Taming the Demon King

The Demon King

I take a deep breath and walk through the doors following my mother, hand in hand with Stella. The feel of Stella’s hand keeps me grounded as we walk forward.

The great hall is populated to my right by all the previously presented witches and warlocks and their attendants and families. All of them now either hold a title for the upper levels or are acknowledged as independent from their parents. The High Wizard twins are no doubt now Sorcerers.

To my left as we walk in, the High Mistress and High Master sit on a dias in what could be called thrones but are really just ordinary nice dining chairs. Behind them and to their left are a half dozen Mistress and Master Witches, all serving to title and recognize the witches coming out here. That is not what interests me. To the other side of the High Mistress and Master sits a demon who could only be the demon King. Next to him sits an empty chair behind which stands a demon. Behind him and to his right, a group of bored-looking demons stands either whispering amongst themselves or looking at the proceedings in a slightly judging manner. I try to ignore them.

The Herald calls out, “Eloise Josette Howe-Prothero presented by her mother Enchantress Sabine Nicole Howe and accompanied by High Witch Stella Louise Castle.”

I can hear Stella grumbling internally at the use of her middle name. I squeeze her hand before letting it go and stepping forward.

I am about to curtsey when I look up and realize the demon king is staring at me. Confused, I slowly lower myself, refusing to stop looking away from his invasive stare, and perform the best curtsey I know how to do. By the time I am standing upright again, I know something strange is happening. Behind me the murmurs are insistent.

The demon King has leaned over to speak to High Mistress Scarletwound. She looks surprised and confused at first. After a moment of further discussion, she nods and turns to the Master Wizard who was about to step forward. He is supposed to grant me whatever status I had gained, but instead he steps back. Then something even stranger happens. The demon King stands up prompting his whole contingent of demons to wake up out of their stupor.

I stand there confused about what is going on as I watch the demon King approach me. I can feel a slight blush on my cheeks from all the attention and the obvious gossip happening behind me in the crowd. Stella is deliberately thinking calming thoughts at me. My mother remains unreadable, but I feel her tension even through her mental barriers.

The king stops about five feet from me and I get a good look at him. He is taller than my father, over six feet, with dark hair and dark eyes and sallow-looking skin. As demons go, he is the stereotypical one. His frame is wiry and lean, like how I would describe a swimmer’s body. I doubt he swims. His clothes are black with a bit of rich purple thrown in, formal wear with the traditional half cape of a king at court. He is impeccable in the extreme.

I try to read his mind to understand him a bit, but the thoughts I get, what few I can discern, are jumbled and unreadable. It’s almost as if he thinks in a different language or thinks in something other than words or images. I feel like I’m trying to read static on a tv. I have no idea what he is doing.

Then I watch dumbfounded as the demon King kneels down in front of me.

Immediately the demon group comes forward and doesn’t just kneel, they completely go to the ground thier foreheads on the floor. None of their heads is higher than the demon King, who remains on one knee.

“My lady,” he says, offering his hand to me. “My name is Constantin and I would like to know you better.”

Without thinking I take his hand—and suddenly his inner voice goes clear.

I look at him in surprise.

A tug in my heart, in my soul, pulls me a step forward feeling a connection to him that isn’t anything to do with his hand in mine. I stare at him feeling deeply in me that I know him from somewhere—or some time—before. I can’t explain it. I can’t explain my feelings towards this demon and why I feel like I know him.

“Pleased to meet you, Constantin,” I say, which elicits gasps from all around the room. Belatedly I realize it is probably uncouth to call a king by his first name. I don’t really care. This person is behaving strangely and I feel it’s my right to be affronted.

“My lady, will you consent to be my Queen?”

The silence in the room is deafening. I can’t believe his words. I can’t be hearing them correctly. But through my connection to him I know one thing: he’s telling the truth.

“Your Majesty,” my mother’s voice chimes in behind me. “Is now the correct moment for this?”

Again you could hear a pin drop in the great hall. The impertinence of her addressing him so directly. She has a right as my mother, but it still comes off a tad out of line. I’m not really one for adhering to all rules, but facing the King I realize that stepping out of line could lead to a diplomatic incident.

“I believe it is,” the King answers. “Your daughter knows I am sincere.”

