Demon Empress

Chapter 12 - Centuries Ago

As the firstborn son of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Ithur of course had a small castle in the Second Ring of Hell. The Fourth Ring was where his townhome was; it was small, but grand, and located in a central and wealthy district.

Through a black, iron gate sprawled a spacious and well-kept lawn. A green, three-storey mansion sat at the end of the long path, and three carriages emblazoned with the insignia of House l'Rasel stood on standby by the fountain at the bottom of the white, marble staircase leading up to the manor.

Iara let out a low, unladylike whistle. "Hel-lo, firstborn noble."

Ithur smiled grimly. "It's not all good."

When they entered, they passed through a grand hall and carpeted corridors decorated with large, paned windows, expensive sculptures and famed paintings. When they entered the opulently-furnished parlour, the housekeeper was quick to bring them delicate pastries and tea.

Settling into a velvet armchair, Iara smirked. "It's certainly not all bad, either.”

He shrugged. Turning to Qaen, he threw out: "What do you think?"

Qaen paused to think, then slowly mused, "I think you certainly do have a few things going at you."

An unreadable expression filtered over Iara's eyes dully. "But being in control of your own life is good. Not being in poverty is good. You shouldn't complain. Not having to kneel at the petty whims of others is good enough."

Ithur glanced curiously at her. "You're a slave-owner."

She smiled coldly. "Exactly."

Qaen looked at her strangely, unmoving, for a long, almost tangible moment. He said slowly, "There is no one but the Empress who is completely in control of their own knees in Hell."

Iara rolled her eyes in visible irritation. "There aren't many who would dare to command the knees of the son of the Minister of Foreign Affairs."

Ithur shook his head. "Enough. I didn't bring you here to whine about my problems. You're here to sort one." He pinned his stare intently onto Qaen. "Shouldn't you pay your respects to your former master first?"

Qaen met his gaze levelly. "Shouldn't you ask my current master for her permission first?"

Great amusement was reflected in Iara's eyes. Waving her hands very naturally, she demurred, "Why even ask me?”

Ithur grinned and Qaen sighed.

Fawningly, Ithur crooned, "The housekeeper has been ordered not only to prepare for you guest chambers and a steaming bath fit for an empress, I have also ordered clothes and accessories for you with the same sincerity. Come, come, the slave knows his way around. Let me show you, dear Iara."

Qaen sighed to himself when he was left standing alone in the parlour. He saw now that Iara had not touched her tea at all. He smiled bitterly. Did she believe Ithur would truly mean her any harm? Quickly downing the now-lukewarm tea and hydrating his dry throat, he mutely headed down the familiar corridors towards the Riese l'Rasel's chambers.

He took the servants’ stairs like he used to, instead of the main stairs like the guest he was. The servants he met in the narrow, wooden corridors were startled upon seeing him there, and quite a few familiar faces fell into stand-still upon seeing him, but he breezed past them, ignoring the dull ache of nostalgia.

He had been passed around as a slave for a time long enough to see the reign of three different Emperors, and the ache of nostalgia was the dullest of the sort, knowing whom it was he was going to see. He had served this woman for 200 years, and her husband had thankfully put an end to it 600 years ago. Although Ithur, in his momentary fit of anger, had sold him to the merciless Commander Erunal of the Emperor’s Elite Eleventh Demon Legion in the cold First Ring, he was not a bad man.

Qaen walked in deep thought brought on by this familiar mansion.

He had been there when the current Empress El’Iaris had issued a Challenge for the Bone Crown. It had been such a quiet and mysterious incident, unexpected and over in the blink of an eye, but it had changed Hell permanently.

He smiled grimly to himself. The uprising of the nameless, unknown figure had also gotten rid of Commander Erunal. He would have loved to see such a demoness’ face, but his first instinct when his collar shattered was to run.

In front of the small door leading out into the main corridors of the mansion, Qaen slowed to a stop, buried in his memories.

A soul Contract was bound to the life of the owner. This owner was the human Contractor in the human realm, and the demon Contractor in Hell. Qaen had waited millennia for the master of his collar to die before his Contract was sold. It was a rare instance, because in any situation of danger other than a Challenge, Qaen would be forced to step forward as an immortal meat shield. When the Commander was swallowed by the fog on the Grounds, Qaen had thought he would finally be allowed to pass over.

But instead of his soul perishing, his collar had shattered.

He and the other slaves of the former Demon Legion Commanders knew - none who had been swallowed by that fog were dead.

Where were they now? Where could they have had been sent for the soul Contract to break?

It certainly wasn’t Hell.

The First and Second Ring noble families of the Commanders had expended a lot of demons and resources to chase after the running slaves and force them back. Many demons had died that night. The slaves had been forced into new Contracts over many nights of torture, but since that night, the slaves had known.

The Emperor and his Commanders were not as dead as many believed.