Royal Duties - 2. RD: Chapter 2

Kiorl shouldered the door open without bothering to knock, and rolled his eyes at the sight which greeted him. Zai was naked and blissfully comatose, arms and tuft-tipped tail wrapped around an equally nude Tobias, his skin showing the pale pink marks of recently healed wounds. For a moment, Kiorl wondered if the punishment of being caught looking at Tobias naked would be worth it, then he scooped up a handful of cloth he assumed was one of Zai’s tabards, and threw it at him.

Zai was on his feet, over the bed, claws ready to slash at the perceived threat before he was even fully awake. Too many years of living feral Upstairs had left their mark on him, even though most other demons thought Zai remarkably powerful for a minor. More than once Kiorl had heard people question why he was not a member of Nassau’s court.

“Kiorl!”

“Why aren’t you up?”

“It’s my day off,” the grey-furred demon replied, glancing longingly back at the bed. Tobias had rolled over, and Kiorl smirked at the newly presented view. “Knock it off Ki. He won’t feed you if he catches you thinking like that.”

“Fucking empaths...” Kiorl muttered. “Gods dammit, why didn’t Nassau wake you too?”

“Again… it’s my day off.” Zai had dropped his fighting stance, stretched, and took a step back towards the bed. “Excuse me Ki- hey!”

“Special mission Zai.” Kiorl pushed the other demon forcefully towards his wardrobe. “I’m going to need you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because lying to an empath is a fucking stupid idea. Wear armour.”

Ten minutes later Kiorl left Zinkara Rumah with Zai still grumbling about being hauled out of bed. The enforcer had at least taken the instruction to dress seriously, and the pair of them were rather conspicuous in combinations of hardened leather and forged steel armour. Zai had a pair of shiny vambraces with silver inlaid scrollwork Kiorl found himself being rather jealous of, and the other demon frowned as he saw that Kiorl, as well as his belt knife, was also sporting a black bladed scimitar with a notched hilt.

“I’ve not seen you geared up in a while, Kiorl. Where are we going?”

“Something came up in the Reaping Fields which his Highness doesn’t trust to just anyone on the enforcing team. Which is why we’re going.”

Zai visibly shivered, hand going to the pommel of his rapier.

“Rebellion?”

Kiorl was grateful Zai knew how to keep his voice low, nodded tightly, and approached the Portal. The Sphinx on duty nodded gracefully and moved aside with the soft grating of sandstone to allow Kiorl to access the dial. The panther span the concentric rings, only needing the three innermost ones, and touched several symbols in crystal and bronze which glowed under his fingers.

“Keep your portal stone close,” Kiorl muttered, and stepped through the portal as it opened.

It was not a long journey to the Reaping Fields. The outer rings were only on the other side of the fire mountains, but they were as inaccessible from the Inner Circle as any other world in the ‘verse. They stretched in an encirclement of misery and torment for more miles than Kiorl had ever seen with his own eyes, because once you’d watched one acre of wretched demons raising and harvesting wraiths, you’d seen them all. No one who didn’t have to ever went out there, and Kiorl knew it was the least favourite part of Zai’s job. He felt, momentarily, guilty for forcing the empath out into the realm of silently screaming souls, but there was no-one else he trusted to work with him on so sensitive a task.

They arrived on an unpopulated platform high above the Reaping fields, and Zai moved quickly to stand within Kiorl’s reach as the panther grasped his portal stone. Normally, neither of them would bother going closer, but this was already far from a normal day. Kiorl wrapped a dark hand around the back of Zai’s neck, and reminded himself not to read too much into the tightness with which the other demon held his waist as the portal stone glowed fiercely.

As long as he minds his damn claws, I’ll forgive him for being needy.

The overseer of the Field was waiting for them when they appeared, and Zai instantly straightened up, and Kiorl remembered again why he had chosen is housemate to accompany him.

