The Demon's Answer

The Kingdom of Valethorne lived in eternal twilight, and today that darkness felt heavier than usual.

Lord Kenneth's screams echoed through the throne room, bouncing off black stone walls that had witnessed countless similar scenes. The guards continued their work with practiced efficiency, each strike of the whip calculated to cause maximum pain without granting the mercy of unconsciousness.

King Malakar Veyrath sat motionless on his obsidian throne, watching the punishment with an expression that revealed nothing. His face could have been carved from the same black stone as his castle walls. Those hollow eyes - dark as the void between stars - held secrets that would drive lesser men mad just from knowing them.

The other council members stood frozen around the room like statues, their faces masks of horror they dared not show too openly. Each one understood the unspoken rule that had kept them alive this long: never question the king's judgment, never show weakness, and never, ever let him see your fear. Though that last part was impossible. Malakar could smell fear like a hound smells blood.

"Please," Kenneth gasped between strikes, his voice raw and desperate. "Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I was forced to do it. I never wanted... please spare my life."

The sound of leather against flesh stopped. Malakar had raised one hand, just slightly, and the guards stepped back immediately. Even they feared what happened to those who displeased their master.

Lord Kenneth collapsed forward, his back a mess of torn fabric and bleeding wounds. But he was still breathing. Still conscious. Malakar always made sure of that part.

"Please forgive me, my King," Kenneth whispered, his head pressed against the cold floor. "It was never my intention to betray you. I swear it."

Malakar's laugh was soft, almost gentle. Which somehow made it more terrifying than any roar of rage would have been. He held up a small glass vial, letting the torchlight play across its surface. The liquid inside was clear as water, innocent looking.

"Did you really think this little bottle would be able to harm me?" His voice was conversational, like he was discussing the weather. "Did you honestly believe I wouldn't detect your lies? That I wouldn't know about your plans the moment you started making them?"

Kenneth's breathing grew more desperate. "Your Highness, I would never—"

"Do you view me as weak?" Malakar continued, ignoring the interruption. "Is that it? Do you see me as one of those foolish servants in your own household? Someone you could trick with pretty words and false smiles?"

He stood from his throne, each movement deliberate and predatory. The other council members seemed to shrink back against the walls, though they tried to hide it.

"You dared to conspire behind my back. You tried to poison me at my own table, with my own wine. And then - this is the part that truly amuses me - you had the nerve to collaborate with the other kingdoms. To plot against me with those pathetic worms who call themselves kings."

"No, Your Highness!" Kenneth's voice cracked with desperation. "I would never do such things with a clear mind. I was forced into it. My family's lives were at stake. Please, you have to understand - my daughter is only seven years old. I couldn't let anything happen to her."

Tears streamed down Kenneth's bloodied face as he spoke. Real tears. Genuine terror and love for his child. 

Malakar's expression shifted, just slightly. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Family," he said softly, tasting the word like fine wine. "How... touching."

He walked closer, his boots clicking against the stone floor with each step. The sound echoed in the silence like a death march.

"You know what? I think I'll spare you."

The words hit the room like a physical blow. Kenneth looked up in shock, hardly daring to believe what he'd heard. Even the other council members exchanged bewildered glances. King Malakar didn't show mercy. Ever. His heart was made of the same black stone as his castle - no amount of pleading or tears could crack it.

"Thank you," Kenneth gasped, bowing so low his forehead touched the floor again. "Thank you so much, Your Highness. I swear I'll never—"

Malakar crouched down in front of him, close enough that Kenneth could smell the sulfur that always clung to the demon king's skin. With one finger, Malakar lifted Kenneth's bloody chin, forcing the man to look directly into those hollow, terrifying eyes.

"Of course I'll spare you," he said gently. "But your family will pay the price instead. Starting with that seven-year-old daughter you're so worried about."

The color drained from Kenneth's face so fast he looked like a corpse. "No," he whispered. "Your Majesty, please, don't do this. Please."

"Did you really expect me to let you walk free while your family enjoys their comfortable life? That's not how justice works, Kenneth. You committed the sin, so your bloodline pays for it. That's my rule. That's always been my rule."

Malakar uncorked the poison vial with his thumb, the soft pop echoing in the silent room.

"Since you decided to kill me without thinking twice about the consequences, I'll do the same to you. No mercy. No second chances."

Before Kenneth could react, Malakar grabbed his jaw and forced his mouth open. The poison went down Kenneth's throat in one smooth motion.

