Whispers behind walls

The Demon King sat on his throne in the grand marble hall, facing the congregation of Demon Elders who had summoned him. Power radiated from his body, thickening the air with suffocating intensity.

The twelve elders had been speaking in hushed tones before his arrival. But now, with the king seated, poised and regal, like the ruler he was, an absolute silence fell over the chamber.

He had left the Ellison's the moment Virelith's message reached him.

Even as a Demon King with absolute power, he could not rule alone. He needed allies. He could not be everywhere at once. He needed representatives. That was the purpose of the Demon Elders. They were older than him in age, but in strength, none of their descendants could rival the bloodline of the Vaelraths.

And there were laws in the Demon World—laws that even bound the king himself. Among the elders, four lords were selected to oversee each region. They did not rule. They represented him. They were known as the Demon Lords.

"I hear you summoned me," the king said. His voice echoed across the stone walls.

"Long live Vaelrath," the elders chorused, the silence now broken.

"My lord..." Ragnar, the Northern Lord, stepped forward cautiously. "We hear whispers behind the walls."

"Whispers?" Sebastian's voice rang again through the hall, darker this time.

"We've heard of an ancient curse," Magnus, Lord of the West, added, his voice hoarse and brittle.

Sebastian's jaw clenched. His eyes glowed with rising fury.

"And this is why you summoned me?" he asked, his tone now laced with power and disdain.

"My lord... the whispers are growing," one of the elders said quietly. "They speak of a cursed king."

"People say the witches have confirmed it," Boaz, Lord of the East, added quickly.

"That's why we suggest... an heir." The words came as a chorus.

A loud, menacing laugh tore through the hall.

Sebastian rose. Silence crashed over the room like a wave of thunder. The elders trembled.

"I consider this gathering... treason."

He stepped down from the throne, his voice like venom seeping into the floor.

"The council of Demon Lords and Elders, succumbing to rumors, believing in whispers..." He scanned the room with a burning gaze. "You have so easily forgotten your place. You summoned me... for this?"

He turned his gaze on Lord Luther of the South.

"Lord Luther... you are stripped of your duty."

A shocked murmur rippled through the council.

"Silence!" the king roared.

"Under your watch, the witches gathered an army against me. And now you come here speaking of whispers? You have not yet felt my wrath..."

"My lord—no—please, mercy... Vaelrath..." Luther stammered, falling to his knees.

But there was no mercy. To be stripped of one's position was to be sentenced to death. Stoning was the penalty for a lord who failed the crown.

Luther's cries filled the hall as the guards seized him. The rest remained silent, staring in horror as he was dragged away.

The Demon King turned and stormed out, his judgment final.

He was never the kind to overlook an offense. His wrath was slow, deliberate, and searing.

He knew his brother had returned. The game had begun. He had killed thousands to keep the secret. It had long since become myth—but now, they knew it was real.

He had already planted the seed. Now, he was waiting for it to bloom.

He was waiting for her response.

"Have you prepared what I asked?" he said, not slowing his stride.

"Yes, my lord," Virelith replied, following closely behind.

*****

He walked into his study, fury burning in his chest. They had dared to look him in the eye and say all that. He knew Luca was behind it, and he only needed to act—fast. He hadn't expected to find her so soon, but he did. Fate was definitely on his side.

Virelith entered with a file in her hand and handed it to him. A smile crept onto his lips as he went through the contents of the papers, but it vanished almost immediately, as if it had never been there.

"Seeing you smile like that... is so weird," a voice said from behind a shelf loaded with books in the study.

With slight annoyance in his voice, Sebastian called out, "Darven Ashfall."

Darven mock-bowed. "Yes, my lord." He walked over and sat comfortably in front of Sebastian's desk.

"Enjoy your stay while you can. I'll be sending you to the South as soon as your work is done here," he said dryly.

"Glad you acknowledge that I'm doing a job here,"

Darven leaned back, smug. "Told you a contract marriage was the best route. Humans do it all the time, for money, power, whatever."

"Wait, what?" Darven's eyes widened as the words sank in.

"You heard me," Sebastian smirked.

Darven turned to look at Virelith, his eyes begging for her to shed more light on the situation.

"Lord Luther has been stripped," she said calmly.

Darven nodded slowly, though his eyes still held doubt.

"You'll take on the post in the South. You can handle the witches," Sebastian explained without looking up from the papers he was reading. It was clearly an order. And though Darven's expression showed he wasn't thrilled about it, there was nothing he could do. He dared not question the Demon King.

"You sure this will work?" Sebastian asked, changing the topic.

"A little more patience, brother. She might think you're insane if you just tell her you're a Demon King," Darven said.

Sebastian glared at him, while Virelith nearly burst into laughter.

"Come on, you know I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying...she won't believe you. That might even cause more problems. Let's just go with the plan," he added, chuckling as he tried to coax the Demon King into patience.