He ran a steady hand over his right horn, feeling the smoothness and the slight bumps where the enchanted gold had been inlaid into the grooves he had carved himself. Some of the bumps were barely noticeable, a sign of how many times he had performed this act since Edyn had died.
The plan was sound.
But still a trickle of nerves ran in his blood.
Or was that excitement?
It had been so long since he had experienced that emotion that he was unfamiliar with it now. He pondered that as he swigged from his pewter mug, the brew sweet on his tongue. One of the few pleasures he had left in his long and tedious life.
Excitement. Fear. Pain. The high of victory.
Everything he had loved had been stolen from him the night he had been thrust into a role he had never wanted.
Although perhaps he would have lost it all anyway, even if his brother had survived.
Peace.
He cursed that word.
He cursed Edyn.
He cursed the throne.
He cursed his kingdom.
Tegan mentally took that one back.
As much as he despised the truce with the First Realm of the demons and the elf kingdom, as much as he despised his throne and his advisers who sought to keep him tethered to it, safely holed up in his castle, he couldn’t blame his people for what had happened to him.
Perhaps he was the one who was cursed.
Cursed to lead a dull and peaceful life for the rest of his days.
Tegan leaned to his right, dropped his chin on his upturned palm as he planted his elbow against the arm of his black throne, and huffed.
He had been born for war, not peace.
Yet here he was, presiding over a feast celebrating the anniversary of the truce his brother had formed with the neighbouring demon realm and the elves.
Celebrating peace.
He could practically feel his life draining from him, one grain of sand at a time through an hourglass that was shielded by layers and layers of steel designed to keep it safe from harm.
What sort of demon wanted to be safe?
Peaceful?
He craved battle, adventure. A glorious war or two every decade wouldn’t go amiss either. But here he sat, his backside stuck to a throne he wanted no part of, doomed to rule a peaceful kingdom while the other demon kings indulged in lavish wars, were out there on the frontline spilling blood and breaking bones.
He lifted his cup to his lips again and took a deeper draught of the mead.
Gods, he was bored.
Cursed.
It was Edyn’s fault.
His older brother was meant to rule while Tegan did all the fighting as commander of their Royal Legion, not broker a damned peace treaty and then die, leaving the Second Realm in Tegan’s hands.
He growled low in his throat.
A few of the warriors celebrating at the long feast tables that lined the grand hall of the castle paused to look his way, their brew or their females forgotten as they checked on him. Tegan glared at them all, tempted to flash his emerging fangs as his mood took a sharp dark turn, plunging him into the mire of thoughts that had been his own personal hell since the night someone had placed a crown upon his head.
The warriors returned to their drinks, laughter spilling from their lips as they toasted him and cheered, as if that would lift his mood. He drummed his short claws against the layer of stubble on his cheek as he surveyed the room, dark gaze passing over the towering carved black columns that supported the vaulted ceiling high above him.
The candles in the middle of each long black wooden table illuminated the faces of his warriors, playing over their dark hair and horns, flickering over their bare chests as they shoved and laughed, caroused with the females he had brought in for the celebration.
At least someone at the feast was enjoying themselves.
Edyn had always said the people came first.
Something he and his brother had agreed upon. Although Tegan liked to place his warriors first, a hang up from his days serving in the legions, leading them and witnessing the toll battle took on them. Now peace took its toll on them instead.
So he had agreed to tonight’s feast.
His men needed to blow off some steam, and if drinking and females could supply them with an outlet for it, he would gladly sit through a thousand boring feasts. He couldn’t give them war after all.
He had once contented himself with feasts, mead and females. It had worked for a while, taking the edge off, but now he found them dull.
What he wanted now was a battle. A war. It was the only thing that could improve his mood. The news from the other demon realms wasn’t helping. Several of them had gone to war recently, and although he had lobbied his advisers and made a valiant attempt to let the Second Realm join the Third Realm in their battle against the Fifth, their answer had been the same as always.
He must maintain the peace.
Tegan huffed again.
Maintaining the peace was exhausting. It went against his very nature.
He went to take another mouthful of his brew and frowned at the bottom of the large pewter mug when he found it empty. He held it out to his right and the male standing there refilled it for him. He nodded, lifting his mug to thank the male, and drank deeply, emptying half the tankard in one go.
A few of the warriors in the room tugged females away with them.
Almost time to put his plan into action.
He just needed to be patient for a little longer.
But patience wasn’t his strongest virtue. It lacked a little.
He tapped his foot, jiggling the female seated on his left thigh. One he had completely forgotten about, even though she was about to become a key factor in his battle plan.
She immediately went into action, fawning over him, running fingers over his shoulder, shifting the material of his loose white shirt as she murdered his language so badly he struggled to interpret her meaning. “My lord, your muscles. You are strong.”