"Swallow," Malakar commanded, his grip like iron.

Kenneth had no choice. His eyes went wide with the realization of what had just happened.

"Since you tried to kill me with poison, it seems only fitting that you die the same way," Malakar said, standing and brushing off his hands like he'd just finished a minor chore. "Take him away."

The guards moved forward immediately.

"Don't let him die easily," Malakar added casually. "He should feel every moment of it. Real pain. The kind that makes you beg for death long before it comes."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the guards replied in unison. These weren't ordinary human soldiers - they were Malakar's personal demons, creatures bound to his will and just as cruel as their master.

As they dragged Kenneth's writhing body toward the door, his desperate pleas echoed through the throne room: "Please, not my family, please, she's just a child..."

"Find everyone else who was involved in this little conspiracy," Malakar called after them. "Bring them all to me. You have five days."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The massive doors slammed shut, cutting off Kenneth's screams. The throne room fell into the kind of silence that comes after violence - heavy and oppressive, like the air before a storm.

Malakar turned his attention to the remaining council members, who stood frozen in their places like deer caught in torchlight. His laugh was soft and almost musical.

"This should serve as a warning to all of you," he said, settling back onto his throne. "Loyalty is not optional in Valethorne. Betrayal has consequences. And those consequences extend far beyond the traitor themselves."

The throne room doors opened again, but this time it was a messenger who entered. A human messenger, not one of Malakar's demons, which meant he brought news from outside the kingdom.

"Your Majesty," the messenger said, bowing so low his nose nearly touched the floor. "A letter from King Aldric of Aethermoor has arrived."

Malakar's eyebrows rose slightly. "A letter? Instead of the tribute I demanded?" His voice carried a dangerous amusement. "How interesting. Read it aloud."

The messenger's hands shook as he unfolded the parchment, but his voice remained steady:

"To His Majesty, King Malakar Veyrath. Your ultimatum has been received and understood. While Aethermoor cannot provide the tribute you demand without destroying our people, I offer something far more precious than gold or grain. I offer you the hand of my daughter, Princess Eryndra Nightveil, in marriage. She is nineteen years old, pure of heart and noble of blood, trained in all the graces befitting a queen. A union between our kingdoms would benefit us both and demonstrate your mercy to the world. I await your response with humble respect. King Aldric Nightveil of Aethermoor."

When the messenger finished, the throne room fell into an even deeper silence than before. You could have heard a pin drop on the stone floor.

Then Malakar began to laugh.

It started as a low chuckle, but grew louder and more genuine as the full implications of the letter sank in. The sound sent chills down every spine in the room.

"Brave and stupid," he said finally, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "The man is both brave and incredibly stupid."

He stood up again, pacing back and forth in front of his throne like a predator contemplating its next hunt.

"He dares to negotiate with me. To offer terms instead of simply begging for mercy." Malakar shook his head in apparent amazement. "I have to admire the audacity, even if it will get him killed."

Lord Thane, the most senior of his surviving council members, cleared his throat nervously. "Your Majesty, what are you planning to do?"

Malakar stopped pacing and turned to face him, that predatory smile spreading across his face again.

"You know what I find most interesting about this letter? King Aldric seems to think his daughter is something special. 'Pure of heart and noble of blood,' he says. 'Trained in all the graces befitting a queen.'" He laughed again. "He's offering me his most precious possession, hoping it will save his pathetic little kingdom."

The demon king's eyes gleamed with anticipation, like a cat that had just spotted a particularly interesting mouse. 

"Besides, it's been far too long since I had proper entertainment. My last queen died... what, two years ago now? I've been growing rather bored lately."

He walked back to his throne, but didn't sit down. Instead, he gripped the armrests and leaned forward, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"Reply to the message tomorrow morning," he told his council. "Tell King Aldric that I accept his marriage alliance."

The council members exchanged glances, but none dared speak. They all knew that tone of voice. It meant their king had found a new plaything.

"This should be quite entertaining," Malakar continued, his smile growing wider and more terrifying. "Your king is getting a new bride, offered willingly by her own father. A pure, innocent princess who has no idea what kind of monster she's being fed to."

But even as he smiled and spoke of his plans, none of the council members could predict what was truly going on in their king's mind. Malakar's thoughts were as dark and twisted as the shadows that filled his castle, impossible to read or understand.

One thing was certain though, and every person in that throne room knew it without needing to be told:

Princess Eryndra Nightveil was about to face the worst fate imaginable.