Red Wedding, Pt. 1

The space was ornate, wedding preparations bordering on excessive—not that Elisa should’ve expected anything less.

Cynthia had been insufferably excited about this.

Not just the wedding itself, but the details, the image, the power play it would represent.

The theme she had stressed? Elisa needed to look demonic, but she also needed to look Highcliff. A strong, stubborn identity the demons can respect.

"Demons appreciate shows of power, unlike humans."

That had been Cynthia’s reasoning. If Elisa didn’t look like she belonged, they wouldn’t respect her. But if she overcorrected, they’d see it as pathetic imitation.

Kael had once said demons cull the weak. Any rational person would infer to look more demon would be accepting their rule, and therefore are worthy of respect if you knew your place.

And yet, they adored contradiction when Cynthia turned that all around. It depended on context, maybe? Maybe events like this are an arena in of itself. Even if you are weak, you must play-pretend you are not.

Maybe she was entirely wrong about all of this and was thinking herself into a midday migraine!

It was maddening.

Elisa huffed, tightening the clasps on her gown.

Cynthia had gone all out—rich fabrics, deep silks, armored accents at the shoulders and waist, Highcliff embroidery stitched into the detailing, but undeniably demonkin in silhouette.

A balance of strength and spectacle.

Fine. Let them watch.

She turned to the mirror, tilting her head slightly.

She had never imagined herself in this position.

She could see it in the reflection—there were people attending who must have known her. People who had been a part of her life during the five years she had lost.

But impressions mattered. And now? She needed to make a damn good one.

Potential allies. The most important person in the room—whoever that ended up being. Hey, it was worth a shot.

She rolled her shoulders.

This was subservience, wasn’t it? Playing the host’s wife, a role Highcliff girls would scoff at.

Maybe those Gedrai girls back east would prefer this.

But her?

She wasn’t built for it. And yet—better to try than not try at all.

She would take Kael’s advice in earnest.

And she would go—without his permission.

\\

The ceremony began with blood.

Of course it did.

Demonkin did nothing without cost, without history seared into flesh and stone.

The largest hall in the Blac'hil manor was massive, built in an older demonkin style—tall, cavernous, and deliberately theatrical. Deep red banners cascaded from the vaulted ceilings, gold-threaded embroidery telling stories of marriages that had sealed alliances, broken empires, and drowned lesser rulers in the aftermath.

And at the center, before the guests had even settled in, there stood the Binding Vessel.

A bowl, carved from a single slab of obsidian, resting upon a pedestal of twisted, petrified roots.

The roots were not just decor.

They had been fed, generation after generation, with the blood of past unions, each sacrifice strengthening its grasp upon the stone.

This was how demonkin began a wedding.

With a reminder. No bond was without sacrifice. That no union was just personal—it was a mark upon history.

It had been this way since the Black Concordance.

Elisa had read about it, once—the old wars that fractured the demonkin, the era when entire noble lines had been wiped out over the politics of succession.

Marriages had not always been political tools.

Once, they had been weapons.

And so, to prevent another Concordance, the tradition was set:

Before the couple could speak their vows, before any words of devotion or loyalty—they must first bleed into the Vessel.

Elisa’s eyes flicked to Kael.

He looked completely at ease.

Of course he did. This was his world.

She forced her shoulders back, adjusting her stance. She had seen worse, obviously. But she couldn’t help but wonder if losing blood was what he really needed right now.

The officiant stepped forward, voice low, rhythmic, more of a chant than a spoken phrase:

"As it was before the Concordance, so it shall remain."

"A union sealed in words is fragile."

"A union sealed in blood is eternal."

Kael extended his hand first.

One of the attendants offered a ceremonial dagger, hilt wrapped in silk so deep a crimson it nearly looked black.

He accepted it without hesitation.

With a precise movement, he cut a clean line across his palm, tilting his hand over the Vessel.

It was... bright red. Weak and sickly. It dripped onto the petrified roots below, the veins of the wood pulsing faintly. Hopefully no one noticed and mistook it for bad lighting, because she sure did.

“And with that, it is done. While this signals our ceremony’s commencement, our bride and groom appear to be fashionably late.”

Practiced laughter filled the room.

“So until they arrive, please: feel free to mingle. As per the Blac’hil Accordance, I welcome you to my lands.”

She wondered if Blac’hil had any family members beyond his administrative power. There were people close to him. But didn’t wear the same badgesakes, or the same colors of clothes. Perhaps tribes his family conquered? That’d make sense. But why let them keep their identity? To keep them happy?

Whatever. Another one for the Kael question pile, which currently stood tall enough to rival a hill.

And where was husband dearest, anyway?

Ah. Being accosted by nobles who looked eerily similar to Kael.

Of course. Elisa had expected this.

She’d caught a few of the women eyeing her beforehand—some with mild curiosity, most with thinly veiled disdain.

And she shouldn’t have felt so satisfied at the undead’s reaction to her presence, but…

Well. There was a good chance some of them were older than her.

Older than Kael, by proxy.

Ugh. Yuck.

And oh, wonderful, there he was now—making a beeline straight for her.

Hah.

…Wait. What?

She barely had time to brace herself before he arrived, and like clockwork, the women trailing him struck first.

"Dolrias, my wife. My wife, the Dolrias."

"It is a pleasure to meet Kael's muse."

Muse. Mule. What's the difference?

The conversation that followed was nothing she hadn’t heard before.

Thinly veiled pleasantries, followed by pointed remarks that did absolutely nothing to hide what they thought of her.

Meek. Loving. Oh, they didn’t want anything to do with her. She was beneath them.

Kael’s expression shifted once one of them said something to do with her intelligence, and a potential future... 'arrangement'. 

"How forward."

Not much—just a thinning of his smirk, a slight straightening of his posture. 

They expected amusement. After all, mocking humans were a shared pastime.

Kael took one step forward.

"I am afraid I must be as forward as well. Leave the banquet."

A pause.

The noblewoman closest to him shuddered. "Kael, surely—"

"I wasn’t asking."

"You... you don’t mean that."

"I can show you what I mean, if you'd like."

Another hesitation. Longer this time.

Elisa watched as the realization sank in.

Annoyance flickered across their faces, but they didn’t argue. They knew better.

With stiff nods, they turned and left.

Kael exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he had just shrugged off a minor inconvenience.

Then he turned to Elisa, grinning.

"My manor."

His voice was oily and slick the way it snaked up her spine and heart; as smooth as silk and as sinful as chocolate...

"My woman."

...

"Eh...?!"

The same practiced ease, the same facsimile of sincerity.

She knew better.

She knew this was as much a performance as it was a claim—a possessive ego wrapped in velvet, a show of restraint disguised as indulgence.

Because it wasn’t just about wanting her. It was about choosing her.

A human, over the other more desirables, as he had self-control to not… indulge in his betters.

By the Gods, that arrogance is infuriating.

…And so, so hot.

Kael adjusted his cuffs, looking far too smug for Elisa’s liking.

"Come, darling. I’ll introduce you to my many cousins and uncles. That is… if you can handle more of this." He gestured vaguely toward all of himself.

Elisa crossed her arms. "Oh, please. Even more monsters don’t scare me."

"Whoa there! Calm yourself. Some of us might not like such a… charged form of self-expression."

This night was going to be so long.

Soon however, out of the corner of her eye, she saw an entourage of sorts approaching them. All wearing the same attire typical of Blac’hil public servants… and all sharing the same grim expression.

What could it be this time?