He’s a fucking imposing bastard when he wants to be. They’re all terrified of him.

They’re scared of you too.

Everyone is scared of me. Kiorl grinned deliberately, showing all his fangs to the overseer. Doesn’t count.

“My lords,” he bowed deeply, his wings folded stiffly against his spine, “your appearance brings me great relief. These are the demons who were caught plotting to break from their torment.”

“Tell me.” Kiorl barked as the felt the presence of his Prince slide in alongside his own.

“They have begun to build a-a-a construct. Hoping to breach the fire mountains. I am sorry y’sire, I should have found them sooner.”

“And these are the ringleaders?” Kiorl gestured to the pair of demons who were bound in bone, both with bloodied faces, staked firmly into the red earth at the edge of the field. One was vaguely similar in shape to the overseer, the other had a rainbow carapace and barbed forelimbs. Kiorl didn’t recognise them, but their very presence as workers in the Reaping Fields told him enough. They had committed a crime severe enough to banish them forever, whether against the King or the Prince made no matter.

“Yes y’sire.”

Kiorl went to stand in front of the beetling creature and snarled. “Get up.”

The demon struggled to it’s feet, back and neck bowed by the short length of spinal bones which kept it tethered. Dark eyes looked up at Kiorl with a hard expression.

“I take no notice of the judgements of the false prince.”

It barely got the last word out before Zai stepped forward and kicked it sharply in the head with one heavy soled boot. Upon trying to rise a second time, Zai stepped on it’s neck, sword hissing from its sheath.

“Fucking try it,” he snarled. Kiorl turned his attention to the other demon.

“And are you as stupid as your friend?”

“You do not know the abomination you serve-!”

Zai’s fists were just as fast as his feet, and Kiorl rolled his eyes, wondering if a simple ‘yes’ in answer to his question wouldn’t have been easier. He glanced at the overseer, who hung back nervously.

“You did well to catch them and bring this to our attention.” Nas, verdict please. “Their associates?”

“We left them chained at the site where we found the construct y’sire.”

Kill and harvest the demons, destroy the construct. Nassau’s silent voice vibrated with barely contained rage. Break the bodies of the ringleaders and feed them to the Ankhara; let there be no trace of their souls left. He paused, as if considering something. If they have any useful talents, you may eat them first.

“Take us there.”

They left the two demons, still chained, and both now bleeding slightly more than they had been previously, and walked with the winged overseer to the chasm between two fields where the construct was. Zai had not bothered to replace his sword in its sheath, and having been told of Nassau’s order, set about dispatching the chained demons with quick efficiency. Kiorl knew his friend was a deeply twisted individual, even for a demon, but there was little pleasure to be found in killing a number of such lower creatures, and ones who’s minds had been so easily swayed at that. Zai wiped the mixed colours of blood from his sword with a small cloth, and followed Kiorl closer to the machine.

It was not finished, that much was clear, but the sheer scale of it was worrying: a vast number of pieces and bones, all forged, blended, or twisted made up it’s creation. Kiorl had no way of knowing if it would have worked, because nekros didn’t appear in the same way as thaumaturgic energy, and it was not the sort of magic he had ever worked with. The idea of the thing crashing through the fire mountains was monstrous.

But it wouldn’t have sparked a rebellion. Everyone in the Inner Circle is too loyal for that.

Are you sure?

Yes. We were very thorough in cleaning out Nathaneal’s supporters.

Anyway, Father wouldn’t allow it, Nassau interjected. I’m his only remaining heir after all.

Indeed.

Burn it.

Zai stepped back, and Kiorl knew the empath had heard their Prince’s instruction too. Kiorl held out a hand toward the construct, shaped a sigil in the air, and threw the fistful of blue fire at the machine. The front section burst into flame too bright to look at directly, and Kiorl repeated the performance at two other major junctures. Zai hovered at his shoulder as they watched the dread thing disintegrate.

