The Demon's Secret Baby

Chapter 1

Volezimir

I stride through the vacant corridors of the castle, my footsteps reverberating off the stone walls. The silence is deafening, a stark reminder of the absence that weighs heavily on my shoulders. My eyes scan the empty halls, searching for a purpose that seems to have vanished along with the royal family.

The throne room looms ahead, its massive doors slightly ajar. I pause, my hand resting on the cold metal handle. With a deep breath, I push it open and step inside. The room is bathed in shadows, dust motes dancing in the thin shafts of light that filter through the high windows.

My gaze falls on the empty throne, a symbol of power now rendered meaningless. King Asmodeus, gone. Prince Lamain, departed. And here I stand, a warrior without a battle, a protector with nothing left to guard.

I clench my fists, feeling the tension ripple through my muscles. What use is a volvath servant when there's no one to serve? The injury that cost me my honor as a fighter seems trivial now compared to this... emptiness.

I run my hand over the ornate armrest of the throne, lost in thought. My mind drifts back to the day I first met Prince Lamain, a memory that feels like a lifetime ago.

The arena's roar still echoes in my ears. I remember the searing pain in my side, the taste of blood in my mouth. My opponent, a hulking gilak, had landed a crushing blow that shattered my ribs and punctured my lung.

Later, when the healers looked at me, I saw nothing but pity there. My muscles from my ribs to my knee were shredded, bones shattered. They fixed my lung, but the muscle tissue developed thick scar tissue that pulled and healed wrong. As I lay there, gasping for breath, I knew my days as a warrior were over.

Shame washed over me as I laid in the infirmary beneath the arena. I was young, barely past mature, and I had lost my only purpose in life. A volvath who couldn't fight was as useless as a broken sword. I expected to be cast out, left to rot in the lower levels of Ti'lith with the zonak.

But fate had other plans.

"You. What's your name?"

I looked up, surprised to see Prince Lamain standing over me. His indigo eyes bore into mine, curiosity mixed with something I couldn't quite place.

"Volezimir, my Prince," I managed to croak out.

He nodded, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I've been watching your fights. You're skilled, Volezimir. It's a shame to see talent wasted."

I lowered my gaze, shame burning in my chest. "I'm of no use now, my prince. My fighting days are over."

Lamain's laugh caught me off guard. "Who said anything about fighting? I need a servant, someone with a brain. The zonak are loyal, but they're about as sharp as a sack of rocks."

I blinked, confusion replacing my shame. "But... I'm a volvath. We don't serve."

"You do now," Lamain said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Unless you'd prefer to be thrown off the island?"

The choice was clear. I swallowed my pride and nodded. "I am yours to command, my prince."

And it gave me purpose, reason. I was envied for my work with the royal family, even if it was as a servant. I had gained the Prince's favor, had his ear where it mattered. And quickly, others noticed what should have been a loss became a gain.

"Fuck," I mutter, the curse barely audible even in the silence. I've never been one for words, but the emptiness demands something, anything to fill it.

I turn away from the throne, my eyes falling on the tapestries that line the walls. Tales of conquest and glory, woven into intricate patterns. I wonder if they'll gather dust now, forgotten relics of a time that seems to have slipped away.

My footsteps lead me to the window, and I gaze out over the city of Ti’lith. It stretches vast and unchanging, oblivious to the turmoil within these walls.

I shake off the melancholy and turn from the window. There's work to be done, even if the castle stands empty. Lamain and June may have left, but they still rely on me. It's time for the weekly gathering.

My first stop is the kitchens. The cooks have long since departed, leaving the vast space eerily quiet. I grab a large sack and begin filling it with non-perishables. Dried meats, hard cheeses, and preserves find their way into the bag. I pause at a shelf of spices, selecting a few jars I know June favors.

"She'll need the extra flavor," I mutter, thinking of her pregnancy cravings.

Next, I head to the laundry. Clean linens and sturdy clothes are essential and hard to come by on the island. I fold several sets of garments, adding them to my growing collection. A soft, warm blanket catches my eye – perfect for the coming colder nights.

