The Viewing Chamber had transitioned. What had begun as a theater—a gathering of equals—was now a pit of high-born depravity. With the princesses currently on their final, silent march toward the mines, the Orbs offered little more than the rhythmic, hypnotic crunch of boots on gravel. The Sovereigns, bored by the travel, turned to the company around them to pass the time in ways only monsters could.
Jasper stood by the heavy oak bar, his movements fluid and detached. He poured a finger of dark, shimmering spirits, the crystal glass clinking softly against the decanter. He was growing bored; he wanted to rejoin the rest of his soul so he could be closer to her. Even from this distance, he felt every phantom vibration when his "main" self touched Daniela. The echo of her musical laughter rang in his ears—a torturous joy. This room was becoming stifling. Even the image of Daniela on the screen was starting to lose its potency against the real, thrumming need to be near her. He closed his eyes in irritation as Prince Deacon's boisterous laugh slithered into his ears.
"I'm sure of my bet!" Deacon leaned closer, looking toward Prince Eric. A glimmering Animite stone rested in his palm, pulsing with trapped magics. "Two and a half pounds of Animite says that both Princess Selena and Princess Bella won't survive."
"We all know Selena will die. That's easy money," Eric chuckled, drinking a glass of blood fresh from the vein. "I bet the whore will run when she comes face-to-face with a troll cock as big as a pine tree." The two men couldn't control their laughter.
Linden stared at the Animite, the familiar itch of greed growing in his belly. He wanted to make a bet, to take a chance at winning some extra power, but the disapproving hiss of his father was enough to stop his wayward tongue from wagging. His shoulders hunched in dejection as he walked past Prince Miguel to sit next to his mother, who gave him a scolding look for a sin he hadn't even committed yet.
The ruckus around him didn't phase him in the least. Miguel's sole focus was on the food. A naked, kneeling Wendigo—a trembling male with hollowed, terrified eyes—had been dragged in for the Royals' meal.
"You embarrass your forefathers," King Silas of the Wendigos said, his voice a low, disapproving rumble as he stared at the trembling mess beneath them. Among their kind, it was an honor to be consumed by the strong. Queen Thora lifted her legs, tucking them beneath her on the sofa.
Gripping the lesser Wendigo's left arm, King Silas pulled—slowly. He allowed the man a far more gruesome end than what was normally provided; the man's weakness was a poison, and the pain he suffered would be its own cure. The meat would taste better.
Miguel salivated as the metallic tang of blood peppered his nose. He helped Silas, his claws gripping the man's throat to cut off the screech coming from his lips, refusing to let the Wendigos be painted in a pathetic light, as if they were no better than worthless, cowardly shades.
The lower jaw of their bone-masks—a seamless, ivory surface—detached with a sickening, mechanical click. The smooth line of the face split, the bone sliding back to allow the hinge to open wider than any human anatomy would permit. Jagged, needle-sharp teeth were revealed, rows of them baring as father and son fell upon the meat. There was the wet, rhythmic tearing of muscle and the spray of hot blood that painted the Wendigos in a primal, scarlet light. No one flinched; the carnage was as normalized as a bowl of fruit at a human wedding.
Miguel smiled up at his mother, the fascia and blood of his kin coating his chin. Thora sat neatly on the sofa, leaning forward. She couldn't indulge—her feminine stomach wasn't built for the raw benefits of the meat—but she patted her son's back with a delicate, loving touch.
"Eat, my darling," she said, her voice sweet and soft. No matter how old, she would always make sure her son's stomach was full.
Across the room, Crown Princess Kayla felt the bile rising in her throat. She had never seen something so primal, so utterly disgusting. They were cannibals—eating a man of their own species. Her hand flew over her mouth, her eyes stinging as she fought back a violent gag reflex. The rigidity expected of a Gargoleon crown princess was lacking. Queen Thora watched her from across the room with a cold, unblinking judgment, her own composure a sharp contrast to the girl's unraveling.
Queen Vespera remained a statue of obsidian silence. She was trying her best to mold Kayla, but her efforts had amounted to nothing. It took everything not to huddle in on herself. She could already feel the disapproval radiating off of King Osric. She had so few duties; when he made an expectation, it needed to be achieved.