Tegan slid her a look he hoped conveyed how irritating she was. It didn’t stop her. She prattled on, all smiles as she flicked blonde hair over her shoulder to reveal a hefty amount of cleavage. Unsurprising given how tight her red leather bodice was.
He wasn’t sure what species she was, and he didn’t care.
He tuned her out as he surveyed his warriors. Were they really content with feasting and females? He wasn’t.
How was he meant to continue like this?
He was a warrior at heart, but every day he had to pretend to be something else. Worse, he had to be someone else. He no longer recognised the male who obeyed the wishes of his advisers even though he was tired of hearing them all tell him he had to place the peace of the kingdom above all else. He no longer recognised the male who sat on the throne, listening to the complaints of his people.
They were not content, not as they were meant to be anyway. Many came to him to complain about everything from their neighbours to the travelling traders he permitted to roam through the kingdom to sell their wares.
He settled his gaze on two males, both close to his seven-foot height, both packed with as much muscle as he was. Commanders like he had been. Demons born for war. They weren’t content. They stood to one side, had been there all night, deep in discussion and ignoring the advances of the females.
Talking of war? Of glorious days long past but not forgotten?
He wanted to speak with them, to relive the days they had fought beside each other, the great battles they had witnessed in their years and the close shaves that had brought them dancing dangerously with Death.
The female seated on his knee showed no sign of moving though and the two guards who flanked his throne, standing slightly behind it as if he wouldn’t notice them there, would stop him if he tried to speak with them. No doubt they had strict orders from the court to keep him from talk of war and battles tonight.
The two males glanced his way, lingered and dipped their heads,
raising their tankards at the same time. He could see the weariness in their eyes, as if they were a reflection of him. The inactivity grated on them as viciously as it did on him.
If he could give them war, he would do so in a heartbeat.
Tegan mentally took that back too.
As much as he hated the peacefulness of his kingdom, as much as he craved doing battle, he couldn’t just go to war. The majority of his people had become accustomed to this dreadful peace. They enjoyed it, finding pleasure in having a land dominated by stability and peace.
He was their king, whether he wanted it or not, and he couldn’t deny them that which they desired—a kingdom not at war.
More of his men left with females in tow. Soon.
The night was growing older, the feast becoming louder, the merriment infectious as the gathered warriors consumed mead by the barrel and sampled their females, selecting the one who would pass the night in their bed.
Soon.
He had successfully managed to pass the day evading his advisers, which had lifted his mood. Or that might have been the punishing training routine he had indulged in, competing in mock battle with four of the finest warriors in the Royal Legion. They were always kind enough to help him fill the tedious hours of the day and grant him some escape.
Tonight, he had meant to carry out his usual method of filling the dark hours.
A long time ago, that would have meant bedding one or more females, living up to the rumours that he had a harem of them at his disposal. He had quickly grown bored of females after ascending to the throne though.
Females were too compliant, always too willing to throw themselves at his feet in a grand effort to please the king.
So now he filled his night hours with a different sort of entertainment. A guilty pleasure he found himself indulging in more and more often recently.
Reading.
His aide called him voracious. He had a thirst for knowledge that kept the male constantly teleporting back and forth to the mortal world to bring him more books. Since becoming king, he had learned twelve languages, both written and spoken. He had studied the culture and history of every mortal country, and every fae and immortal realm. He had learned about music and art, and as much as he could about the modern human world.
He had read books on almost every subject imaginable.
He had a library in his private floors of the castle, a sanctuary few knew about, one he was adding new shelves to and expanding every year.
That was where he had intended to pass the night after managing to escape the feast.
Only he had finished his last book while dressing for the feast.
So his plans had changed.
Had grown more thrilling.
He meant to escape more than the feast.
More than the castle.
He meant to escape Hell for the first time in a thousand years.
Just the thought of seeing the modern human world with his own eyes had adrenaline surging through his veins and he couldn’t contain the smile that tugged at his lips as his heart soared. He turned it on the female as she sidled closer, attempting to conceal the true reason for his excitement in case the guards were watching him.
She fluttered long black lashes, her grey eyes sparkling at him as she stroked the horns that curled from behind the top of his ears, her fingertips lightly tracing the curve of them down to his lobes in a way that did nothing for him.
She leaned in closer still and murmured in his ear, her use of the demonic tongue leaving a lot to be desired as she mangled his language in an attempt to seduce him. “Your horns are so big.”
He supposed she meant to use the old adage about a demon’s horns having a correlation with the size of his manhood.
Some part of him felt that he should be enjoying her attention and the feast, but he wasn’t.
Something wasn’t right, and it hadn’t been for a long time.
The female pressed against him, her breasts threatening to spill from her corset as she leaned her side against his chest and her arm came to rest along his shoulder. She pushed her fingers through the longer lengths of his black hair and skimmed them over the shorn sides to tease the more sensitive base of his horns.