I tilt my head at him, irked now. “I can speak for myself, thank you,” are the first words out of my mouth. I hear a few gasps at my impertinence. “And my mother is right. Now is not the moment.”

“Forgive me, my Queen,” he says.

“I’m not your Queen.”

The King rises and the rest of the demons stand as well. He doesn’t let go of my hand, both to my chagrin and my relief. I can hear his thoughts clearly now and I know he’s following mine as well. We are both telepaths. He is following the thoughts of all those around him as well with a proficiency that I currently lack. I realize I could learn something from him.

His eyes widen slightly at the thought. I feel a scowl on my face despite the truth to that thought. I’m not that soft. If he really wants me to consider being his Queen, he is going to have to work for it.

I don’t know that I’ve ever thought about demons in any way except as a passing thought that they exist and we were once at war with them. But I know and can hear the prejudices of the witches around me. I was born into peace time. I was not raised with the belief that all demons are inherently evil. Despite their name, they are as diverse as witches in practices and alliances. There are easily as many good demons as there are evil witches. This King I can’t make heads or tails of. I know his father was quite evil as people go. He was malicious.

Don’t judge me for my father’s actions.

The thought comes into my mind without trying to read it. He is projecting into my mind much more effectively than I can. I give his hand a slight squeeze to show I heard and understand. He would have to show me with his actions that he is not like his dead father.

He flinches mentally at the thought about his father.

He makes up his mind about something that I can’t quite understand. Then he turns back to face the High Mistress and says, “High Mistress, I request to bequeath a royal title upon Miss Eloise Josette Howe-Prothero.”

“You have my leave to do so if Miss Howe-Prothero has no objection.”

I’m not sure why the High Mistress is so open to him. Maybe she has gotten over her own prejudices.

Don’t worry. I’m not making you Queen. I’m not sure his thoughts are exactly reassuring.

“I will consent to that and only that.”

I hear a stifled chuckle from behind me and know Stella is struggling to keep it together. She finds this whole thing amusing and delightful.

“I wish to bequeath the title of Duchess upon Miss Howe-Prothero. She will be henceforth known as her Grace, the Duchess of Maison Royale.”

Don’t worry. I can’t just make you a Princess. You have to marry into the royal family.

So you do want me to marry you, I think, hoping he can hear it clearly.

Yes, he says, for reasons too complicated to explain now.

I catch a brief image-flash of myself in his mind’s eye—not as I look now but completely different. Maybe a touch older, like twenty or so. Then the image is gone before I can see any more details.

You will have to explain if you want me to consider it seriously.

I will, I promise.

You better keep that promise.

His mouth quirks, repressing a smile. He likes my spirit. For some reason this annoys me more than anything.

“Then we recognize the title,” the High Mistress says as if no exchange is happening silently between myself and the King. “We have one last order of business then. Will Mistress Anyu please do the honors of bequeathing a title of distinction to Duchess Eloise?”

“Mistress?” Anyu says in confusion. I don’t know her well, but I can tell from her thoughts that she is wary of the demons in the room. And by extension, she is a touch wary of me.

“High Enchantress should do,” High Mistress Scarletwound says.

I nearly have a stroke realizing I’m getting a title two ranks higher than I expected. What’s worse is Mistress Anyu looks like she’s about to have one too. She really doesn’t like this idea. The king gently squeezes my hand, which he still hasn’t let go of.

Mistress Anyu steps forward and comes to stand facing me. She says the words that in a million years I would not have expected to hear. “I recognize this witch as High Enchantress.”

I look behind me in time to see the majority of the witches curtsey—including my own mother. My heart is pounding. I outrank a good portion of this room, both witches and demons alike. It feels surreal.

“Would my queen join me?” the King asks gesturing graciously to the empty seat next to his.

“If my attendant may stand with me.”

“Of course.”

I let the King guide me up to the dias where the leaders from both sides remain. He holds my hand right up till I sit down when he lets go long enough to take a seat. In that moment when I am free from his thoughts, I notice two things. The first is the intense judgement I feel from all around me, the expectation that at any moment the King will profess he’s made a mistake and take another more eligible witch—or demon—in the room. The other is the void I feel without his touch. And I can’t deny the void is because of him.

He takes my hand again as the proceedings continue. I feel again the connection. I can’t deny that somehow I know him.