“You need to come back, My Lord. There is an issue,” Aster states.
“Can’t you deal with it?” Xane asks, really in no mood to deal with a bunch of problems that aren’t his own.
“No, sir. Your presence is required. The House of Aldric has a demand of the House of Dracul,” he says carefully.
Ah shit. He knows exactly what’s coming. CeeCee just can’t get it through her head that their engagement is off. He never wanted to marry her in the first place, hence why they aren’t married yet. But she refuses to believe it is over, even though he has told her he doesn’t love her and that he is in love with Xerxei, she just doesn’t listen. Damn woman.
“Fine,” he says, standing up. Maybe the distraction will be just what he needs to stop feeling quite so useless.
He Astraports (Liv uses this word for his method of transportation, and he likes it) back to the Underworld to deal with whatever issue this is now. All formal meetings take place in the Castle.
The Castle is situated right in the middle of Hell. The Underworld is a vast, vast place. Bigger even than Earth. There are many different layers to it. Most Demons choose to live on the top layer. That is the easiest one in which to get to and from Earth. This is where his parents’ house is. He has a room in the Castle, it belongs to him as Ruler, but he rarely comes here to stay. He is one of the few who can get here directly, most others have to go via a network of different layers. That unfortunately means whatever this issue is, it is serious. It is very formal and antiquated down here, so he clicks his fingers and ensures he is dressed in the Overlord garb, complete with flowing cloak and sword. He smiles as he remembers seeing Liv’s face when she first saw him. He was dressed exactly like this. She looked so pretty in that pink dress, but her usual style suits her so much better. Well, if he is honest, Xerxei suits her the best. He loves it when she comes to him as her.
Xerxei is inexplicably drawn to him, but Liv fights it, worried about her Vampire bonds. She should be worried about her bond to him. It angers him that she keeps dismissing him and his mood travels with him into the meeting hall. He pushes the doors open with a force that nearly has them bouncing off their hinges. The hall silences as everyone turns to him and he can see a few fearful faces. They should be afraid, he thinks, he is in a seriously bad mood now. He makes his way to the front of the hall and steps up onto the platform. He glowers at his chair, he supposes you could call it a throne, and then at the empty one next to it. He sits heavily and barks, “What is the reason for this meeting?”
Jethro, the head of the House of Aldric, stands after a few moments and clears his throat. “My Lord, the House of Aldric wishes recompense from the House of Dracul due to the time and effort that has been put into the engagement, that has since been broken, between our own Cefalonia Cerveaux and, uh,” he pauses fretfully, “yourself.”
“Denied,” Xane says without hesitation. If they think he is paying for the honor of not mar
rying her, they are sadly mistaken.
Jethro bobs his head and says, “We understand, My Lord, but you now leave us no choice but to declare war on your House for our owns honor.”
Ah, for fuck’s sake, he thinks now with irritation. Demons declare war every other day down here, it’s nothing new and he is not overly concerned, but a seconded motion would cause unnecessary actions. Xane stands up and jumps off the platform, landing on both his feet with a loud thump, his cloak billowing up behind him.
Jethro flinches as he crosses over to face him. “You declare war against my House, you will face me. Are you sure that is your desired course of action?” He is not boastful, well, not much anyway, but he has never lost a fight, not even against his own father, and he isn’t about to start now.
Jethro gulps and rethinks his declaration. He looks back to CeeCee, who is standing a few rows back. She makes a gesture at him and Xane can see now that this is all coming from her. Jethro would just as soon leave it be. He pins her eyes with his and she stares back at him boldly.
“Cefalonia,” Xane says to her. “An audience, if you please.” It’s not a request.
She saunters forward, sure that she is going to be vindicated, but she is wrong. Dead wrong. He was making headway with Liv before she turned up and ruined it. Liv admitted what she felt and told him she loved him, but then he felt her pull away from him again after she found out about the engagement, and he is not above taking his frustrations out on the culprit. Xane smiles icily at her and she swallows, now a bit worried. “I do not tolerate acts of aggression between Houses and families,” he says to her. “You are the instigator in this rift and as such I sentence you to thirty days imprisonment.”
There is a shocked hush in the hall after that and CeeCee’s mouth drops open.
“Xane,” she says, “You cannot do that to me.”
Her informal use of his first name fuels his anger at her and it turns into rage. His rage is not to be messed with. He Shifts to his true Demonic form and she steps back hastily and lowers her eyes, aware of what she has done. His voice in this form booms around the hall in a deep, guttural rumble which shakes the walls. “You will address me as ‘My Lord’, subject. Another thirty days for your insubordination.”
With great effort, he Shifts back and shakes out his shoulders. He wanted to stay in that form and cause some destruction; it is a vicious side to him, but now is not the time or the place for a tantrum.
“Sixty days, My Lord,” she whispers with tears in her eyes, but he feels no remorse. He motions for the guard to escort her away.
“Will anyone second the motion for war?” he asks quietly. There is no need to raise his voice as everyone is deathly quiet.
When no one says anything, he asks, “Any other business?”
Still no one says anything, so he says, “Dismissed,” and turns back to the platform. He jumps back onto it and watches his subjects leave hastily. He sits heavily back in his throne and watches his mother watch the last person leave. As soon as the door closes, she turns to him and comes to stand in front of him. She picks up her gown and drops to her knees in a deep curtsey. “Permission to speak freely, My Lord,” she says formally.
“Get up, Mother,” he huffs at her and she rises.
“We will adhere to tradition, my son,” she reprimands him, and he rolls his eyes at her.
“What will you say?” he asks her.
She stands staring at him for a moment and then flicks her eyes to the empty chair next to him. “How are things with Xerxei?” she asks.
“Not good,” he says and slumps further back into his chair.