Chapter 187: A Throat Cleared, A Threat Unspoken
Chapter 187: A Throat Cleared, A Threat Unspoken
Elyn’s POV
"I am Lord Caleth of the Thalassar Territory."
"Caleth," Zorathys said lazily, tilting his head slightly. "You’ve greeted us. How admirable."
Caleth inclined his head again, composed as ever. "Your Majesty."
"Now," Zorathys continued, waving one hand dismissively, "go sit. Or stand. I don’t particularly care. Just... get out of my sight. And choose well."
Caleth blinked. "I do not understand," he told Zorathys.
"Oh? I never thought the Duke of the Thalassar Territory had difficulty understanding his king," Zorathys told him. "Perhaps experience should be the best teacher for you."
Caleth stilled at the words. He didn’t move at all.
"And you should also know that if you choose wrong, you may not see your lovely wife for... maybe a hundred years... minimum?" Zorathys asked him.
If I had been doubtful before, I knew now with certainty — Zorathys just threatened a Duke of the demon realm, and he even looked bored and tired while doing it.
Caleth just stayed rooted in shock.
Ignivar, standing a step away, dipped his head as well in greeting, choosing to ignore Caleth, who looked like someone had just told him they were going to suck all the water out of the realm. "Your Majesties."
He turned, clearly intending to go back to his seat, but I spoke up — honestly because I was curious and also because Azerion had been asking continuously for Aziren.
"Ignivar."
He paused immediately.
His molten-gold eyes met mine, warm despite the tension that still hovered faintly in the air.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"It’s been a while since I’ve seen Aziren," I said. "How is he?"
For a second — just one — the stern Fire Royal Demon softened completely.
Pride flickered across his features like sunlight breaking through flame.
"He is—"
Zorathys cleared his throat before Ignivar could even finish his words. It was a small sound, but it was enough to make Ignivar pause.
His eyes widened in... fear? I wasn’t sure.
And beside him, Caleth, who had been rooted to the ground some minutes ago, disappeared.
One second he was right in front of me, and the next, he was behind his assigned seat further down the table, posture immaculate, hands clasped calmly behind his back as if he had always been standing there.
He did not look at us.
He did not speak.
He simply existed in the safest possible position.
Ignivar remained where he stood.
If Ignivar was in trouble, Caleth had just abandoned him. But that aside, I slowly turned my head toward Zorathys.
He looked back at me with an expression of absolute innocence.
I narrowed my eyes at him because it was obvious what he did.
"Behave."
His brows lifted slightly. "I am behaving."
"Ignivar was speaking."
"And?" he asked lightly.
"And you cleared your throat."
"Yes," he agreed. "My throat required clearing."
I stared at him.
"I know you just threatened him."
Zorathys looked genuinely offended.
"I did no such thing."
"You did."
"I didn’t."
"You did."
He sighed as if this conversation exhausted him beyond measure.
"Firefly," he said patiently, "if I were threatening him, you would know."
"Oh, I know," I replied flatly.
His shadows shifted slightly at his feet, pooling like dark silk around his boots.
"Even my shadows are behaving," he added. "I didn’t threaten anybody, and neither did they."
As if on cue, several tendrils of darkness lifted and nodded.
I stared at them.
Then at him.
Then back at the shadows, and then rolled my eyes.
I turned back to Ignivar, who was standing very still.
"Ignivar," I said calmly, "blink once if Zorathys is threatening you or if he just threatened you with that bad attempt at clearing his throat."
Ignivar did not blink at all. Neither did he move. It looked like he wasn’t even breathing at this point.
I was fairly certain that if blinking were optional, he would have removed the function entirely.
"Ignivar," I repeated gently.
Nothing.
Not even a twitch.
I sighed.
"Just... find your seat."
The breath that left him then was subtle but unmistakable.
"Yes, thank you."
He moved immediately, striding to his designated place along the obsidian table. Like Caleth, he remained standing behind his chair rather than sitting.
None of them were sitting.
Not one.
Zorathys looked smug about it. Even his shadows delighted in the fact that they were all standing.
The doors at the end of the hall groaned open again.
A shift in the air preceded the next arrival. This one was sweeter and filled me with dread. I already knew who it was — or rather, at least I knew of her.
Seraphielle.
Her hips rolled with practiced precision, every step a performance. The air seemed to cling to her curves as though reluctant to let her pass. Purple silk draped her body — or what little of it could be called draped.
I blinked.
Her dress was purple.
Still purple.
But somehow even more exposed than the last time I had seen her.
The fabric clung across her chest in artful defiance of gravity, dipping dangerously low before sweeping down into a slit that revealed far more leg than I thought structurally possible. The sheer layers shimmered faintly, catching the light like silk dipped in amethyst wine.
Her horns gleamed dark at the base and faded toward soft violet at the tips. Her wings stretched behind her, tinted with faint purple smoke.
She stopped several feet away and bowed with exaggerated grace.
"Your Majesties," she purred, but I knew that was all for me.
When she straightened, she winked at me.
I shuddered at that. Someone get me holy water.
"Lady Seraphielle," I said politely.
She smiled, pleased that I had acknowledged her.
Then my attention shifted to the demon with her. It was my first time seeing him.
He was tall and broad-shouldered. Massive in a way that made Ignivar look refined and Caleth look elegant.
This demon was carved from something heavier.
His reddish-brown hair looked like it had been cut mid-battle — uneven, jagged, as though scissors had feared him and fled. It fell messily over a stern brow permanently etched into a scowl.
His shoulders were immense beneath a fitted armored vest of dark stone-gray metal, engraved with faint runic markings. The material did not shine like polished steel — it resembled carved rock reinforced with magic.
His arms were bare from shoulder to wrist, thick with muscle, veins prominent beneath bronze-toned skin. Heavy bracers wrapped his forearms, etched with the same runic lines that glowed faintly when he moved.
Dark trousers were tucked into reinforced boots that looked capable of crushing bone without effort.
He stepped forward.
He stopped at a respectful distance and bowed.
It was not graceful like Caleth’s, nor fluid like Seraphielle’s. I suspected this demon did not even have an elegant or graceful bone in his body. He was all jagged edges.
"Your Majesties."
His voice was deep, rough-edged, like stone grinding against stone.
When he straightened, his gaze moved to me.
Despite the scowl, there was something steady there.
"I am Draeven Thornekar," he said to me, "Duke of the Golemhold Territory."
Um... what the fuck is Golemhold?
It was only when I heard someone clear their throat that I realized I had said that out loud.