They returned with the overseer, who was visibly less nervous now, to the place where the two other demons were staked. Kiorl glared down at them. The construct had been quite advanced, in both construction and magical prowess, and neither looked the type to posses such skills.

“Are there any others who flocked to your cause?”

“No.”

Zai’s snarl was hot and sharp, and Kiorl knew his friend well enough to be assured that the winged demon had lied.

Idiots.

They don’t know he’s an empath Kiorl, the Prince reminded him. We kept it that way deliberately.

Doesn’t make them any smarter.

“You got a fix on who?” He asked Zai offhandedly.

“Oh yes.”

Once again Kiorl was reminded why Zai was an enforcer, for all his empathic talents, because he watched the other demon stalk away into the Reaping Field, uncaring for the wails around him, moving as though bits of bone were not growing from the ground and forming slowly into wraiths which, still incomplete, tried to reach for him as he passed. Zai’s tufted tail never stilled, and the rapier in his hand gleamed with murderous intent. Nassau had given Zai everything he could have wished for in making Tobias immortal, and there was no one more loyal. It took Zai ten minutes to find his target, and only two to return with the bone covered, bird-limbed creature, one wing held at a clearly broken angle. He threw the necromancer at Kiorl’s feet.

“What does his Lordship want done with them?” Zai snarled, his desire for blood clearly not abated in the least.

“To the Ankhara.”

Zai gestured to the figure with the shiny carapace.

“You’ll want to tear out his throat and eat it first.”

“Oh?” Kiorl arched a dark eyebrow at his friend.

Zai’s grin was obscene.

“He has no gag reflex.”

Escorting multiple chained prisoners through The Way was not the simplest of tasks, and Kiorl linked his tail with Zai’s as each of them held an end of the bone restraints, completing the circle. The weakest of the three traitors, bleeding freely from his ruined neck, was in the centre – the least able to pull them from the path they had to take – and they made it to the circle of the Ankhara without incident.

The noise was an assault the moment they stepped from the portal.

Fuck, I hate it here.

Think how he feels.

Kiorl glanced over at his friend. Zai was very good at pretending not to show pain, but he was still pretending.

“Let’s make this quick.”

They dragged the three demons to the edge of the chasm, and it was there, so close to their impending demise, that the two who could still talk began to denounce their beliefs, back track on all they had said, and beg for mercy and forgiveness. Kiorl snarled, the sound lost in the cacophonous mass of growling which rose like a howl from the chasm.

“The Prince is not known for his mercy.” He drew his scimitar as he spoke, approaching the demon who had nearly escaped Nassau’s verdict. “You will be fed to the Ankhara. Your souls will be shredded and consumed. No trace of you shall remain. You will not join the horde at the campfires now or through eternity.”

“You are not an enforcer,” the demon spat, “you’ve no right to pass judgement.”

“I am the right hand of the King!” Kiorl thundered, rage flashing through him as he raised his arm.

The scimitar was sharp, magically so, and the cleaved open body of the demon toppled backwards into the chasm. Kiorl watched the carcass be instantly subsumed by the roiling mass of biting jaws, each snapping and holding into another, so that the impression of the Ankhara was an ever moving sea of eyes, teeth, tongues, and lips pulled back in never-ending rage and destruction. It filled the chasm, still churning out of sight on both horizons, and Kiorl knew from the time Nadavun had insisted they all walk around it, joined onto itself, circling the entirety of Hell.

Neither of the remaining demons bothered to beg, argue, or plead, and Kiorl despatched them quickly, cleaned his blade on the earth of the chasm’s edge, and retreated quickly to where Zai stood, vibrating with his desire to be gone from the place.

“Zai, I swear if you take all your tension out on Tobias before he gets a chance to finish cooking dinner...”

“You’re getting as bad as Sitka,” Zai managed, his acid yellow eyes wide and touched with a fear Kiorl understood well. “Let’s just go. Please.”

