, and she sat. Tensley resumed his previous seat beside Fallen, who watched Molly closely.
Lilith didn’t look down the table but took sips of her wine, hiding a smug smirk.
Tensley caught Molly’s trembling hand underneath the table and placed their hands together in his lap.
Dinner arrived, Fallen cutting the boar he had hunted that day and serving himself and then his queen next. Fallen mostly spoke, telling old tales of battles and victories. Molly didn’t drink her wine, only picking at her salad plate.
“Are you ready for the entertainment, Lord Fallen?” a young servant boy asked, bowing in front of the table.
Fallen hummed. “I’ve grown bored of our usual entertainments, boy. I want something new.” A dark look flashed over his sharp features. “Summon the giant.”
“The giant?” another Lord asked, his graying brows lowered over his closed eyes.
“Yes,” Fallen said, clapping his hand. He stood, gaining the attention of the tables. “Lords and ladies, we will have a battle tonight.”
The crowd roared with cheers.
Demons craved bloodshed, so it didn’t surprise her.
“The giant has broken the bones of demons with one hand,” she heard a man whisper to another. “He’s killed thousands of men and saves a piece of their bones as a trophy.”
Tensley thumbed her wrist, a soft reminder he was next to her.
“The giant will fight the daemon,” Fallen yelled, lifting his arms above his head.
Tensley’s grip tightened.
Molly’s pulse raced.
The crowd’s roar shook the tables.
And her one hand touched her stomach.
ANGER BOILED in Tensley’s blood at Fallen’s words.
Chaos of excitement exploded in the dining hall, people cheering and chanting.
Molly was frozen beside him, her cheeks holding no color and her eyes wide with fear. It was then Tensley noticed her hand pressed to her stomach.
She couldn’t fight. Not with the baby. It was too risky, too dangerous.
“Tensley,” she whispered, but it didn’t matter. No one could hear them over the roar of the crowd.
He rubbed his thumb along her wrist, feeling the fast pulse.
Tensley turned to speak to Fallen, but his focus was on the doorway.
The giant entered. The demon was large, over seven feet, but it was his bulging muscles that told another story. He bared his teeth, or what was left of them, growling the crowd into deafening silence.
“This will be bloody,” Fallen broke the silence, a deadly sick grin twisting his lips. He gestured for Molly to stand, eagerness written across his face. “Stand, daemon, show us that strength so legendary.”
Molly’s temples tensed, a tremor of panic, of fear, but she began to stand.
“No,” Tensley said strictly, standing in her place, turning to face the king. Murmurs spread across the room, desperate and fast, the thrill of what their king would do to the man who refused him.
Tensley had to protect Molly and their child.
Fallen’s smile wavered. “No?” Unstable anger rippled under the surface. “You’ll withhold from your king?”
“No,” Tensley repeated, unflinching, unwavering, and tugged at his collar. “I’ll show you the power of the daemon. How each touch strengthens my bones and my blood. Isn’t that what you want to see? A demon wielding the daemon’s strength?”
Fallen hummed, tilting his head in thought.
For a second, Tensley’s breath stopped completely. If Fallen refused, if Molly had to fight the giant…
“Fine,” Fallen said, waving his hand impatiently. “Show us what a daemon’s touch does to a demon.”
The crowd swept back into a fury of whispers and cheers, and Tensley glanced down at Molly, a look of sheer pain in her eyes.
“Kiss me,” he muttered and bowed, taking her mouth in a feral way. The energy pulsed into him—one single kiss, one single prayer for him to stay alive. It wasn’t a kiss of death but of rebirth. He let go, her pants a chant over and over to his ears.
He dropped his hand and stood to his full height. He unbuttoned his dress shirt, peeling it from his body and marched towards the center of the room where the giant waited. In a designated circle of the sun on the floor, the giant paced.
Fallen sat back on his throne, an elbow braced on his armrest, fingers resting on his chin as he watched intently.
As Tensley marched toward the giant, the crowd fell silent.
He rolled his neck, then his shoulders, curling his hands into fists. Breathing through his nose, he entered the circle—only for the giant to pounce, striking his iron knuckles into Tensley’s cheek.
Blood erupted in his mouth, the pain jolting up his skull, but he balanced himself and ducked for the next blow.
“No rules, the one who lives wins,” Fallen called through the shouts.
“Fucking bastard,” Tensley spat.
The giant wasn’t pretty looking. Scars and burns lined his features, making his face a swollen ball of flesh and eyes. His teeth were missing, and the rest had been destroyed from decay. A mountain of hair tangled in a matt of grease clung to his head. He was more feral, more beast than the soldiers. Like a rabid animal as he snapped his jaw, his few teeth sharpened to kill, and Tensley knew the giant aimed to bite his jugular or any other vital organ that would kill him instantly.
