Newt lifts his head, and sees the interior. Then, theliteralthrone I commissioned and picked up yesterday, placing it near the hearth—a velvetmonstrosity in midnight-blue, adorned with tiny sigils for protection and comfort.
The cat howls in awe, then leaps out of my arms and sprints inside like he’s been reincarnated as royalty.
Piper blinks. “Did you… make my cat a throne?”
“He is a prince of the Ninth by association,” I say dryly. “It was overdue.”
The joy that bursts across her face nearly brings me to my knees. Piper walks forward slowly, taking in everything—the vaulted ceilings painted with constellations that shift with real celestial movements, the sweeping golden staircases, the enormous windows overlooking forests lit with glowing flowers, the soft hum of magic that drifts like invisible snowfall.
“Slade… this is…” Her voice cracks softly. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s yours,” I say. “All of it.”
Her hand finds mine again, fingers intertwining on instinct.
“What do you want to see first?” I ask. “The library? The gardens? The upper levels? The forge?”
She grins. “Show me everything.”
My chest tightens. My magic rises. The estate hums in recognition.
“Then we’ll start with the heart,” I tell her, guiding her deeper into the house. “And show you what it means to be Athalar.”
Newt appears beside us with a regal strut, his tail arched like he owns the estate. Piper laughs—soft, delighted—and the estate brightens, every lantern rising half an inch. It’s as if the realm itself is pleased by her joy.
And I realize this is the beginning—her first true step into my world, and my world is already reshaping itself around her.
I take her hand gently, threading our fingers together as I lead her from the library into the long, glass passage I only ever walk alone. Tonight, the torches burn warmer, casting molten ribbons alongthe stone and glass. Her reflection keeps pace beside mine—wild curls, flushed cheeks, lips parted in wonder.
“Where are we going?” she asks, her thumb brushing the back of my hand in gentle swirls.
“You’ve seen the halls. The library. Newt’s throne. Now I want to show you something that’s always been mine.”
She lifts a brow. “Slade Athalar, if this is some weird demon lord metaphor—”
I smirk. “If I planned to seduce you with a metaphor, Piper, you wouldn’t be standing upright.”
Her cheeks flush brighter, magic coiling lightly in the air. And the realm reacts—toher. My mate.
We step onto the balcony, the world opening before us.
The terrace stretches wide, its marble floor lit with silver-fire braziers. Far below, the Ninth Realm glows like an endless constellation—terraces carved from dark stone, ribbons of blue fire,swaying silver-leafed trees whispering in the night breeze. Above us, the twilight sky deepens, a wash of blue-black velvet punctured by pulsing, music-making stars.
Piper walks forward slowly, bracing her hands on the carved railing, her breath visible in the cool air. Her hair lifts in a soft breeze, curls haloing her like a celestial crown. “Slade,” she breathes. “This doesn’t look like Hell.”
“This is the east side of the Ninth,” I murmur. “The quarter of the old nobility, order, history, and… things we don’t speak of lightly.”
“And you rule this.” She turns to me, eyes wide. “All of this? This is your home.”
“Now ours,” I say, my voice low. “Everything I have belongs to you.”
Her breath stutters. The bond warms between us, steady and sure.
She looks back out at the view. “It feels alive.”
“It is,” I answer softly. “The stars especially.”
She studies them—each pulsing, chiming sphere shifting like distant, blinking eyes.
