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Araxis’s dark power preceded him, their whole group snapping to attention as he appeared beside the bed, something akin to pure agony twisting his brow. The rest happened too fast for anyone to take in. To stop it.

“Forgive me,” Araxis murmured as he produced one of his jeweled daggers, took up Brand’s arm, and sliced the blade across it.

Shouts rang out, Mag’s included, all of them moving as one—an exercise in futility. All that was left of Araxis by the time they reached the bed and Lunara’s iridescent power swept across the room was a single, wayward drop of Brand’s blood.

The horrified silence that followed was so complete, so consuming, that Magnus swore he heard it splash on the floor.

It was Fern who finally broke it. “What the fuck just happened?”

“You better hope Araxis is actually as good as you think he is,” Lunara rasped to no one in particular. Despite being on her knees in the washroom doorway, clinging to the frame and still dripping from her bath, she speared them with a look that held all the wrath and dread in Bordoroth. “Because there’s…only one reason I can think of…for him to do that. He’s using b-blood magic.”

A wide-eyed Fern caught Lunara as she passed out, Magnus and Vann scrambling to help her. The twins cursed under their breath in tandem, but it was Lyriat’s furious roar that shook the castle’s foundations.

Elder Council,

Consider this your official notice that we are no longer in accord. Most unfortunate, since I was initially willing to hear your requests and aid you in achieving them. No longer. Effective immediately, any Nachthellian who dares to step foot in Straelon without my express consent will be detained. You may thank your ‘High Ambassador’ and his egregious violation of too many standards, treaties, and conventions to count for the friction that now exists between our two realms—only one of which may be considered illustrious under the circumstances.

As not only mate to our esteemed High Ambassador, but publicly and irrevocably marked by Solyrian before all of the Horned City during our Occurrence this month past, Lunara the Moonweaver now holds bodily status as true Demon. In light of this fact, she is forthwith granted the full force of my protection and defense as a Straelani citizen, until such a time as she has deemed it unnecessary.

Should you or your Ambassador dare to transgress against my land or people in such a way again, you will learn firsthand what my Legions are capable of in the throes of their rage. And because I do not deal in passive aggression—yes, this is a threat.

I encourage you to heed it.

This edict shall remain in effect until I have received a convincing explanation and apology for the wrongs committed.

So decreed by The Demon King Lyriat, Supreme Commander and Twice-Affirmed Steward of the Dominion of Demons

There was something cathartic about blood. Cleansing.

Sure, it sprayed at random and stained his fingernails, but wet was wet. It had a knack for scrubbing unseen places, taming a filth embedded well beneath the surface of his skin.

He stepped back and cracked his knuckles one-by-one, shaking the stiffness out of his hands as he breathed long and deep to take the metallic scent into his lungs. Fuck, it was better than fresh air and always lightened his mood.

The smell of progress.

“Please. Please. Why can’t you understand that we know nothing?”

There was no need to feign his boredom when he sighed. Baldrir and his incessant begging. It was becoming tedious, and he wasn’t even halfway through the Demons he’d taken or the promises he’d made.

Not bothering to look up from the mutilated splash of crimson and ivory before him, he countered, “Why can’t you understand that I’m certain you’re lying?”

He braced himself for the response, foolishly hoping for something new and different. Something that would spice up the cyclical monotony this task had become of late. One beat, two, and there was Baldrir’s customary growl, edged with just enough frustration to assuage his own more violent urges.

Disappointing.

Ah, well. Such was the nature of these things sometimes. Pulling information from unwilling creatures was more formulaic than most might expect, every step of the process strategically arranged.

Mostly.

Okthana, as usual, had been difficult at every turn. Hence this evening’s little project. She’d wake from her restorative slumber soon and he needed to ensure she never found this place and the small contingent of Demons he’d conveniently forgotten to mention because they had no bearing on her asinine excuse for a plan. As well as about, oh, one or two hundred other creatures she was unaware of.

But who was counting.

There was only one surprise in the whole endeavor. A delight, actually, even if it left him at a complete loss.

Nyriadne of Straelon was more astonishing than anyone had a right to be, and Baldrir could learn a thing or two from his much younger sister.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, one eye on the Demon he was working on and one on Nyri. His fingertips skimmed over muscle and bone with just enough pressure to ignite the nerve endings he’d exposed, the warrior bowing in agony beneath his touch, but his focus was on her.