Chapter 3
Elara stared down at him. Her blue eyes were cold as glacier ice, but there was something else there too. Something Kael recognized from three hundred years ago, when she'd looked at him bleeding on the temple steps.
Boredom. She was bored, and she wanted entertainment.
“You ruined Zachary's favorite robe,” she said. “What do you think I should do about that?”
“General,” Kael said, his voice cracking perfectly, “I have nothing to offer but my service. But... but I noticed something, when the wine spilled. I hope it is not impertinent to mention.”
Elara's eyebrow rose. “Noticed what?”
“The wine, General. When it touched the noble sir's robe, it turned black. Not the color of spilled nectar, but the color of...” He let his voice trail off, let his eyes widen further. “Of the stories they tell in the mortal realm. Of demon poison.”
Silence fell across the hall like a shroud.
Zachary's face went from flushed to pale in half a second. “Lies! He's lying, Elara! He's trying to shift blame! You know how mortals are, they—”
“Be quiet.” Elara didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on Kael, and for the first time, there was something other than boredom in them. Interest. Suspicion. “You claim to know demon poison?”
“I served in the border wars, General. Before I ascended.” Kael let a tremor enter his voice, the perfect imitation of a traumatized veteran. “I saw men die from it. The black rot. It starts with the clothes, then spreads to the skin. If I'm wrong, I beg forgiveness. But if I'm right...”
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Elara turned to Zachary. Her hand moved faster than mortal eyes could follow, grabbing the boy's wrist and pulling up his sleeve.
The skin beneath was unmarked. Perfect. But Kael saw what Elara didn't—the faint shimmer of illusion magic, already fraying at the edges from her touch.
“Elara,” Zachary whispered, his voice suddenly different. Deeper. Older. “You don't believe him, do you? After everything we've—”
“After everything?” Elara's laugh was sharp and bitter. “Three months, Zachary. Three months of whispered promises and pretty gifts. And now a mortal servant sees what I did not.”
She dropped his wrist like it was diseased. “Guards. Take him to the interrogation cells. I want to know who sent him.”
“No!” Zachary's voice cracked, and for a moment, his face seemed to blur, features shifting like smoke. “You can't! You need me! I'm the only one who—”
The guards dragged him out, still screaming.
Elara stood in the center of the hall, her back to Kael, her shoulders rigid. The other nobles were whispering, their eyes darting between their general and the mortal servant who had just exposed a demon infiltrator.
Kael kept his head down, his expression appropriately terrified. But inside, he was smiling.
First blood, he thought. And the game has barely begun.
“Rise,” Elara said, without turning around.
Kael stood, keeping his posture stooped and subservient.
“You have sharp eyes, mortal. And sharper instincts.” She finally turned to face him, and her blue eyes were calculating now, measuring him like a weapon she might use. “What's your name again?”
“Kael, General.”
“Kael.” She said it differently this time. Not like something rotten, but like something useful. A tool. “You'll serve me directly from now on. Personal quarters. My chambers.”
A murmur ran through the hall. Personal servant to the War God was a position of immense privilege—and immense danger.
“Thank you, General,” Kael said, letting gratitude flood his voice. “I won't disappoint you.”
“I'm sure you won't.” She turned away, her white-gold armor catching the light. “Because if you do, I'll do worse than take your hands. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, General.”
She swept out of the hall, her cape trailing behind her like a banner of war.
Kael watched her go, his expression still humble, still grateful. But in the depths of his muddy brown eyes, something ancient and violet stirred.
