Chapter One
Lord Variel
My castle overlooked the vast, forbidding swamp that I had surveyed so long it was named after my family line: The Fen of the Devourer. A warning to all who might dare to trespass.
Outside, approaching the castle, I saw a woman riding a black horse, and behind her, a small carriage.
Visitors?
And then I remembered. It was the third day of the Owl’s Moon.
“My lord…your new suit. I adjusted the waist seams as you requested.” My faithful servant, Uram, was following me around like a nuisance, with a smile on his face I didn’t like one bit.
“You haven’t even brought me my breakfast, you useless old lech,” I growled. “I am not about to change into formal attire when the sun glow hasn’t even risen above the swamps.”
There was no visible sun here in my corner of Sinistral, or indeed, in many corners of Sinistral, but there was a glow behind the perpetually overcast sky where the sun lit the clouds from behind on certain fine days.
“I have your breakfast, my lord, sir,” said Gillian, the maid I could only describe as ‘ditzy’. It was just a sad fact that most of the souls I devoured and bound to serve me were also very stupid people, because clever people rarely thought they could get the better of a high demon. Uram, for instance, used to be a thief. When he got caught he attempted to summon me to devour the angry townsfolk who did not appreciate Uram stealing their valuables. Some of them turned out to be holy men, so they were protected. I could do nothing for Uram and he was beaten nearly to death. I was annoyed that he summoned me while I was sleeping, so I devoured his soul while he lay bleeding to death, saving his life by making it my own.
I nibbled at the dry brown bread spread with a fruit butter made from the very tart apples that grew in the northern wood. The flavors were a poor match. My cook was not very good either, but he could create all the poison I could ever need to deal with unwanted house guests, and like all the souls he had captured, he was loyal to me. He had no choice. So in that regard, the bread and apples tasted deliciously of my own power to dominate him.
“The ladies are arriving,” Uram said. “Dozens of them. Beautiful. Every sort of demoness. What sort of breasts do you like, my lord? I could filter some of them out right away.”
“I must have been drunk when you forced me to agree to this nonsense,” I muttered. “I will not be choosing a bride based on breasts.”
“I should have guessed, my lord. You’re a leg man? Something like that? Many of them are wearing gowns, so that makes it more difficult, but if you tell me what you like, I’ll have them lift their skirts.”
I smacked him. “Shut up, Uram. I am not such a base individual as you are. This woman will be my bride. Surely neither legs nor breasts are as important as her strength. She must be my match in every way.” I picked up the coffee cup, sipped the black beverage, and went back to the window. A golden-haired succubus was stepping from a carriage, clad in a sheer gown.
I studied her a moment as she glanced around at her competition and preened in the window of the carriage. She was trying to look confident, and she would be used to having any lesser man she wanted. I’m sure all of these women hoped to capture me, a high demon, one of the few men in the chaotic realm who was unmoved by the charms of a succubus. I thought about how disruptive it would be to have some beautiful woman around, giving her own orders to my servants, asking me to redecorate my castle, complaining that I wasn’t giving her any attention.
“My lord, how can you look so disgusted when this is the most enviable position in which any man could ever find himself?” Uram’s face was now bruised, but nothing ever deterred him from talking. “Such beautiful women, all so desperate for you that you could choose four or five brides among them if you wished.”
“That sounds like hell,” I said.
Uram threw up his hands.
“I can fuck a nymph anytime I want,” I said. “Without any of the troubles of a bride.”
“But that won’t give you an heir, my lord.”
“And I never see you visit the nymphs, my lord!” Gillian said.
This was true. The nymphs bored me.
“Which I really like about you,” she added. “It’s kinda feminist of you.”
“It’s not feminist!” I snarled at her. “I am certainly not a feminist. That would mean I thought women deserve equal rights, yes? And I don’t think any of you deserve equal rights. Not men nor women! I am Lord Variel, the Devourer, son of Lord Vorsel, and your eternal master. All of your masters. None of these women are worthy of my affection; they are not even worthy of my seed. Just looking at them, and I disdain them.”
“Give ‘em a chance, anyway,” Gillian said.
“My lord, you want an heir,” Uram said. “How do you think that would happen without a bride? It might be fun to remind them on a daily basis that you are their lord and master, huh?”
“But I already have all of you for that.”
“They came all this way. It’s worth a look.” He held up the suit again. “And you’ll look really good in this suit. They’ll be throwing themselves at you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of…”
I tried to indulge my servants, mainly because I was at least a fair ruler, if not an indulgent one, and I had agreed to this. Even if I wanted to blame it on too much wine, I knew it was actually that I had suffered from one of those fits of restlessness that older immortals once warned me about. They told me that some day, I would get old enough that I would yearn to be mortal. At the time, I laughed. Yearn to be mortal!? Would I also yearn to be small, ugly and stupid?
And then one day I woke up with this feeling as if…well, as if it was all very boring. Every day the same. Ruling over people and being one of the most feared and desired demons in Sinistral might not be enough, but there was no further place to go from here.
My esteemed father told me before he died that when I started to feel this way, it was time to take a bride and have a child of my own.
So here I was. Stuffing myself into a suit that was surely worthy of a demon, with its pointed collar and cuffs, fine jet black collar and buttons made of obsidian, but that was not especially comfortable, and settling into the throne adorned with the skulls of the nine serpents my great-grandfather killed so he could claim this swamp as his domain.
“To Lord Variel, my esteemed master,” called my herald, who was a dour male harpy (very rare, male harpies, and I had never met one who wasn’t trouble). “I present to you the Lady Erisa, of the lamia clan of Misida, daughter of—“
“No,” I said. “I’m not into snakes.”
Lady Erisa immediately took a human form. “I can—“
“No,” I repeated firmly. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still not into snakes.”
“What sort of high demon are you to be afraid of a snake?” Lady Erisa said indignantly.
“I never said I was afraid. I said I’m not into you. I don’t think I have to remind you that I am choosing a bride, and I am not required to waste my time arguing with a woman I have no interest in choosing.”