“Don’t compare me to the kid.” Kiorl huffed, but he took his portal stone and looped an arm over Zai’s shoulder as his friend came close and wrapped his tuft ended tail about his waist. “Come. Time’s a wasting.”

*

The little serpent sat, coiled happily, on a slab of black volcanic stone, scales glistening in the light of the campfires. It hissed at Kiorl as they approached, lifting it’s slender head, tasting the air with a vibrantly green forked tongue.

“Yes?”

There was another hiss, and then the voice of the King of Hell issued from the snake’s open mouth as it regarded them, unblinking.

“Fetch my favourite. Tell him to come to my chambers.” A pause, and Sathriel sighed, sounding uniquely bored. “Don’t wear anything too precious.”

The snake hissed again to signal the end of the message, and Kiorl rolled his eyes as he saw Zai’s grin spread.

“My, my… summons from the Palace so late in the day?”

“I see you’re feeling better.” Kiorl observed.

“I’ll tell Tobias to keep a plate for you. Have fun, Kiorl.”

Its message delivered, the serpent slithered away into a crevice between boulders, and Kiorl watched Zai depart toward the house. Zinkara Rumah sat on the hill, commanding the view, a welcoming sight Kiorl wished he was heading for. He wanted a bath, a hot dinner, and ten hours sleep, preferably in that order.

But who cares what I want. Not the King for sure.

Don’t knock it, he told himself sternly, a dozen others wish for his favour, and you have it.

True.

And you have a brand new skill to try out…

He was met at the red door of the Palace by one of the myriad attendants. Apart from Nassau’s particular favourite vodyanoi, Kiorl never bothered to tell them apart, let alone ask their names.

“Master Kiorl, His Majesty is expecting you in-”

“Yes, I know. I must change first.”

“He bids that you do not dally.”

Kiorl snarled at the attendant – a collection of brittle tentacles and an intricately patterned spiral shell – and pressed his ears flat back over his skull.

“I do not require you tell me that Majesty is impatient. That is my concern, not yours. Be gone from my sight!”

“Yes master Kiorl.”

Kiorl stalked away, angry that so small a comment had brought his temper into such sharp relief. The fur on the back of his neck stood up, and Palace servants scattered from his approach as he made his way through the myriad twists and turns of the Palace to his own rooms. Every member of court had their own sleeping quarters within the Palace, and Kiorl’s were directly beneath Nassau’s apartments. Having been denied the opportunity to go home, Kiorl would have much rather headed for the quiet reprieve of Nassau’s study to drink and allow the Prince of beat him roundly at Fourchess. Instead he found himself having a perfunctory wash in the little alcove where there sat a tall pitcher of water, softsoap, and sluice in the floor for the water to drain into. He scrubbed at the blood and dust in his fur, the crackling intense heat left from standing so close to the chasm of the Ankhara, and shook himself dry. In his wardrobe, he stood before the mirror, and wondered which garment he didn’t mind the King tearing into un-salvageable shreds. His reflection frowned at him.

Oh, fuck it.

Kiorl took up the knife from his belt sheath, wrapped the length of his now-fallen mohawk in one hand, and began to shear the lot off. He was left with the trace ends of the bright blue streak, and an all over length about an inch long. It wouldn’t matter, it would grow back. He found a plain red cotton chiton which fell to mid-thigh and pulled it on. It would do.

The chamber of His Majesty, Sathriel Ven Plamenoche, King and Lord of Hell, was as distant from Nassau’s as was possible, and Kiorl made his way down the tightly wound spiral staircase before crossing the Cavern where Sathriel preferred to hold court on the hot sand. Another, smaller door – one which would never fit the King in one of his larger, feral shapes – admitted him into a passage lit with greasy torches, their thick black smoke obscuring everything just above the tips of Kiorl’s ears. Kiorl slunk through and pressed his palm to the stone door at the far end, which swung heavily inward. If anything, Sathriel was even more secretive about who entered his chamber than his son was – not an easy feat – and Kiorl spent a moment being happy he hadn’t been called to the throne instead.