“He’s known to break each bone, Dux,” Fallen yelled again.
Tensley growled, jabbing his elbow into the giant’s side, but the giant caught his hand and squeezed, shattering each bone.
Tensley bit back a scream, feeling the bones in his fingers become tiny shards.
The giant raised his fist and smashed it against Tensley’s temple, his vision blurring and darkening. Another strike and he tasted the bitter iron of his blood on his upper lip.
In a daze, he glanced up to see another fist about to strike, but Tensley kicked the giant’s shin and freed his hand, cradling it against his stomach.
Cheers erupted, burning his eardrums.
He panted, watching the giant pace, angry and vicious. With vision blurred and body aching, distraught from whiplash and pain, his mind couldn’t focus, and his features felt too heavy, too swollen from the impact to open his eyes.
With only one hand left, he would have to be the deadly, vicious one.
The beast.
He flexed his free hand and let his other rest against his thumping chest.
Vicious as steel, heartless as iron, soulless as ash.
A roar left his mouth, and he struck, like a scorpion, stinger poised, lethal and deadly, with daemon’s venom on his lips, in his blood and bones.
His hand crushed the giant’s throat, those dull tiny eyes flaring at the loss of air, the bones shattering under his grip, the grip of the daemon’s strength, and with a flick of his wrist, he twisted it until he heard the glorious snap.
The giant stood for a moment, then collapsed with a large thud.
Tensley couldn’t hear it, but he saw the crowd cheer, their hands clapping.
He turned to the head table, Molly’s hands to her chest. Then Tensley’s gaze fell to Fallen.
Fallen didn’t smile, he didn’t stand, but he looked satisfied.
The daemon was lethal.
He was lethal.
Tensley wiped at his mouth and marched to the hallway. He needed to rest. He needed air—
“Tensley,” Molly’s voice fractured his mind, and she appeared in front of him, her hands catching his waist. “Tensley.” His vision blurred, coming in and out, but he saw the brow wrinkled in worry and her eyes darting to the damage and the blood on his chest. She lifted his arm over her shoulder and began to walk them down the hallway, whispering to him.
“I’m fine,” he bit out sluggishly. “I’m fine.” He tried again to make himself sound that way. “Fuck.” He cradled his ribs, knowing the bastard had broken a few.
When they got to their bedroom, she popped the door open with her hip and dragged him to the bed, gently placing him there.
“Lay back,” she ordered. He glanced up, watching as she undid the first few buttons of her dress. He swallowed, thumbing the blood from his mouth and laying back, cursing his aching ribs. Molly crawled over top of him and sat on his groin, her bosoms full and heavy in his blurry sight. He opened his mouth, but she placed a dainty finger there and shushed him. “I’m going to heal you.”
Those words collapsed the warrior in him.
But another deep voice tensed each bone in his body.
MOLLY TWISTED to see the prince in their chamber, his hands behind his back in a respectable pose, but she knew there was nothing respectable about him. A red coat of arms was molded to his thick arms and trousers were snug around his thighs. Pleated frills sat low at his white dress shirt, teasing his collarbone. He was unkempt and wild but possessed a regal elegance to him. His words were classy, but the hidden meanings behind them were dirty.
“Carry on. I don’t mind watching,” the prince said lowly, leaning against the wall. He didn’t move, but just his presence was a dark force of energy consuming the room.
Tensley sat up, his good hand cupping Molly’s waist and moved her off him, his black eyes locking in on the intruder. “Get. Out. Now.”
The prince simply lifted a brow.
Tensley’s aggressive pheromones rolled off him in thick, heavy waves like whips across one’s bareback.
Molly eyed the prince’s arms—watching as he flexed them, a sign he felt the pain, but he held his features impassive.
Tensley stood, his chest heaving, and he took one heavy step toward him. “Now.”
“You shouldn’t be moving after that fight,” the prince said, glancing at Tensley’s unhinged jawbone. He grimaced. “You shouldn’t be moving at all, to be quite frank. A corpse. I’ve seen that man ruin thousands of men’s skulls with that fat fist of his. I thought you were a dead man.”
“Quite fucking alive,” Tensley seethed.
Molly stood beside Tensley, holding her dress together at the neck while glaring at the prince. “He needs tending to.”
That earned a wild grin from the prince. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Molly had gripped Tensley’s bicep before he pounced. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Darkness stained the prince’s eyes. “You should really remember who you’re talking to, Dux. This is my territory. I can do whatever the fuck pleases me. You should never forget that,” he said menacingly. Then, his features changed completely, and he was back to cold and controlled. “I think you two will want to hear what I have to say,” the prince said, stepping closer, a dark glint in his blue eyes. A shadow over storming waters.
Molly squeezed Tensley’s arm, her heart halting.
Then the prince spoke again, and he smiled thinly. “For the sake of the baby.”