The hunger had become Lucien's shadow, always present, gnawing at him like a savage beast. Seven days—or ten?—since he had been brought to this world of darkness. Time was different here, marked only by the visits of his captors and the varying brightness of the blue-flamed candles.
He had just finished eating the bread Kaelen had left for him but only after the shadow demon was gone. Pride kept him from looking weak, but survival necessitated sacrifices. The broth sat untouched—there was something off-putting in its reddish hue to his stomach.
Lucien's fingers traced the ridges of his collarbone, now more sharply defined beneath his skin. His robes were loose in the spots they once clasped so closely. He had not stopped praying, but his prayers grew few and automatic—habits now, not hopes.
A gentle knock on the door.
"Enter," he said, and his voice was huskier than he had remembered.
It was Serava who moved forward, in midnight blue robes with silver stars that shimmered and shifted with his movement.
"The king commands your presence," Serava said, his gaze on Lucien's face filled with interested eyes. "You must bathe first."
Lucien's teeth clenched. "I'm not his plaything to indulge."
Serava's lips twisted, as though in amusement. "No, you're his offering to be defiled. But even defiling is better with cleanliness."
With a wave of his hand, an archway materialized in the far wall, opening onto a steam bath chamber behind.
"I'll wait," Serava said, perching upon a chair which had not been present the moment before.
Lucien hesitated, yet the thought of warm water against his skin was too tempting to resist. He entered the chamber, rather uncomfortably conscious that there was no door to stand between him and Serava's watchful gaze.
The bath was carved out of black marble, scented water filling it that smelled of strange, intoxicating herbs. Reluctantly, he shed his filthy robes, his back to the archway. The sensation of eyes on his bare flesh nudged his awareness. He slipped quickly into the water, allowing the heat to permeate his aching muscles while maintaining his dignity.
When he turned back, he saw Serava looking—not with Vaeloth's hungry savagery, but with something close to reverence.
"Enjoying the view?" Lucien growled, the bile rising in his throat.
Serava leapt, startled. The stately demon was actually at a loss for words. "I. sorry," he said, turning away. "It's just. even in your diminished form, your light is. incredible."
Lucien dove deeper, his chest aflame with humiliation and anger. "Get out."
"I cannot leave you—"
"GET OUT!"
Surprisingly, Serava obeyed, retreating from the archway. Lucien finished bathing quickly, emerging to find fresh clothing laid out—garments of deep wine red with gold embroidery. The fabric was softer than anything he'd ever felt, and it fit his frame perfectly, as if measured in his sleep. The collar dipped low, exposing his collarbone, and the sleeves ended at his elbows.
When he emerged from the chamber, Serava's eyes were studiously turned away. "This way," he breathed.
The corridors they proceeded along were grand, tapestried and having floating orbs of gentle light. They arrived at a pair of enormous doors studded with pearl and obsidian. They opened without anyone having to touch them.
Inside was not the throne room Lucien had expected, but a smaller one. Intimate. A single table set with alien fruits and meats. Two chairs. And Vaeloth, standing by a window that looked out over a landscape of impossible beauty—jagged mountains capped with fire, forests of silver-leafed trees, and skies streaked with colors Lucien did not know names for.
"Leave us," Vaeloth commanded without turning.
Serava bowed and retreated, the doors crashing shut behind him.
Lucien braced himself for whatever pain awaited him. But Vaeloth merely waved at the table.
"Sit. Eat."
"I'm not hungry," Lucien lied.
Vaeloth's eyes ran over Lucien's body. "Your body is a liar, priest. I can hear your belly complaining from across the room."
He moved closer, striding with that unhuman grace that came to remind Lucien he was in the presence of something old and powerful. Vaeloth followed him deliberately, like a predator eyeing its prey.
"The red suits you," he breathed, fingertips tracing the top of Lucien's neck. "Like snow marked with blood."
Lucien pulled back from the contact, but hunger won out. He sat down at the table, eating a little bit of fruit. Sweet nectar burst on his tongue, too much after days of not having it.
Vaeloth watched him with killer appetite, then sat across from him.
"I've wondered," the Demon King said, his voice pretended to be careless, "why you've never used your holy powers against me."
Lucien paused halfway through the bite, balancing his answer. "It would be a waste," he answered finally, returning to eating. "My blessings were not granted to be squandered on the likes of you."
Vaeloth's eyes chilled. "Bold words for a man in your position."
"My position does nothing to change that. Light was not invented to fight darkness—just to be for all that in spite of it."
"Poetic," Vaeloth mocked. "But I think the reality is more straightforward. Your abilities are waning. Your god's silence grows louder by the day."
Lucien's fist trembled, but his face remained impassive. "My religion is not dependent on unceasing revelation."
"No?" Vaeloth leaned forward. "Then show me. Call up your holy fire. Hit me where I sit." He spread his arms wide, an invitation. "I will even let you have a free swing."
Lucien stared back at him. "That is not the way faith works."
"No," Vaeloth smiled, cruel and beautiful. "That is not the way powerlessness works."
The conversation continued, a deadly waltz of words and trials. When finally dismissed, Lucien was led back to his quarters by Kaelen, the shadow demon pacing silently at his heels.
Alone, Lucien fell to his knees. Not out of desperation, but out of strategy. A thought had occurred to him during his conversation with Vaeloth—a volatile one. The demons were intimidated by his light, even as they mocked it. Perhaps he could use that to his benefit someday.
When Kaelen returned with his supper, Lucien was ready. As the shadow demon set the tray on the bedside table, Lucien began praying—not his hushed, whispered prayers but a loud, urgent supplication for death.
"Divine Light, take me away from this place. Release me from this earthly prison. Give me the gentle arms of death rather than corruption."
The language, tainted with desperate truth, commanded respect. Divine light began to emanate from Lucien's form, growing stronger with each word. Kaelen retreated a step, his eyes wild with terror.
"Desist," the shadow demon commanded, but his voice was shaking.
Lucien continued, focusing the energy on Kaelen. The shadow demon stumbled on his own feet, shadows oozing from him like smoke from a smoldering ember. He collapsed to the ground, not deceased but ensconced in an in-depth sleep that made his body transparent.
Alarm bells tolled in the palace. Lucien had barely moments before others would arrive. He was not trying to escape—not yet. This was an experiment, a provocation to determine how the demon kingdom would react to an exhibition of holy power.
The doors swung open, and Tyrion charged in, flanked by guards. His face twisted with anger at the sight of the slumped Kaelen.
"Seize him!" Tyrion thundered.
Rough hands grabbed Lucien, extinguishing his light as they bound his wrists with cuffs of magic-fashioned metal that burned his skin.
Vaeloth arrived a moment afterward, his anger no longer concealed, an energy in the air in the room that was charged with power.
"You dare," he spat, his hand on Lucien's chin bruising. "You still think your god saves you? That your light will be your savior?"
Lucien did not answer, but the defiance in his eyes rang out loudly.
Vaeloth's lips twisted into a horrid grin. "Take him to the Chamber of Sin," he ordered. "He is to remain there from today on".
he leaned upon and whispered into lucien's ear;"You are going to regret this"
As they took him away, Lucien had a weird blend of fear and victory. He had demonstrated something—to himself, if to nobody else. His power still stood.
END OF CHAPTER 4