Page 8 of A Heart Disguised 1
“Oh?” Darius leaned forward, his interest piqued. “And what cause might that be?”
“The complete eradication of demonkind from Aethoria,” Zephyr replied, his voice low. “This new leader, a human who calls himself The Purifier, has been spreading propaganda about demon atrocities, real and imagined. He’s particularly focused on the idea of demons corrupting human bloodlines.”
Darius’ eyes narrowed. “Interesting timing, considering my impending nuptials.”
Zephyr nodded grimly. “Exactly. Our sources suggest they might be planning something big, possibly targeting high-profile humans associated with demons. Your bride-to-be could be at risk.”
“A bold move, if true,” Darius mused. “We’ll need to increase security, especially during the wedding festivities. Have you any information on this purifier?”
“Little concrete, I’m afraid,” Zephyr admitted. “He’s shrouded in mystery, but rumors speak of a man scarred bydemon fire, driven mad with revenge. Some say he possesses artifacts that can nullify demon magic.”
Darius leaned back, contemplating this new information. “Keep your ears to the ground, Zephyr. I want to know every whisper, every rumor about these Raiders and their leader. If they’re planning something, I want to be three steps ahead.”
“Of course, my lord,” Zephyr agreed. “I’ll double our efforts to infiltrate their ranks.”
The tension in the room eased somewhat as Zephyr shifted the topic, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “And how fares our illustrious duke with the impending arrival of his bride?” he inquired, the faintest smirk playing across his lips. “Excited to welcome such… delicate company into your lair?”
Darius arched an eyebrow at the jab, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the dread that the mention of his bride conjured. “Delicate, indeed,” he drawled, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. “A human bride is the last thing I need, Zephyr. It’s a diplomatic game, and I am its unwilling pawn.”
Zephyr chuckled, reveling in Darius’ discomfort. “Come now, Your Grace. Admit it—you’re positively pining for her arrival.”
“Pining?” Darius scoffed, the very idea causing a ripple of laughter to escape his lips. “I’d sooner court a ghoul. The only thing I’ll be mooning over is the pile of paperwork that will undoubtedly accumulate while I’m busy playing the doting husband.”
“Perhaps she’ll surprise you—charm you with her delicate ways,” Zephyr teased.
Darius turned back toward him, an eyebrow arched in mock challenge. “I’ll wager she faints at her first glimpse of my horns.”
Leaning back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath his weight, Darius’ tone turned serious. “This marriage will be a facade,” he stated flatly, his eyes meeting Zephyr’s with unwavering certainty. “A political move, nothing more. Thenotion of bedding a human holds as much appeal as bathing in acid.”
Zephyr’s laughter filled the room, a sound as rich and dark as the midnight sky. “Ah, but Your Grace,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth, “your reputation still precedes you. Years have passed, and yet the mere whisper of your name in nearby villages sends the fairer sex scurrying for cover as if you were a plague incarnate.”
Darius waved a dismissive hand, the faintest hint of a smirk playing about his lips. “Let them cower in their homes,” he said with a shrug. “The castle has been blessedly free of hysterical females since our arrival. I’d rather keep it that way than fill these halls with constant swooning and shrieking.”
“And if your bride succumbs to such theatrics?” Zephyr inquired, his voice laced with curiosity. “What then, my lord?”
Darius’ expression tightened, the gold of his eyes gleaming with frustration and resignation. “If she swoons, she’ll lie where she falls. I have no intention of touching her, only to be accused of impropriety the moment she regains consciousness.”
Zephyr sighed heavily, his midnight-blue skin seeming to ripple with exasperation. “My lord, while I understand your reluctance, remember your position. A noble of Aethoria cannot simply leave a distressed lady unattended.”
“Then let the servants attend to her,” Darius said. “I’d rather face accusations of neglect than risk more… salacious rumors.”
Zephyr’s laughter was a low rumble in his chest. “Ah, but the gossip among the servants is already enough to keep the fires lit. Perhaps a small gesture of concern would improve your image?”
“My image? Zephyr, this marriage is a political arrangement, nothing more. I have no desire to play the doting husband, least of all to a human who faints at the mere sight of me.”
“True,” Zephyr conceded, his smirk widening. “But if you allow her to collapse without so much as a gesture, yourreputation may grow even more… formidable. And that might complicate matters beyond the bedroom.”
Darius rolled his eyes, his horns catching the light as he shook his head. “So be it. If human women are such fragile creatures that they cannot withstand the sight of their lord and husband, then perhaps it is they who should reconsider their place in this arrangement.”
Zephyr inclined his head in a gesture of reluctant agreement, a silent acknowledgment of the truth in Darius’ words. “As you wish, my lord,” he said, rising from his seat. “However, I must now attend to the trade negotiations with the Silvermoon Elves. Their delegation arrives at sundown, and we need to finalize our stance on the tariffs.”
Darius nodded, the weight of his duties pressing down upon him like an invisible crown. “Go, Zephyr. You have my leave. Handle the negotiations with your usual finesse, but remember—we need their moonsilk more than they need our gold. Be firm, but don’t alienate them.”
With a final nod, Zephyr took his leave, pausing at the door to glance back with an expression that mixed determination and amusement before disappearing into the corridor.
Left alone with his thoughts, Darius moved to stand by the window overlooking Argentum’s terraced cityscape below. The afternoon sun gilded the bustling streets and gleaming rooftops, bathing the city in a warm, golden glow. Yet as he gazed upon the radiant scene, Darius felt the familiar chill of isolation creeping through his veins—a reminder of the darkness that lurked within him, untouched by the light that blessed his domain.
His thoughts turned to the human bride who would soon grace his halls with her presence. He imagined her wide-eyed and trembling, a lamb led to the slaughter, and a pang of something akin to guilt twinged in his chest. He had no desire to harm her; he simply did not want her here at all.