"Get her out of my sight," Osric rumbled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates.
Crown Prince Hector nodded in shame. His heavy, stone-grey hand clamped around Kayla's upper arm—not in a caress, but a leash. He hauled her from the room, refusing to let her embarrass their kind for one more second.
Kayla buried her face in Hector's chest the moment they cleared the doors, her tears soiling his tunic. His arms remained flat to his sides. She felt like a porcelain doll dropped into a wolf den. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be adored, a queen—not ridiculed by monsters.
The heavy oak doors muffled the wet sounds of the feast. Hector was at a loss. It had been months, yet she still acted as if the world were new. He had loved her since they were children—a deep devotion—but her current emotional fragility was grinding harshly against the iron-clad tenets of his upbringing. He was made to stand there in shame as mere servants walked by, witnesses to this outpour of wild emotion. In his memories of their youth, she had been joyous, sultry, bold, and captivating. Watching the projections these past weeks, he had assumed Kayla would be an even greater version of her sister: fierce, formidable, and composed. It made no sense to him that the sister gifted with the unique affinity would be the one to act like such a cripple.
"This cannot go on. It is shameful," Hector's patience had run out.
Her tears instantly dried at his words. As she pushed herself away from him, Kayla spun on him, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. She was hyperventilating, her hands trembling so violently she had to clench them into fists.
"I'm shameful? They're cannibals! I could hear them chewing flesh... I could see it!" she wailed. "I can't look at it anymore, Hector! The blood... the filth. Why are we here?" She wanted the garden he had promised her, where she could sit on a throne and enjoy the adoration of peasants and Lords alike.
Hector stepped into her space, his massive frame looming over her. He reached out, his fingers tracing a clumsy, rough line down her cheek. He didn't know how to comfort her; he only knew how to possess. "You are the Crown Princess of the Gargoleons. This is what life really is. You will need to find your strength."
"Strength?" Kayla laughed, a sharp, hysterical sound. "That's not strength! It's madness! And Daniela..." Her voice broke, her jealousy finally bleeding through. "Everyone is looking at her. You watch her too. You watch the Orb like she's the only girl in the world! She's the crippled one, Hector!" She was fuming, her carefully laid plans falling apart.
"You may wish to ask her how she stays so composed. It is a skill, apparently," Hector said, ignoring her previous words. All everyone was curious about was Daniela; she was something worth watching.
"I am a once-in-a-generation gift! I'm a sun elementalist! There is no one like me!" The more she spoke, the warmer the hallway became. Her body began taking on an ethereal glow, the air shimmering with visible heat waves that spoke to her rising temperature.
But with three simple words, he collapsed her growing ego. His voice hardened, frustrated by his inability to quell the childishness within her. "Act like it."
He turned on his heel and stalked back into the chamber. Kayla fled toward the servant's quarters unknowingly, her mind a whirlwind of bitter realizations. She wondered if she had made a fatal mistake. Prince Eric had liked her first; he had wanted her well before he ever set his eyes on Daniela. If she hadn't been so weak, so easily scared when she saw him feeding, she would be the princess attached to the Supreme King's son right now. Instead, she was the laughingstock of the Gargoleons—and they were already considered the dumbest of the species.
She had truly chosen wrong.
As she fled, she nearly collided with three women being led toward the viewing chamber: Ida, Lola, and Josephine. Kayla drew herself up, her eyes flashing with a sudden, cruel reverence. She gave them a look of such profound loathing that Lola stumbled back, but the maids didn't break. They were led past her by Patrick, entering the den of monsters.
Inside the chamber, the atmosphere had thickened. King Michael sat on his sofa, his legs spread wide. Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the ground between his legs, not sparing his Queen a single glance.
Satisfaction bloomed in Michael as he watched his elegant Queen slink to her knees. Her fingers unbuttoned his trousers with ease, her hands wrapping around his cock, freeing him for all to see. He could smell the humiliation on her; it was bold and rich. He watched with a toothy smile as her lips stretched and her head bobbed, taking him down her throat. Lewd sounds perfumed the room, feeding his hunger.
