Page 2 of Alastair

“No.” Lucifer shook his head. “Uriel would never allow them there. Lazarus is keeping the boys in this realm, hidden away.”

The lieutenant bowed his head before exiting the room, his boots echoing down the hall. It wasn’t the first time I had heard of the other children. They were the sons of Lucifer’s elite generals. They were like me: our blood was special. However, I knew not our purpose for such powerful blood.

The answer would come in time, of that I was certain.

“Enough war talk for now,” Lucifer then said, flicking his hand to one of the servants. The woman rushed forward and poured him another goblet of wine.

“Will I be taken as well?” I asked, staring at my half-eaten plate of food.

“It is possible, yes.”

“I mean no disrespect,” Father said. “But that is absurd. Alastair resides in the most defended castle in the realm. Not even Lazarus would be foolish enough to breach our walls to steal him away.”

“Your pride blinds you, Azazel,” Lucifer responded. “It always has.”

“Spoken like the rebel king you are,” my father replied. “Or have you forgottenyourpride that led to your fall from grace?”

“Careful,” Lucifer spoke, lowering his voice. “I fancy you more than any other, yet I have no qualms about reminding you of your place,my sweet.”

Father dropped his gaze to his plate. “Apologies, my king. I know my place. I will not forget it again.”

“See to it that you don’t.”

Their relationship reminded me of snow. One moment, the snow fell softly—peacefully—and everything was beautiful, a perfect serenity that stopped time itself and carried a soundless magnificence. However, without any warning, that snow became a harsh storm with frigid wind that bit at your flesh and rattled your bones in an icy grip. They existed within that storm, fueled by both adoration and animosity.

Which was stronger? I didn’t know.

After evening meal, the two of them retired to Lucifer’s study for drinks and conversation I wasn’t allowed to partake in. One day, when I was grown, I’d be able to sit with them at the strategy table, drink, and discuss important matters. Until then, I could only stand on the outside, waiting for my chance to prove myself.

I walked down the corridor toward my bedchamber but paused at a window. The outside world had been painted in a wintery landscape, snow falling and consuming everything. The blanket of white glowed beneath the bright moonlight. The bare branches of the trees creaked as a breeze swept through them.

“Evening, little lord,” a deep voice came from my right.

“General Beelzebub.” I tipped my head to him. The heady scent of alcohol clung to him. It always did. The male drowned himself in liquor in between his time commanding his army. Although he’d never said as much, I believed it a coping mechanism. Clouding his mind prevented him from dwelling on things he’d rather forget.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked, stopping beside me at the window. He was handsome—short black hair and eyes like aquamarine. His mind veered on simple. Many mocked him for it, saying his intellect was that of a hollow chestnut.

“No.” I returned my gaze to the winter night. “My father and the king are expecting you. You shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

“I know this,” Beelzebub said, puffing out a breath. “I also know what it is they will ask of me. They wish for me to take my son from his mother.”

I glanced at him. “What is your son’s name?”

“Raiden.” He softly smiled. “I met him once. He is a kind boy who fancies sweets. Honey bread is his favorite. I gave him a toy for his name day, and when he smiled at me, my chest ached.”

“Why did it ache?’

“I have no answer.” Beelzebub touched the place over his heart. “But ache, it did. I wonder if it’s sadness. Or perhaps longing for more time with him.”

“General Caim cares for his son,” I pointed out. “He now grieves because the boy’s been taken. The longing you feel for a family is your own fault. You could’ve stayed by your son’s side upon his birth instead of abandoning him for the life of a drunkard.”

“You speak of a life never meant for someone such as me,” he whispered, and his earlier smile fell. “I wronged his mother. I can never forgive myself for it.”

“Wronged her how?”

“It is not a story for a young boy,” he responded. “However, it is why I dread taking Raiden from her. She has been through enough pain on my account. I dare not take away her only ray of happiness.”

I turned from the window to face him. “If you fail to act, your son will be taken by the angel. Either way, she will suffer. By trying to spare her, you’ll be giving our enemy the advantage.”