Page 34 of To Dwell in Shadows (Shadows of Aurelia #2)

S am was with Borias outside the Sanctum, discussing a soul who had damaged one of the judgment doors in an escape attempt, when the sound of heavy footsteps interrupted them. He turned to see Drath approach. A bandage was wound around his head, and he wore an unsettling grin.

Sam looked away, hoping Drath was merely passing by, but then he stumbled toward them. Borias’s thick arm shot out, stopping Drath from colliding with Sam.

“Watch where you’re walking,” Borias growled.

“A thousand apologies,” Drath drawled, pointing at the ground. “I nearly tripped on this loose cobblestone.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.

“Pay attention next time,” Borias said.

“I will,” Drath replied, then took a step closer to Sam. “However, someone should do something about the decay that has beset this realm, don’t you think?”

Drath looked expectantly between Sam and Borias. When neither responded, he crossed his multiple arms and added, “It wasn’t always like this, was it Borias? ”

“No,” Borias said coolly. “But I am not so fragile that it bothers me.”

Drath huffed out a rusty laugh. “It’s not luxury and comfort I seek, but discipline. If a ruler cannot maintain appropriate standards—if he lets things as simple as a broken road slide—there should be consequences.”

He turned his painted face to Sam, giving him a meaningful look that instantly put him on alert. “What is your meaning?” Sam asked.

Drath used the heel of his foot to realign the loose cobblestone. “I mean that I would like to see the Underworld commanded by someone with true power and ambition.” He locked eyes with Sam and licked his lips. “Someone more ruthless than your father.”

Borias seized Drath’s cloak and yanked him forward, their faces inches apart. “How dare you insult my king! Especially in front of Prince Samael.”

“I was only stating facts,” Drath spat. “When the next trial takes place, I intend to rise above the rest. To secure my place. If our great and powerful king wants a champion, then let it be me.”

Drath squirmed out of Borias’s grip and then turned his sunken eyes back to Sam. “It will be me.”

The unspoken meaning of his words made Sam’s blood run cold.

He knows the true purpose of the trials.

“Why are you bothering us?” Borias asked. “Go rant and rave somewhere else.”

Drath’s mouth stretched into a grimace. “When I am champion , this realm will brim with horror as it’s never known.

All the dead will be punished, perhaps for eternity.

Our lakes of fire shall churn with writhing flesh, our abyssal pits will echo with endless screams, and the eternal flames will consume all they caress. ”

“Whoa, I think you need to calm down,” Borias said.

Drath let out a hissing sound. “How can I remain composed when so much is at stake?”

“They’re only games,” Borias replied.

“Games that I am meant to win!” Drath said. “For I will?— ”

“Your head wound is starting to bleed again,” Sam interrupted, gesturing at the red stain seeping through Drath’s bandage.

The unexpectedness of Sam’s observation made Drath falter. Cautiously, he raised one limb to the back of his head.

“Oof, looks painful,” Borias added.

“It must be time to change the dressing,” Drath said, backing away. He seemed unnerved by this accidental display of vulnerability.

“Unless you’d like us to make the whole bandage red,” Borias said, flashing a crooked grin.

“He’s right. You’d better go take care of that,” Sam said. With a rough push on Drath’s back, he sent the demon moving in the opposite direction. “I’ll see you at the next trial.”

Drath seemed confused for a moment, then pressed a limb to his oozing gash and began to shuffle away. “Yes. Yes, you will.”

Borias waited until Drath was out of sight before saying, “His arrogance is loathsome. I agree that some things that could be improved here, but the last thing we need is more horror.”

“What did he mean when he said it wasn’t always like this?”

Borias leaned against a nearby column and shrugged. “I’m nearly five hundred years old and this is the worst condition I’ve ever seen the Underworld in.”

“What do you believe is the reason?”

Borias glanced at Sam hesitantly. “Uh… that’s a tough question.”

“You may speak freely.” When Borias continued to look uneasy Sam added, “Please, I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

Borias scrubbed a hand over his wide jaw. “Your father has reigned a long, long time. Sometimes I wonder… well, perhaps it’s a foolish idea… but maybe if someone new, someone fresh, could take some of the burden of leadership off him, things could improve.”