Her body moved on autopilot, no longer needing to be told with words. But the sting of humiliation never went away. Queen Dahlia had known it in her youth, but this was what it meant to tie yourself to the Demon Kingdom—that sex wasn't private and cherished; it was food, it was power, it was a display.
His large palm rested at the top of her head, holding her still as Michael stared past her. He was smirking at a patch of shifting shadows near the wall, knowing King Quincy of the Shades was peeping, his shadow-self pulsing with a voyeuristic arousal. Michael thrashed his hips upward, shoving himself deeper down her throat, past the point of comfort, putting on a show of dominance for the wayward Shadow.
Across the room, Queen Griselda had easily noticed the irregular shadow. Years of living with Quincy had made her adept at sensing even the slightest fluctuation in the dark. She rolled her eyes in deep irritation at his "Peeping Tom" behavior, though she remained silent, a mask of cold boredom on her face.
King Quincy's hand began to glide slowly across the silk cushion toward Griselda's thigh. As he reached, the shadow of his arm seemed to detach from the limb itself; it looked as though two hands were moving toward her, the fingers of the shadow-hand twitching with a visible, dark excitement. He stared at her, his eyes hungry with a need to assert his dominance in a room full of Royals. Griselda's eyes narrowed on his wandering, double-layered hand before she leveled him with a hard look, raising a single, sharp brow. A silent, lethal warning.
Quincy's jaw worked as he gnawed at his lip. He let both hands—flesh and shadow—come to a rest on the cushion between them. Internally, he decided he'd rather not risk his wife's growing wrath; looking would have to suffice. Some men are just too lucky, he groaned to himself.
Sharp hisses punctuated the slurping sounds as King Magnus pulled Queen Elara flush against his chest, his large hands covering her eyes. He wouldn't allow any other male's lust to be visible to his precious wife. Elara chuckled against his throat, not fighting the hold, but leaning into the cool touch of his scaled skin.
But Magnus's attention was quickly pulled to his sons, Landon and Linden, as both of their bodies shook. Low growls tumbled from their throats. Linden's snake-like tongue darted past his lips, tasting the air, sampling the delicacy King Michael had created.
The festive mood caught hold of King Elderon, who pulled down the front of Queen Aurelia's gown. His sharp fangs bit into her breasts, sucking violently as he feasted on her blood. His tongue danced over her nipple while his palm pinched at her other breast.
Prince Eric stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the stone. With eyes blazing like a forest on fire, he moved further away from where his mother was being treated like a common bar wench. He unintentionally ended up next to Prince Jasper—the last person he ever intentionally wanted to spend time with—but at the moment, they were in the same position.
"They're disgusting!" Eric couldn't help the word slipping past his lips. His voice was low as he grabbed his own glass of hard liquor.
Jasper chuckled, an amusement straightening his body. He turned to the room, easily finding what was bothering Eric: the wet slurps of blood and his mother's exposed flesh.
"They're still perky. Considering her age," Jasper said provokingly, his eyes fixated on Queen Aurelia with unveiled interest.
Prince Eric's jaw tightened, the need to lash out becoming impossible to ignore. "And yours is no better than a whore in a brothel," Eric jabbed back, his eyes shifting to Queen Dahlia.
Jasper didn't shy away. He followed Eric's gaze until it landed on Dahlia and Michael. "Sex dominates our species. We have no taboos." Though Dahlia was his mother, Jasper lacked any real connection to her; they had spent too much time apart for sentiment to take root. He turned his head blatantly, making a show of watching Eric's mother. He even went so far as to wave at the queen, goading Eric. Queen aurelia was forced to nod back politely maintaining a mask of Regal integrity. But through Jasper's power, he could taste her humiliation—he could see the way her soul shuddered with a bone-deep revulsion she was desperate to hide.
"Your kind don't like to display your wives," Jasper said, tilting his head with a cutting, clinical curiosity. "I wonder... what this implies...?"
