FALLEN ANGEL: MARRIED TO THE DEMON KING
Chapter 30: THE MORNING OF A KING (1) (VARZIEL’S POV)

Chapter 30: THE MORNING OF A KING (1) (VARZIEL’S POV)

Varziel held his queen in his hands, letting her drift off to sleep. He had gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as if she were something fragile. His expression softened as he brushed a lock of blonde hair from her face. He could feel his face just flushing from the sight of her in his arms, in his bed. A few months ago, he had almost given up on having her. Now that she was in his arms, he wanted more. Calling his name was not going to be enough anymore.

He lay his bare back on the headboard, his hands absentmindedly trailing figures on Arella’s arm. Firelight danced around them, casting long shadows on the wall, and even in the painful darkness, an unfamiliar sense of peace settled over him. "You’re mine now," he muttered to the silent room, "just as I am yours forever." He was sure that her sleeping figure could not hear his silent declaration, but his heart thumped as he silently wished that perhaps she did hear his words.

However, her deep breaths destroyed that wish.

He flicked his hand, using his power to pull the blanket over them. After being fully settled in, he sunk into the warmth her body provided, allowing himself to fall asleep as well.

...

Varziel woke up with a start.

His heart pounded in his chest, and sweat dotted his forehead. The sun had yet to rise in the horizon, and the fire in the hearth had long died out, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. The only light came from the moon, which lit the room with a ghostly hue. They had, at some point during the previous day, opened the curtain to let some light in, but had been too busy during the night to close it.

Arella’s leg was hooked lightly over his waist, and her arm was draped over his chest. She took in deep breaths, obviously still asleep. The blanket had slipped down to their waist leaving her wings as the only thing covering their upper bodies.

Unable to go back to sleep, Varziel pulled Arella to a more comfortable position as he simply gazed up at the ceiling. He was sure it was around four in the morning. That was the time his nightmares always woke him. The nightmare had already become a faded memory. He could never quite remember what nightmares plagued him—even though they always woke him in the middle of the night.

If it were before, he would have called for servants to help him get dressed and ready for the day. Now, however, that was the last thing he wanted to do. He took in deep lungfuls of Arella’s scent. He was aware that the pleasure they had given each other the last couple of days was not enough to bring the two of them closer. Thus, he was not sure if she would allow him to hug her as such anytime soon.

He was tempted to wake her up for morning sex but advised himself against it. He had work to do, and she was exhausted.

The time ticked quickly as he talked himself out of waking her up, and all too soon it was time for him to truly get out of bed. The difference between night and day in the demon realm was astounding. The night was always silent, as if the animals themselves were afraid of the night. On the other hand, the day would shine brightly, the suns in the sky seemingly wanting to burn everything in their wake.

As gently as he could, Varziel pulled himself out from underneath her. He picked up a robe they had discarded a while ago and wrapped himself.

He took one last look at Arella, his queen. Her wings seemed to glow in the dim light. They seemed to have a mind of their own too, as they twitched on the bed, patting the place he had just vacated.

She was searching for him.

The realization made him want to crawl back into the bed and cuddle up to her.

However, he had a long day. Gently, he opened the door, and standing outside was Velmoria. "I would like some hot water for a bath," he instructed her.

Velmoria bowed slightly, her chocolate skin glowing in the sunlight. Her hair had been tied up in a ponytail. The dress she wore was black and long; it swished ever so slightly above the floor only thanks to the heels that adorned her feet. "Immediately." She swiftly turned, her heeled feet making a slight clacking sound as she hurried away to carry out his command.

Varziel lingered at the doorway for a moment longer, soaking up the little sun that filtered through the windows and taking that moment to let his gaze drift back to the bed. Arella’s body had shifted ever so slightly in his absence, her wings curling around her body like a protective cocoon. Her expression was peaceful, and her breathing was even. She was obviously still asleep.

His fingers twitched, itching to flick a stray strand of golden hair that had fallen over her face. With clenched fists, he closed the door behind him and made his way towards his private bathing chamber. The corridors were eerily quiet, as they usually were so early in the morning. The realm hummed of demonic power, the same power that permeated every stone that built his castle.

The shoes he wore made no sound as he stepped into the bathing chamber. Steam had filled the air, and a few lesser demons were scattered around the chamber, being overseen by Velmoria, who ensured the tub was made just as he liked it and all the oils and salts he liked were close to the water.

The water surface shimmered slightly, as if there was blue glitter poured into it. The edges of the water had been inscribed with runes that provided the enchantment that made the water glimmer.

"Leave me." Varziel’s tone was firm. Velmoria and the other lesser demons bowed and retreated without a word, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Varziel shed his robe and sank into the water. The heat soothed the tension in his muscles, and the enchantments soothed the wounds beneath his skin. Laying his back on the edge of the bath, he closed his eyes, letting himself have a brief moment of reprieve. Thoughts of his wife lingered in his mind, and for a very brief moment the thought of going back to bed and joining her crossed his mind again.

Bridging the gap that separated their hearts would be an issue he may very well not fix for many years. In fact, he was still in disbelief over the fact that she had been in his arms in the first place. He knew that the pull he had felt towards her had not been a lie and that the emotions that he had been running on all those years had not been a ruse.

He knew that he would do anything to keep her by his side even if she saw their marriage as a responsibility she had to fulfill.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He did not turn. "Enter," he called out. His voice echoed slightly in the large chamber.

Velmoria stepped inside, her head bowed. "My king, the generals will arrive slightly before noon." Her words caused him to turn his body slightly: "I hear there is a matter in the eastern border that requires your attention." She flipped some papers that were in her hand. "For this morning there is paperwork from the warhead division that needs your attention. In addition, the high lords have been requesting a meeting. I hear they are still furious over the choice of your marriage partner."

He scoffed at that, "As if I did not already tell them that their daughters bring me no interest."

"They are still the high lords, your majesty." Although Velmoria’s words sounded chastising, there was a mocking tone in them as well. She also detested some of the high lords. "In addition, Malrick is waiting for your presence in your office. He has been there since the wedding day."

"I will be at the office shortly," he replied. There was momentary silence as Velmoria waited to be dismissed. Then Varziel asked, "And what about my wife? Has she awoken yet?"

"No, your majesty."

"I see." He waved his hand and dismissed her. He ran a wet hand through his locks, the responsibilities of being a king settling once more on his shoulders. If he did not have so much to do and prepare, he would be in bed with his wife.

As the door closed behind Velmoria, Varziel rose from the water, his body hidden by the steam. Rivulets of water ran down his body as he walked out of the pool of water. With a wave of his hand, the droplets evaporated, and he began to dress, donning his clothes for the day.

His tunic fit him like a second skin, tailored from a light and iridescent midnight blue fabric. The material had been enchanted, the subtle patterns shifting like ripples on a moonlit lake as he moved. A high, structured collar framed his neck while a line of gold buttons marched down the center of his chest.

At his waist, a wide belt of hammered silver cinched the tunic, its surface etched with more enchantments that shone faintly in the unlight. Embedded within the belt were gleaming sapphire gemstones. From the belt hung a dagger—its hilt wrapped in twisted strands of silver and gold.

His trousers, which were a deep black, made from a fine fabric that moved with him like a shadow, disappeared seamlessly into knee-high boots of polished leather. He forewent the epaulettes as he draped a cloak over his shoulders. The cloak was the same dark color as his tunic, with fur of the same color at the shoulders. The intricate silver enchantments swished with the light as he held the cloak in place with a brooch at the center of his chest. The brooch was shaped into the royal crest, a pair of wings with flames covering it.

.

S/T:

Varziel reminds the author of a diligent worker ant.

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