Sathriel reclined on the bed wearing his most classical form, and the one Kiorl enjoyed the most. The Devil was blood red, broad shouldered, deeply muscled, and his smile at seeing Kiorl was undeniably pleased and possessive. Kiorl stepped forward as the door closed behind him, raking his King with his eyes as Sathriel did the same.

“Come.” The single deep syllable was all command, and Kiorl felt every mote of his body vibrate to the sound. The Devil had made him, along with every other demon in the Inner Circle, and Kiorl would have been lying if he’d said there wasn’t part of him which rather liked being told so firmly what to do by someone so much more powerful than he was.

The Devil watched him with dark eyes as Kiorl stepped forwards to the bed. Sathriel slept on a black granite slab made soft with dozens of layers of furs, and he leant on one elbow, the arches of both sets of horns framing his intense expression. Kiorl knew better than to strip – if Sathriel wanted him naked he’d want to do it himself – but knelt between his King’s powerful thighs and stroked the heat he found there. The King was already part roused, which Kiorl took as a victory all by itself, and the thickening muscle in his hands was already far larger than his own. Training himself to pleasure his King had taken years.

And it was worth it. It kept you alive.

This stopped being a political move a century ago.

You’re a terrible liar. Even to yourself

Kiorl flicked his tail in irritation at his inner voice’s remarks, then produced a pleased purr as Sathriel stroked a large, possessive hand over his newly shorn hair, his ears, a thumb catching at the side of his mouth. Kiorl knew he used the same gesture, and wondered if this was in fact where he’d learnt it.

“Attend me.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

Eating the throat of the traitor had been worth it for the groan Sathriel made as Kiorl managed the not inconsiderable feat of taking his entire length without any other preparation. It wasn’t comfortable, and his jaw ached after only ten heartbeats, but Kiorl closed his eyes and listened instead to the groans and half snarls of his lover which were familiar enough by now to be used as actual instructions.

Deeper, more tongue, draw back, lick the head, again. Again. He likes that. Tongue the slit.

“Nnnngh! Good boy.”

Having a texturally interesting tongue to match his feline shape had always been something Kiorl used in his favour, but now he felt thick fingers at the back of his neck, and realised Sathriel couldn’t just pull him off by his hair as he usually did. Kiorl sat back, kneeling on his paws – all claws sheathed – with a pleased expression. That he’d gotten his King close to the edge with just his mouth was enough to stir his own lust. Sathriel did not have his son’s stamina or capacity for multiple orgasms and Kiorl had known from the message that the King intended to make full use of him.

“Grow your hair back.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Now come here.”

Kiorl wrapped his tail around his own calf as he slid into Sathriel’s lap, the short skirt of his chiton bunching up around his thighs, doing little to hide his own erection, and groaned as he felt the thick muscle of his lover pressing against him through the fabric. He was not expecting Sathriel to pull him close, open his mouth with the intense pressure of his fingers either side of Kiorl’s jaw, and kiss him savagely. Sathriel kissed like a King, all entitlement and desire. He took everything he wanted, everything Kiorl offered him, more, and stripped the panther of even the illusion of free will. Kiorl panted, half fighting to breath whilst he was plundered, but kissed back with greed which was not false. Sathriel dragged rough fingers down his spine and Kiorl purred.

“There’s my favourite…” Kiorl whimpered against the deep red chest as he was lifted and spread. “Open yourself for me.”

I’ll never not wish for lube… Kiorl thought silently, forcing himself not to wince and grit his fangs. Such actions not only made the discomfort worse as muscles which needed to loosen tensed instead, but Sathriel did not like him to show outward signs of pain. At least, not like this. If his lover wanted to hurt him, Kiorl would know about it, in detail. He panted, using every scrap of self discipline to control his breathing as he was split open by the Devil’s enormous cock. Only once his arse rested upon Sathriel’s hips did he groan.