He still felt nothing.
He swigged his mead as she traced patterns on his chest, working her way over to the lacing on his shirt. She toyed with the ties, curled them around her fingers and tugged, clearly intending for him to move closer.
He took another mouthful instead.
He wasn’t interested in the female. He hadn’t asked for her company, had given her no indication he desired her attention, yet here she was, fawning over him.
“You have masculine beauty,” she husked, and he gritted his teeth. Whoever had taught her to speak the demon tongue had done a bad job of it. “Strong male.”
Did she think her praise would rouse his interest and make him want her?
It had quite the opposite effect.
He had lost interest in carousing with females when he had realised they were only interested in one thing—his throne.
He despised the fact every female he met viewed him as a throne, not a male. They wanted the power he could give them, the status. They didn’t really want him. Of course, he could sleep with them and discard them, slaking some of his hunger on them, but where was the fun in that?
He preferred a challenge, something that would appease his hunger for battle. If he couldn’t do battle physically, he would do it mentally. He wanted a female who would be that challenge for him, one who would make him fight for her.
His warriors and his younger brother Ryker, the current prince, weren’t complaining about his lack of interest in the females. All the more for them.
Gods, Tegan envied Ryker a little. He had freedom, came and went as he pleased, while Tegan was locked in his castle, only allowed out with an entire entourage of advisers and bodyguards, and even then it was only to official functions where the kingdom needed to be represented by its king.
Ryker had everything Tegan had lost, and Tegan would give anything to return to that life.
His dark eyes scanned over the feast. Edyn would have lapped this up. He would have loved sitting on the throne with a female on his knees, soaking up her praise and that of his people.
Tegan hated it.
A thousand years he had endured this dull and unsatisfying life.
That changed tonight.
His battle plan was sound, everything was in place. His strategy had been checked from all angles, every little thing accounted for and covered. All that was left was to put it into action.
He signalled the male to his right, who eagerly bustled over, his jug at the ready. Rather than allowing the male to fill his cup, Tegan placed it on the tray in the male’s other hand and nodded.
Tegan grasped the female’s slender wrist, pulled it from behind his head and pushed her forwards, forcing her off him. She tottered a little, giggled and swayed against him as he stood.
The two males guarding him immediately moved forwards.
Tegan turned on them. “I do not require an audience.”
Both males dipped their heads and pressed their right hands to their bare chests.
He cut them off before they could mention standing guard outside his rooms. “You are done for the night. Enjoy the feast and the females.”
The two exchanged a glance and then looked beyond him, to the males who were still celebrating, pawing at the females on their laps and calling out to the others that wandered around the room, seeking a partner.
The younger male on his right looked as if he might mention the orders the court had given them, but the other male grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed him forwards, guiding him towards the nearest females.
Phase one of his plan successfully completed, Tegan tugged the blonde female towards the side door of the grand hall, one only he was allowed to access. She stumbled along behind him, still throwing compliments and thing
s he supposed were meant to sound seductive. He paid no attention to her as he mounted the spiral steps, eager to reach his rooms and move on to phase two.
The female slowed him down so he turned and scooped her up into his arms and took the steps two at a time instead, making swift progress towards his private floors. She stroked his chest and shoulders, even went as far as pressing kisses to his throat as he kept his focus ahead of him.
Almost there.
Light chased back the darkness ahead of him and he quickened his pace, his heart pounding harder as he thought about what he was going to do.
He set the female down as soon as he reached the broad torchlit corridor at the end of the stairs and pulled her along behind him as he stormed towards the door of his apartment. She continued to twitter, babbled words that were lost on him as he went over his plan again, ensuring everything was perfect.
He shoved the wooden door open with the flat of his hand and pulled her inside, shoved her aside and released her as he closed the door behind him. She moved around his drawing room, saying things he didn’t hear as she studied the paintings that hung on the black stone walls and ran her fingers over the glass that covered the long low display cases that lined them, eyeing his collection of weapons, helmets and other things from all the regions of Hell.
His trophies of war.
She fell silent, her eyes landing on him as he pulled his shirt off over his head and discarded it on the wooden floor.
Her throat worked on a hard swallow and she sidled towards him, heat kindling in her eyes as she approached. She raked them over his chest and stomach and that heat became a fire.
“You are beautiful, my lord.”
Tegan turned away from her, grabbed the black shirt he had laid over the back of his wine-red wingback armchair before leaving for the feast and donned it. Disappointment flared in her eyes.
He ignored her and tackled the buttons on his shirt. Buttons. They were fiddly small things, irritating him as he fumbled with them, trying to close the shirt of mortal fashion that Ryker had given him as a present.
Avenged by an Angel Page 37