The glass in Eric's hand shattered. The pieces pushed into his skin as his blood dripped down his arm. Before it could hit the floor, the droplets stayed suspended in the air, vibrating with a lethal tension as they waited for a command from their master. Eric's blood-red eyes pulsed with fury.
"Don't."
Both Jasper and Eric heard the lowly whispered warning of King Elderon. The command was absolute. Jasper's smirk only grew.
"Find me later if you want to chat cultural differences," he whispered, moving back to sit on his assigned seat just to the left of King Michael.
The Grand oak doors opened. Patrick led in Daniela's three maids—Ida, Lola, and Josephine—who stood in a trembling line before the Sovereigns. The sound of Michael's low groans and the wet, aggressive slurps of Dahlia's ministrations filled the now quieting room.
"The contract," King Elderon boomed, his hand still wandering over his wife. "What is in it? What did the girl make them sign?"
Josephine stepped forward, her spine straight despite her fear. She was fiercely protective, her words chosen like stones for a fortress. She had made her choices; she had chosen her side. "We do not know the contents, Your Majesty. Princess Daniela wrote them in private. We only delivered them."
"Use your imagination," Queen Griselda prompted, leaning forward. Her husband manipulated her shadow, allowing it to stretch closer to the shivering maids. "You spend every waking moment seeing to the needs of Princess Daniela. You should know her." She smiled, an enticing, predatory expression.
Ida wished to escape this room; the castle felt far more insidious without the protection of Daniela. "Unfortunately, we did not become the princess's confidant. Her time was quickly captured by Crown Prince Jasper." Her eyes shifted toward the prince in question, hoping he would not take offense.
"Pay him no mind. We all seek the same truth," Queen Thora said, noticing the darting looks. Now that it was known Jasper would win a battle of strength against her Hector, information was crucial.
"...perhaps you three could find yourselves married above your station. A merchant house. A lower Lordship. A life far away from dirty rags and muddy floors," Queen Griselda pushed.
"There is no higher calling to me than to serve the Royals. No matter the kingdom," Josephine stated. Griselda's words had zero effect on her; she was an old woman, but she knew where she stood.
As her jaw throbbed and her throat ached, Queen Dahlia had still paid attention to every word. No matter the kingdom, the maid had said. She would have to make sure they took Daniela's three maids with them when they left the castle.
Lola, the youngest, looked at the other two. Her eyes shifted, and for a second, she looked like she might break. But behind her fear was a secret triumph. She thought of the promises Daniela had made them—promises of true power, not just a merchant's bed. She would stick to the devil she knew.
Lola closed her mouth, her silence a shield. Patrick stepped forward, signaling the end of the interrogation, and led the maids out of the room.
The moment the doors closed, the central Orb pulsed with a sudden, violent surge of light. A low, thunderous roar vibrated through the stone floor, followed by the sound of heavy, rhythmic clashing.
The princesses had reached the mines.
The room snapped. The carnal distractions didn't vanish, but the focus shifted instantly to the Orbs. King Michael let out a ragged, final groan, his hand tightening in Dahlia's hair as he came in her throat. Hot cum filled her cheeks, and she struggled to swallow it all down. Michael kept his palm firmly in place, forcing her head to remain still, his fingers threading through her hair as he watched her throat work. Only when the last drop was gone did he finally release his grip.
When he took his hands away, Dahlia finally pulled herself off her knees. She sat back on the sofa, crossing her legs in expert poise, a mask of cold elegance returning to her face as if the last several minutes had never happened.
From his seat, Jasper reached out, his eyes still fixed on the Orb ahead. He stretched his own glass of dark, amber liquid past Michael's seated form toward his mother.
Dahlia took it from his hand without a word. The silent offering was the only kindness in the room, an implication of shared understanding that required no speech. She tilted the glass back, allowing the dark liquor to burn away the taste of the King.
Author's note:
I love this chapter! But I also hate this chapter. I took hours to get right. I was loosing my marbles!!!! I wanted to make sure that I solidified the essence of all of these characters that are coming to the forefront of the story now.
Additional author's note:
I am very distracted right now with other projects. But I will come back to this one! Hopefully, you'll still be interested when I am back at it.