The armory is my next destination. Lamain's favorite bow hangs on the wall, gathering dust. I take it down, running my fingers over the smooth wood. Into my pack it goes, along with a quiver of arrows and a whetstone for maintaining blades.

As I move through the castle, my thoughts wander to Lamain and June. Are they safe? Comfortable? The wilds of Protheka, especially the little overgrown island they've claimed, are unforgiving, even for a former Prince of demons and his human mate.

I find myself in Lamain's old chambers, now stripped of most personal effects. But there, on a forgotten shelf, I spot a small wooden box. Inside, I find a collection of June's favorite tea leaves – a luxury on Protheka.

"She'll like this," I grunt, tucking the box safely away.

With my arms full, I make my way back to my wing — the one the Prince gifted me a long time ago. The weight is nothing to me, but the responsibility it represents sits heavy on my shoulders. This is my purpose now – to be the lifeline between their old world and new.

I heave a sigh as I toss the last of the supplies into my pack. The weight of it all - both physical and emotional - settles on my shoulders. My eyes wander around the room, memories flooding back unbidden.

These halls used to buzz with life. Demons of all types scurrying about, their voices echoing off the stone walls. The clash of training swords in the courtyard, the heated debates in the council chambers. Now, it's all just... empty.

I remember the day Lamain first brought June here. The shock on everyone's faces, the whispers that followed them. A human in our midst? Unheard of. But Lamain stood tall, daring anyone to challenge him. And June? She held her head high, those green eyes flashing with a fire that matched any demon's.

My hand absently traces the scar on my side, a reminder of the injury that cost me my place as a warrior. Lamain could've cast me aside, left me to rot in shame. Instead, he gave me purpose. A servant, yes, but one he trusted above all others.

Now what? The kingdom stands, but its heart is gone. The other demons mill about, unsure, waiting for... something. Direction? A sign? I don't have the answers they seek.

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts aside. There's a task at hand, one that gives me focus when everything else seems adrift.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the beacon. Such a small thing, barely larger than a pebble, yet it holds the power to bridge worlds. I turn it over in my palm, feeling the faint hum of magic within. It's a lifeline, not just for Lamain and June, but for me as well.

I gather my supplies and make my way through the empty corridors one last time. Each step echoes, a stark reminder of what's been lost. But as I reach the castle's main entrance, I straighten my shoulders. This weekly journey, this connection to Lamain and June, it's more than just a task. It's a promise, a thread of hope in an uncertain future.

I cast one final glance at the silent halls behind me. The emptiness aches, but there's a flicker of something else. Determination, perhaps. Or just plain stubbornness.

Whatever comes next, I'll face it. For now, this is my purpose. It's enough.

I activate the portal, watching as the shimmering veil of magic ripples before me. Taking a deep breath, I step forward, bracing myself for the sensation I know is coming. No matter how many times I do this, I swear I'll never get used to it.

The moment I cross the threshold, reality warps around me. My stomach lurches as if I'm plummeting from a great height. Colors blur and swirl, melting into an incomprehensible kaleidoscope. The air feels thick, pressing against my skin from all directions.

My body feels stretched and compressed simultaneously, as if I'm being pulled apart and squeezed through a tiny hole. The sensation is nauseating, and I grit my teeth against the discomfort. My ears pop, and a high-pitched whine fills my head, drowning out all other sounds.

For a brief, terrifying moment, I lose all sense of up and down, left and right. I'm suspended in a void of swirling magic, untethered from the physical world. My heart races, pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Just when I think I can't stand it any longer, everything snaps back into focus. The world rushes back with dizzying speed, and I stumble as my feet touch solid ground again. The abrupt transition leaves me disoriented, my head spinning as I try to regain my bearings.

I blink rapidly, my eyes adjusting to the sudden change in light. The musty air of the castle is replaced by the crisp, clean scent of Protheka's wilderness. The weight of the supplies on my back reminds me of my purpose, grounding me in the present.

As the disorientation fades, I take in my surroundings. The lush greenery of the island comes into focus, a stark contrast to the stark stone walls I left behind.