“Good boy.”

He was expecting the familiar sharp, bone shatteringly hard thrusts which were usual in their coupling, but instead Sathriel simply ground against him, the motion shifting the girth of his cock, making Kiorl shiver as his nerves were set alight with sensation. Sathriel held his hips in one hand, stroking his body boldly with the other, keeping him exactly where he was as he became less and less articulate with each subtle, mind-blowing tremor. When the King wrapped a hot hand around his aching erection, Kiorl practically screamed.

“I watched you, my favourite, at the Ankhara.” That Sathriel’s voice was unaffected by the rising heat between them seemed distinctly unfair to Kiorl. “Most loyal and obedient of all my creations… yes, there’s a good boy...” Kiorl felt like he was coming apart at the seems, direct praise from the Devil was incredibly rare, and to have Sathriel stroke him whilst he spoke, reaming him gently, was quickly too much to cope with. “You are the right hand of the King, my strength will be yours to do my bidding...”

“Ahhhh! Sire!”

“Yes, come for me. There….”

Kiorl couldn’t look away, trapped by the power in Sathriel’s dark gaze as he lost the hold on his self control and came messily between them. The Devil anointed him with his emission, and Kiorl felt the thrum of power as clearly as if the ritual were being completed properly. He was not tired, not even remotely, and the drew himself up, away from Sathriel, twisting his body as he rose up the great length before thrusting back onto the Devil’s erection once more. New power, fresh and clear like glacier ice from Upstairs, sang through his veins, and Kiorl gripped his King’s waist with his thighs, and set about reminding the Devil exactly why his favour strayed so rarely from Kiorl’s finely furred body.

Sathriel came within him, snarling wordlessly, holding Kiorl so tight he already had bruises under his fur, and pulled from him too soon and too fast, making the panther whine at the sensation of emptiness within. Even more so than usual, his legs felt wobbly and Kiorl was not looking forward to putting on a good show as he left. It was a pleasant surprise to have Sathriel pull him to his chest, relaxing back into the thick furs of the bed. Kiorl unwrapped his tail from his leg, and tried not to show pain at the stiffness of his joints or the soreness of his well-used arse.

“Tell me of my son.”

“He is well.” You two could fucking talk to each other of course. Kiorl was eternally grateful the Devil did not share his son’s talents as an empath. “Sitka, a scavenger of my house, has recruited. Nassau seems to enjoy him.” He deliberately did not mention Tobias, with whom Nassau spent a great deal of time, physically, and in the kind of mental gymnastics which gave Kiorl a headache even to think of, because keeping Zai away from Sathriel was a habit ingrained over many centuries. More empaths in Hell would be the very last thing the King wanted.

“And what of you?” Sathriel asked, with a quirk of his lips.

“I have always made my feelings on trying to mate with mortals pretty damn clear.” Kiorl replied crisply. Even even if Jahke is the best cocksucker in this, or any other, world in the ‘verse.

Sathriel laughed, the deep noise something akin to a rockslide, edged with a dragon’s roar. The shiver which ran up Kiorl’s spine was not entirely pleasant, but also not wholly unwelcome.

“I am so glad that on this we have always agreed.” The King stroked a firm hand down Kiorl’s spine, and the panther flexed automatically into the touch. “And how long have you been my favourite, Kiorl?”

“I would never presume-” Kiorl began, but he was unexpectedly interrupted by Sathriel’s large hand, wrapping around his tumescent member. “Unnnghhhh!”

“A long time, I think. You do very well to please me.”

“T-t-thank you Sire.”

The Devil smiled.

“We must ensure our favourite is happy, mustn’t we...”

It was rare that his pleasure was considered at all, and though Kiorl knew there would almost certainly be rough treatment to come, he gave himself over willingly to the unusual sensation of the King stroking him to his peak.