The relevance of his words settled like lead in Sam’s gut. He didn’t respond for a moment, then said, “What would you like to see changed?”

“So much,” Borias said. “The very bones of our realm need tending to—the roads, bridges, caves, and towers. Everything is falling apart.”

Sam nodded, which encouraged Borias to continue. “In a way I agree with Drath that there’s a lack of discipline. I don’t like the way other demons are free to act out their most depraved urges. There used to be more order.”

Just then, a lone spirit drifted past them. It was an old man, barefoot and dressed in a bathrobe, clutching his heart.

Borias pointed up at him. “And that,” he said. “We never used to see innocent souls trapped here. It’s not right. They should be at rest.”

Sam took in the spirit’s lost expression and grief stirred in him.

He realized he had been willfully blind to the Underworld’s growing disorder.

He had convinced himself it had always been this way, blaming his fading memories for any sense of change.

But hearing Drath and Borias echo his observations was sobering.

For the first time since his parents had told him of the Dark Sovereign, Sam began to consider what would happen if he accepted the role.

He had always resisted the idea of rulership.

Having absolute power over others held no pull for him, and he abhorred pageantry.

Yet he had spent little time considering the good he could bring about as king.

The positive changes he could command. The many wrongs he could right.

Borias let out a weary sigh. “It’s not my place to question how Asmodeus rules, but sometimes I wish… ”

“What?” Sam urged.

“I want a king who understands he's meant to serve the realm. Not simply exist within it," Borias said. He turned away before Sam could respond, muttering, “I need to fix that door,” as he walked off, leaving Sam alone with the weight of his thoughts.

When Sam finished delivering vengeance for the day, he took a long walk around the weedy grounds outside the palace.

It was quiet there, and any imps his parents might send to summon him would have a harder time tracking him down.

A handful of scavenger vultures pecking at the remains of a rat peered at him but didn’t approach.

He watched a silk weaver spider skitter across the ground and let his mind wander. How would he change the Underworld if he were in charge? First, he would reestablish proper law and order. Perhaps a robust royal guard to patrol the realm and ensure demons stayed within their limits of behavior.

Then he would repair the infrastructure. Address the poor roads, eliminate the creeping rot, and repair or replace the many crumbling buildings.

He would make sure the imps and other beasts were treated humanely.

Selene’s beloved hellhounds would receive new, clean kennels and a spacious area for them to train.

In fact, he would build Selene an entirely new library so she no longer had to toil in the decrepit one.

As the Underworld’s beloved queen, she could have anything she wished?—

He abruptly stopped in his tracks.

If he were to stay as the Dark Sovereign, Selene would have to become a demon. She would have to abandon her humanity and mold herself into something else entirely. Permanently change herself in response to a decision he made about both of their lives.

The idea made him feel nauseous.

He snapped off a thorny branch from a nearby shrub as he put more distance between himself and the palace.

The transformation process his mother described had been harrowing.

The changes Selene’s body could face included sprouting horns, growing fangs, and losing the soft curves Sam loved—replaced by sharp, unforgiving angles.

Even if Selene was agreeable to becoming a demon, what if she hated the person she became?

During his time in Aurelia with Zaybris’s former colleague, Waldron, the vampire had confided in Sam how much he despised his new form.

Turned against his will, Waldron found it utterly torturous to adapt to hungers and urges that violated his deepest morals.

Though he longed for an end to his suffering, that release was denied to him.

For Waldron could not leave the world in the same form in which he had entered it.

The truth was that Selene would never be happy here. This realm wasn’t meant for someone like her; it was too steeped in darkness and death.

Yet her uncanny ability to speak with the dead gave him pause.

It made him wonder if that gift was proof she belonged here more than she knew.

As his mate, perhaps she possessed hidden protections that could soften the passage from mortality to demonhood.

If the power of their bond could shield her from the worst of the change, she might have a gentler descent into the dark.

It was a notion not easily dismissed.